Date Published: October 30, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Adan, the fiery Spaniard, is a master of disguise. Barika, the dangerous
African Flower, can make any computer obey with a mere touch of a keyboard.
Shen, my delicate Chinese Warrior, speaks several languages fluently and knows
how to use his pretty face to get what he wants. Blain is my temperamental
Irish poet, with the soul of an artist, and the right cross of a heavyweight
champ. Nalu, a large chunk of Samoan perfection, knows anything and everything
about plants and poisons. Delsin has a way with numbers that is damn near
erotic to watch and an understanding of the world that makes me believe his
tales of being the offshoot of a rampaging Indian war-god. And then there’s
Raidon, my sexy Japanese Shogun. Skilled in several forms of martial arts,
Raidon is the smallest — and the most dangerous one of all.

Along with my lover Will, a hand model, we form the best detective agency
ever! We take on the most obscene and dangerous cases ever to develop in the
Red Light District of Baltimore. From cross-dressing vampires to dangerous
warrior cults, we’ve seen and done it all.

Copyright ©2026 by Stephanie Burke

“This is the third such death in five months. Police are baffled as to who
could be doing this… and why. The Irish Eyes Conglomerate, producers of the
ever-popular line of skin care, hair care, and waxing products directed toward
men, is scrambling for answers, and its investors are scrambling to keep their
heads above water.

“This is Denise Robberston reporting live at the site of the Fifth Annual
Microbrewery Convention. Dick, back to you.”

Shelby used the remote to shut down the television and its disturbing imagery.

There was silence for a full minute after the screen went black — total
silence.

She turned to face the group of men sitting around the downstairs boardroom —
okay, living room — of Club Angels. All seven of her boys, plus her man, sat
with faces twisted in an array of emotions from shock to disgust.

“Well?” she asked, feeling that maybe something had gotten through to them,
that they were no longer wrapped up in their own petty concerns, realizing
there were things out there that mattered, and the world didn’t revolve around
them.

She stood back and waited to hear about the injustice of it all.

“Oh my God!” Delsin started, with a toss of his yards-long hair.

“I know!” Adan exclaimed, his voice breathy in horror as he stared wide-eyed
at the blank screen. One hand was balled in a fist pressing against his chest
while the other reached for Nalu, who was just shocked into silence. Like some
of the others, he stared out at nothing.

“Did you see?” Delsin whispered again, turning wide eyes to his compatriots.

“She was wearing red lipstick and blue eye shadow! Those color combinations
are so not in this year!” Adan said. “And they do nothing for her complexion,
like that burgundy shirt. You’d think that someone would have told her it
would make her look more ruddy than she already does!”

“And who styled her hair?” Raidon chimed in. “That just makes her look
bloated! If you’re heavy like that, you pick a haircut that doesn’t make you
look like a reject from parochial Samurai school in Neo Tokyo.”

The others — even William, usually uber-intelligent — for a model — nodded
in agreement. Of course, then he flushed in embarrassment as he took in the
red that had begun to stain Shelby’s cheeks.

“And that’s all that you got out of it?” Shelby nearly shouted, arms akimbo,
indignant that this group couldn’t pull it together and see the big picture.

“That and the co-announcer should be named dick-less,” Shen almost timidly
announced. All the others turned to stare at him as silence filled the room.
“What? I dated him before his male pattern baldness caught up to him — but
for the grace of the Lord we go.” All the men sucked in a fearful, shocked
breath that he would even mention that out loud. “And he got the bad toupee
and the cheesy voice. He’s every size queen’s nightmare.”

“And you still went out with him?” Adan leaned forward to get the good gossip.
He ignored the auburn-highlighted black curls that fell endearingly into his
face as his accent purred around the room, sending an erotic shiver down more
than one back.

“I don’t put out on the first or second dates,” Shen responded. “Besides, I
thought he was a grower, not a shower. Boy, was I wrong.”

They all ah-ed in understanding as Shelby finally reached her boiling point.
“Hello? Narcissi on speed? A man was killed! Now’s not the time to discuss
dick size! There’s murder afoot!”

“And his feet are big so there goes that foot-as-a-ruler thing.” Shen nodded
his head with authority before smiling up innocently at his benefactress.

“I need a drink!” Shelby sighed, looking toward the heavens for help as she
shook her head at the insanity that she willingly surrounded herself with.

“It’s not noon yet, Shelby,” William told her with a frown, taking her at her
word. “But I can make you an Irish coffee.” His smile was both innocent and
charming. “Coffee’s a morning kind of drink.”

“And it’s much later than that in Ireland!” Blain chimed in, all smiles and
helpfulness. “And there’s always a good reason for a shot of good Irish
hooch!” His accent made the words seem cute even though they were the most
idiotic thing she had ever heard.

“Don’t you people understand?” Shelby growled. “People have died!”

“I know!” Barika sighed, looking sad. “I don’t think anyone can recover from
such a bad public appearance. You’d think they would have dressers or someone
to help them out.”

“Too much alcohol.” Will’s mind was still on Irish coffee in the mornings, but
the others agreed.

“Turning into a lush can do that to you, make you forget your appearance and
things,” Shen agreed with Will, silently wondering how such an intelligent man
didn’t get wrinkles from thinking such deep thoughts. “It’s an angle we can
look into.” He smiled at Will. “An alcohol breakdown’s something you can
really never overcome. Even with the help of Betty Ford, your image would
be… irredeemable.”

Solemnly, the other seven nodded, then dropped their heads, giving the
fallen-from-grace reporters a moment of silence.

Giving up on trying to make them see her point of view, Shelby walked over to
the low coffee table and snatched up a file folder.

“Okay, Angels, listen up.” When you can’t beat them, move on, was her motto.
“There’s a mystery to solve, and we have been hired to crack this case.”

“Somebody hired us? After that Jacuzzi incide...]]> Tue, 27 Oct 2026 12:00:24 +0200 https://api.follow.it/track-rss-story-click/v3/b_NPwv2xBJ4aLs_4RsABtvNkVyX-PEsM?utm_source=follow.it https://api.follow.it/track-rss-story-click/v3/b_NPwv2xBJ4aLs_4RsABtrJZ3tATHmkc?utm_source=follow.it

A Guide For Women to Recenter & Overcome Burnout

Self-Help

Date Published: April 29, 2025

If you’ve been holding it all together while secretly running on fumes, you’re
not alone. Burnout means you’re giving too much and not allowing space to care
for yourself.

Life Reset: Overcoming Burnout is your guide to reclaiming your energy,
balance, and joy. Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist Lisa Macedo draws
from her own experience and evidence-based practices to help you:

· Identify how burnout shows up in your daily life so you can take
charge and begin to heal;

· Understand how your nervous system and beliefs affect your
well-being;

· Set boundaries and live according to your values;

· Restore rest, energy, and emotional resilience; and

· Reconnect with your true self and rediscover joy.

With gentle guidance and practical exercises, this workbook helps you move
from surviving on autopilot to thriving with clarity, purpose, and intention.

It’s time to pause, reset, and choose yourself. Your healing starts now.

 Lisa Macedo is a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist with over fifteen
years of experience. She is certified by both the Academy of Cognitive Therapy
and the International OCD Foundation. Lisa earned her bachelor’s degree in
psychology with a minor in applied developmental psychology from the
University of California, Los Angeles. She went on to receive her Master of
Arts in clinical psychology with a specialization in marriage and family
therapy from Notre Dame de Namur University. A first-generation American with
roots in the Azores Islands, Lisa travels there annually to reconnect with her
heritage and return to her center.

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Memoirs / Humor

Date Published: August 15, 2025

 The Station is an extraordinary true story—an elegy of childhood
alienation, social dysfunction, and psychological terrorism. Narrated by the
foul-mouthed antihero himself, this filthy account will have you washing your
hands with the turn of every page.

After being expelled from middle school, a young boy must find his way through
the struggles of the working class. After not looking very far, he finds
employment at a small gas station in a dangerous part of town. There, beyond
pumping gas, slinging cigarettes, and wrestling with hoboes, he finds himself
working for a man who has a fetish for mayhem. Falling prey to the influences
of his surroundings, laughing hysterically, and cursing as if he invented it,
the boy embarks on a journey into senseless chaos and the macabre. But just as
he becomes confident of his abilities, he’s accused of a crime. And
without support or witnesses to his character, he’s left waiting for his
fate to unfold.

About the Author

 The GwaK, author of the writing on the wall—the stall wall that is, an
unfiltered, unrestricted, uncompromising voice of self-preservation. Born a
bastard somewhere in the 1970’s at a high elevation, among a-holes
gaslighting him into their slave fallacies, he’s unleashed himself upon
the page. His work is derived from personal experience, bringing the macabre
into focus with ruthless phraseology leaving his readers with pink eye. With
that, The Station is the first volume in an upcoming series entitled
Resumé of my Discontent. These memoirs of angst, strife, and hilarious
introspection weave the author’s bio leaving no stone unturned and no
wallet untapped.

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(Holiday Hanky Panky 1)

Date Published: October 30, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Agent Nick Pierce is known as an effective tracker with a caustic wit and
unparalleled paranoia. He’s harassed or insulted more magical creatures
than most people have ever met. He’s hidden his bisexuality for fifteen
plus years and is content to take that secret to his grave until he meets a
police detective moonlighting as a dancer at a gay club.

Bob White is protective of this newbie who’s followed a friend into
Ravencrest, at least until his full-time gig as a police detective makes him
think Nick might be a suspect.

As their attraction grows, Nick’s virginity and his terror of one
specific vampire are thrown into the light. Nick must defend himself from
Bob’s suspicion and the vampire’s next attack. But can he quell
SearchLight’s desire to wipe Bob’s memory?

The crowd was a little ugly tonight. Not because of their glitter or makeup
but because of their forced smiles. Bob White, who went by Birdie when he was
performing, read the signs. Most of the drag queens were being protective of
their dates and of anyone who looked fragile. Bob approved. Maybe he could
lighten the mood. Tonight was his show. He wasn’t dancing every song on
stage, but he got to couple with many of the drag kings and queens. Being
androgynous as well as good at disguises meant only a few knew him with all
his costuming in place.

Now, though, he was stripped to the waist and clad in jeans. Because it was
his show, he’d chosen most of the night’s music. However, when he
strode onto the stage, the music that began to play wasn’t what
he’d picked. He caught CJ’s eye, saw the wicked gleam in it, and
inwardly sighed. He had a choice. He could either dance to this country song
or he could raise a stink.

He chose to dance to the het-suggestive song. He’d heard this one a few
times. The other officers at the station listened to just about everything at
one time or another. He did his best to turn the heterosexual-focused song
into a gay anthem through the movement of his body and his facial expressions.

The Ravencrest Club, which was mostly a gay bar although all were welcome,
seemed hotter tonight than usual, and Bob turned a swipe of his forehead into
part of the dance. Considering it was November in New York, it really was warm
in here.

He quit worrying about the heat when he caught sight of three men standing
close to the edge of the stage. Two of them, a Native American and a Caucasian
man with black hair, had their arms around each other. The third stood close
to them but he looked distinctly uncomfortable. He had lovely light brown eyes
and hair like wet sand’s deepest hue swept back from his forehead. He
was tanned and fit and although he didn’t wear a skintight T-shirt, the
leather jacket that he kept zipped showed off his physique. He was sweating.
It gleamed on his forehead. Bob wondered why he didn’t show whatever he
was wearing underneath. Maybe it was offensive. Or maybe he was embarrassed by
it. Or maybe he just wanted to feel protected. His anxiety was almost
palpable.

Bob didn’t examine the other two quite as closely. For one, they were
obviously together. For another, they seemed to be thoroughly enjoying
themselves.

Bob danced right up to the discomfited man, presenting his ass for either a
smack or nothing depending on the guy’s nervousness level. After
he’d danced there for five seconds, he faced his intended target again.
To his surprise, the man was holding up a five-dollar bill and looked
intimidated. Bob took pity on him and took the money with a bow and a smile.

The object of his attention flushed but didn’t drop his eyes, even when
the Native American half of the couple nudged him. He gave off a general air
of confidence despite the way he chewed at his lip for a moment.

The music ended then and Bob came back to himself. He hadn’t meant to
spend so much time with this unknown person. He retreated a few steps and
bowed to the cheering, whistling crowd.

Emily Carrington is a multipublished author of male/male and transgender
women’s speculative fiction. Seeking a world made of equality, she
created SearchLight to live out her dreams. But even SearchLight has its
problems, and Emily is looking forward to working all of these out with a host
of characters from dragons and genies to psychic vampires. And in the
contemporary world she’s named “Sticks & Stones,” Emily
has vowed to create small towns where prejudice is challenged by a passionate
quest for equality. Find her on Facebook at Shapeshifter Central or on her
website.

Author’s Website

Emily on Facebook

Emily on Twitter

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

Pre-Order Today

Thriller, Drama, Suspense, Action, Redemption, Healing

Date Published: July 9, 2026

Publisher: Manhattan Book Group

RESCUED FROM A BRUTAL CULT, SHE BELIEVED SHE HAD ESCAPED THE SHADOWS. BUT
TEXAS HARBORS EVEN DARKER SECRETS.

Blake is a steely, enigmatic force, fiercely loyal to her one-eyed horse, Ira.
As she navigates the patriarchal arena of cutting horse competitions, her
steadfast devotion teeters on the brink of danger, unearthing a dark past she
had long sought to bury.

Across the scorched Lone Star badlands, retired detective Sonny Harrell hunts
the killers who murdered his father. His trail of blood and lies uncovers a
ruthless syndicate that would flay you to the bone to guard its empire of
corruption.

When Sonny’s path collides with Blake’s, she is swept into a vortex of
violence. Outnumbered and outmatched, they must claw through the chaos-or
vanish into oblivion.

About the Author

 Paul’s debut crime thriller Nannerl’s Symphony—based on
Mozart’s history—was published soon after he completed his PhD in
Mathematics from Imperial College London. He has since authored over 100
academic papers in top journals. The Gershwin Cutter is his second thriller,
with two more on the way. Currently, he holds an endowed professorship at the
University of Texas in Austin. A recipient of multiple research awards, Paul
was also a finalist for the U.S. National Library of Poetry Award. He has
lived on three continents and is fluent in several languages. An animal lover,
Paul is the proud pet parent of a blue-eyed Alsatian.

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Historical Thriller

Date Published: November 17, 2026

In the ruins of post-war Europe, Sophie Faulkner only wants the past to leave
her alone.

Once a gifted German-speaking clerk at Bletchley Park, Sophie’s life was
destroyed when British intelligence uncovered the truth she had tried to bury:
she was born Sophie von Adler, daughter of a wealthy Nazi industrialist.
Interrogated, imprisoned, disgraced, and abandoned, she has survived the war
with nothing but a ruined reputation and a talent for keeping secrets.

Then MI5 offers her a way back.

Her father’s hidden fortune lies in a Zurich bank account —
millions in Swiss francs and bearer bonds intended to finance the escape of
senior Nazis fleeing Allied justice. To reach it, Sophie must become the woman
Europe’s most dangerous men expect to see: the cold, entitled heiress of
a dead Reich loyalist.

But the money is only bait.

Drawn into a shadow war between British intelligence, American pragmatists,
Vatican fixers, Swiss bankers, Soviet agents, and the remnants of the SS,
Sophie finds herself trapped inside the very network she was sent to expose.
Every alliance is temporary. Every identity is a weapon. And if the men around
her discover where her loyalties truly lie, she will not live long enough to
choose her own future.

​Malcolm has spent a lifetime gathering stories, living and working in
Australia and the Middle East before returning to the UK. Today, he weaves
that global experience into gripping historical novels that explore the
intersection of crime, war, and espionage.

​The Manchester Noir Series: Gritty 1990s crime with a unique twist (The Honey
Talker, The Fatal Formula).

​The Aviation Collection: High-octane tales of courage and dogfights in WWI
and WWII (LMF, The Way Back, Leviathan).

​The Lisbon Series : Follow ex-cop Dinis Lopes through the treacherous,
“neutral” streets of 1940s Portugal.

​Cold War Espionage: Revisit the 1950s with the fast-paced adventures of
Contrail and Czechmate.

​When he isn’t uncovering the secrets of the 20th century, Malcolm lives
and writes in Cheshire, England.

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Date Published: July 15, 2026

Publisher: MindStir Media

About the Author

 There comes a moment in every life when the search outward becomes a journey
inward.

For more than three decades, Susanne Landgrebe has devoted her life to helping
others remember what she believes is the deepest truth of the human
experience: we are not broken, and we have never been separate from the love
we seek.

A Nurse Practitioner certified in Family Practice, Dermatology, and
Integrative Medicine, Certified Yoga Therapist, and Certified Meditation
Teacher, Susanne has spent more than twenty-five years blending the wisdom of
modern medicine with contemplative practice, mindfulness, and the profound
healing that arises through self-compassion, presence, and authentic
connection.

Her understanding of healing has been shaped not only by decades of caring for
patients, but by walking through her own darkest valleys. As a survivor of
Philadelphia chromosome-positive acute lymphoblastic leukemia and multiple
life-threatening complications, she discovered that even in the face of
profound uncertainty, the human spirit possesses an extraordinary capacity to
awaken, love, and begin again.

A lifelong meditator, retreat leader, writer, mother, grandmother, and
mountain climber, Susanne finds her greatest teachers in both silence and
nature. Whether sitting in meditation on the Iowa prairie, leading others in
retreat, or standing atop a fourteen-thousand-foot peak in the Rocky
Mountains, she is continually reminded that the outer journey mirrors the
inner one: every ascent begins with a single courageous step, and every summit
reveals an even wider horizon.

Her writing weaves together science, spirituality, psychology, and lived
experience with warmth, honesty, and hope. She invites readers to move beyond
fear, perfectionism, and the endless search for fulfillment outside
themselves, returning instead to the quiet wisdom and love that have always
lived within.

YOU Are Your Own Lost Love is the first of what she hopes will be many books
exploring healing, awakening, resilience, and the extraordinary beauty of
being fully alive. Her greatest wish is that every reader closes her books
feeling a little lighter, a little freer, and more deeply at home within
themselves.

Because the greatest journey we will ever take is not toward becoming someone
new, it is toward remembering who we have been all along.

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Date Published: 10-22-2026

Publisher: Time At Last Books (Indie)

Cassie Mitchell is juggling the responsibilities of new motherhood and the
drama surrounding her sister’s return to Whale Rock while welcoming
another tenant to the carriage house. Adding to her worries are the recently
discovered letters revealing a stunning confession. Could one of her seven
baby brothers, who supposedly died at childbirth, have survived?

Cassie begins unraveling this new family mystery with guidance from the
ever-present spirits of her ancestors, the original residents of The Bluffs.
However, the fog of pregnancy brain is impeding her deciphering of their
messages.

Cassie’s husband, former FBI agent Daniel Benjamin, surprises her with
an au pair to help with the baby. But there’s something unnerving about
Abbigail Grant, and soon after her arrival, the community is shaken when a
body is found sprawled on the rocks near The Bluffs. With the case ruled a
homicide, Cassie becomes entangled in the investigation and butting heads with
Chief Brooks Kincaid, who is under pressure to solve the case before tourist
season begins. A prominent politician appears on the scene, with questions
arising over his connection to the victim. And why has the mysterious new
owner of the Red Herring estate been nosing around suspiciously?

Can this murder be solved in time to save the summer season? Will Cassie
determine if her brother survived? And if he did, will it be a blessing or
another curse on the Mitchell family?

About the Author

 An award-winning author of fiction, Loretta Marion’s writing bridges the
genres of mystery, suspense and women’s fiction, always with hints of
romance and humor, sometimes delving into the psychological and paranormal.
She creates strong but flawed characters as appealing as the rich atmospheric
settings in which the stories take place.

A true bibliophile, she has loved reading and creating with words since she
was a young girl. That affection for the written word followed her like a
shadow throughout her life, but her passion for writing fiction evolved from
the unlikely world of hospice. As a volunteer, she established a Legacy Story
program to honor and preserve the rich heritage of the fascinating people who
were soon to leave this world. The meaningful experience inspired her to
create her own interesting characters and stories.

Though born and raised in the Midwest, Loretta fell in love with New England
and has made it the setting for much of her writing. When not whipping out
words on her laptop, she is traveling, enjoying outdoor pursuits, or is curled
up with a delicious new book.

Loretta lives in Rhode Island with her husband, Geoffrey, and their devoted
Mr. Micawber, a sweet and amusing German Shepherd Corgi cross

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Contemporary Multicultural Magic

Date Published: October 23, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Elias Wylder, that egotistical SOB, had the gall to trick Moriah into bonding
with him during her Opening Ceremony! Now her year of hiding is almost up.
Only eight days and she’ll be free. In eight days, Moriah can repudiate the
bond with Wylder and claim her rightful place in Arcane Society. Until then,
she dare not allow the powerful warlock to discover she still loves him,
despite his trickery. She must keep her distance, no matter how close she
wishes they could be.

But Wylder’s not the kind to take no for an answer.

Humbled by her loss, Elias will do anything to find Mariah, even begging the
Council of Magick for help. Unfortunately, his year of futile searching is
almost up. An Athame Warlock must present his lady to the Council before the
year passes, or lose her forever. Elias can’t allow that to happen. Mariah’s
taken more than Wylder’s magick — she’s stolen his heart. He’s got just eight
days to find her, and win her back!

“By the Lord and Lady! Wylder, how did you come to misplace the academy’s most
promising student?”

Wylder sneered at Lemuel Westerner, refusing to give the irritating council
member the satisfaction of answering. Yet he could not help acknowledging, if
only to himself, his utter responsibility for the disaster now facing him. By
totally fucking up, asshole. How else?

My own actions had caused this. I saw something I wanted, something wondrous,
and with my usual damned arrogance, tried to snatch it for myself.

“And why are you only now bringing this to our attention?”

Just being here, ordered to be here, had his temper flaring hotter than the
salamander-ignited fires blazing through San Francisco at this very moment,
and here was Westerner, an old enemy, finally mated and a full member of the
council, trying to lord it over him.

Elias Wylder — the most powerful warlock since his evil ancestor, Grimm the
Rogue — glared at Lemuel Westerner until the hairy, burly shifter gulped and
hunched down in his seat. Elias narrowed his eyes, bunched his thick eyebrows
in an intimidating scowl, until he realized there was more likelihood of the
man growing a second head than there was of his growing the balls to truly
confront Elias in challenge. “What’s gotten into you, little mule? You know
better than to speak to me in that tone of voice.”

Just the thought of Lemuel trying to stand up to him made Elias’s lips turn up
in a contemptuous smirk. “Little cat, you couldn’t possibly be thinking about
challenging me. Even drawing upon the enhanced power bestowed by your mated
state, you haven’t a hope in hell of defeating me. Any contest between the two
of us would be ludicrous — no contest at all.”

The werecat’s lips pulled back from his teeth in an angry snarl but before he
could do other than posture, another council member spoke up. “I, too, would
like to know the particulars of Miss Maganistus’ graduation. Where is the
record of the ceremony? If you officiated at it, why has she yet to come
before this council to receive her diploma and wand? The shock waves we’ve
been attributing to her graduation were felt as far away as the Outer Isles.”

Lady Selima’s quiet voice worked wonders on his mood, as usual, and Elias
turned to face her, sensing her nurturing magick flowing over him, calming his
fractious anger. “Until now, I deemed it a personal matter. I didn’t feel the
council needed the information, as at the time, it did not fringe upon
national security. It does now.”

Her gentle mind reached out, attempting to touch and soothe his turbulent
spirit. He closed his eyes, resting a brief moment in the peace she generated
before mentally jerking back with a curse. Giving a sharp shake of his head,
he broke contact with the compassionate lady, unable to afford even one second
of weakness. The fluctuation in his power continued to increase. His control
deteriorated daily. “Stop stroking my aura, Selima. You weren’t invited.”

The mellow magicker spread her hands out, palm up. “I sense great upheaval in
your heart and soul. I but seek to ease –”

“Butt out! I don’t need you softening me up.” His low growl rumbled through
the room like static electricity. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

The dark menace in his voice would have made any other cringe, but it didn’t
surprise him to see Selima continue toward him, arms still outstretched.
Before she could reach him, her husband drew her back, arrowing an admonishing
glare toward the male upsetting his tenderhearted mate.

Antoiyn Grooden placed a comforting hand over his wife’s while his other hand
furtively sketched a powerful protection rune in the air. “She means no harm,
Wylder.”

Elias snorted, an imp of adversity temping him to burn a rune of his own into
the air. He resisted, knowing the situation was already hot enough. “Stand
down, Grooden. I mean her no harm.” He enjoyed teasing the stuck-up,
tight-assed older male, and a toothy grin curled his lips as he continued to
bait the powerful mage. “As if any signing of yours could stop my magick if I
were inclined to –”

“Oh, for the goddess’ sake, Wylder, cut out all the dramatics and just tell us
what happened with the girl. We put you in charge of seeing to her graduation
exercises, and now no one can find a trace of her. It’s as if she fell off the
face of the earth. So, what did you do… kill her?”

Horrified silence cloaked the room’s occupants in the aftermath of the daring
outburst made by Westerner’s mate, until the silence shattered under the bark
of Wylder’s involuntary laughter. Only Judith would actually come out and say
something like that to me! How could I have ever fucked this mentally blonde
airhead?

Oh, well, he reasoned a second later, chuckling and shaking his head, my cock
didn’t give a fuck about her absent thought processes…

His grudging amusement over her customary no-clue-ism gradually faded as his
night-dark eyes touched on each of the mated pairs, noting with disdain how
they had drawn back, distancing themselves from poor Judith and the
anticipated backlash of his anger.

Wylder’s black eyes flashed, a grimace drawing his mouth tight. “Look at you,
presenting as small a target as possible, pretending you aren’t frightened
enough to piss yourselves.” He taunted them, not bothering to hide his disgust
at his fellow council members. “None save Selima and Judith have the courage
to speak their minds, let alone meet my gaze.” He snorted, mouth curling up in
a mocking half smile when even the Elven pair — next in power to him —
refused to acknowledge his derision. “Judith may not have enough sense to fill
a thimble, but apparently she and Selima are the only ones in these chambers
with any balls.”

Like a caged beast, he paced the parquet floor, running agitated hands through
his shoulder-length mass of dense, black hair. Turning on his audience, he
shouted, “What has this council come to? Once, this body of rulers stood for
something. Now all I see is a pathetic group of cowards. Is this all that
remains o...]]> Wed, 21 Oct 2026 12:00:51 +0200 https://api.follow.it/track-rss-story-click/v3/b_NPwv2xBJ6JG1baE5p2GeroTh7y1vLy?utm_source=follow.it https://api.follow.it/track-rss-story-click/v3/b_NPwv2xBJ6JG1baE5p2Gdyhd9rcm1dF?utm_source=follow.it

Date Published: 10-15-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

About the Author

Jon is a retired teacher, having taught social studies at Traverse City
Central High School for 38 years. Jon was the offensive coordinator for the
Trojans’ first state championship football team in 1978 and later was
named the boys’ varsity head coach, a position he held for 22 years. His
teams had a 341–161 record and won 12 district and 2 regional titles.
Jon grew up in Grand Haven, Michigan. There he had a small boat and motor that
he kept on the Grand River and would use to explore the river and its many
bayous. He graduated from Hope College and played quarterback for the Flying
Dutchmen for four years and played basketball for two years. Jon enjoys the
variety of all four seasons at Cedar Lake. When he isn’t kayaking, he
enjoys “working” at the scoring table for Trojans basketball games
and in the press box at Thirlby Field for Trojans or Traverse City West Titan
football games, reading, feeding and watching birds, and following the
activities of his three active grandchildren. Among his proudest
accomplishments is that he was able to write two books about kayaking. He is
sure that this is also surprising to anyone who knew Jon in Grand Haven or at
Hope College!

https://mybook.to/KayakingMomentsofZen

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One O’Clock Hustle, Two O’Clock Heist, Three O’Clock Séance

Date Published: October 20, 2026

In One O’Clock Hustle, Richie Amalfi is accused of murder. Instead of
fleeing, he turns to Rebecca Mayfield, a fiercely independent, by-the-book
cop, for help. She soon discovers that solving the case may require her to
bend a few rules—and that the charming man she’s determined not to
trust may be the only person who can help her.

In Two O’Clock Heist, Rebecca finds herself investigating the murder of
a friend. The only person willing—and able—to help her uncover the
truth is the one man she most wants to avoid: Richie Amalfi.

Then, in Three O’Clock Séance, Rebecca and Richie face another
dangerous mystery, one that takes them into the unsettling world of a
séance—and deeper into a relationship neither of them quite knows
how to handle.

The Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries combine gripping murder
investigations, romantic suspense, and a slow-burning attraction between two
very different people. Start with One O’Clock Hustle and discover why,
once the clock strikes one, you may find it hard to stop.

About the Author

A longtime storyteller with a Master’s degree in Journalism from the
University of California, Berkeley, Joanne has been writing professionally for
many years. Her books have received numerous honors from major writing and
publishing organizations.

Born and raised in northern California, Joanne now lives in Idaho, where she
continues to write stories that offer readers a variety of times, places, and
unforgettable characters.

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(Hades Abyss MC 16)

Date Published: October 23, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Maren — Treating a gunshot wound could cost me my license — and career. I
did it anyway. Saving a biker’s life was supposed to be one reckless
decision. I never expected Patch — the quiet, controlled man who brought him
to me — to become someone I could depend on. Then I discover someone has been
using the veterinary clinic where I work for an illegal operation, putting
everything I’ve worked for — and possibly my life — at risk. Patch
says he’ll handle it. I’m beginning to understand exactly what
that promise means. And I’m not sure I want to walk away.

Patch — For twenty years, I’ve made sure my brothers come home alive.
Then Freak takes a bullet, our doctor is gone, and my only option is a vet
tech with steady hands and enough courage to risk everything to save him.
Maren should have walked away from us afterward. Instead, I keep finding
reasons to see her. Protect her. Make her problems mine. And when I discover
someone has been using her clinic for something dangerous, there’s no
question what happens next.

No one touches what’s mine.

Maren

The overheads in reception were already off. I’d hit the switch twenty
minutes ago, same as every night. The front desk phone sat on the counter
playing something low and instrumental that I’d stopped hearing half an
hour back. The lobby chairs were pushed in. The magazines were stacked. The
credit card terminal had been wiped down and the drawer emptied into the safe.
Every surface clean. Every light off except the surgical suite.

I hauled the mop bucket through the door with one hand on the handle and the
other braced against the frame. The wheels caught on the threshold. I lifted
and rolled and it cleared. The bucket sloshed. Bleach and hot water at a ratio
I could smell without measuring. Three parts to one. Maybe two and a half. My
nose knew better than my measuring cup.

Stitch was asleep on the procedure table. Full extension. Orange belly up,
three legs splayed, the missing left hind an absence so familiar I’d
stopped noticing the shape of it. His one good ear was folded back against the
vinyl. He didn’t open his eyes when I came in. He knew the sound of the
wheels. He’d been sleeping there for six years in direct violation of
every health code Gerry had ever been cited for and never fixed.

The latch on the supply cabinet needed a thumb on the bottom edge. I found it
without looking. The cabinet swung open. I grabbed the bottle of disinfectant
spray, set it on the counter, and closed the door with my hip. The spray
bottle went into my left scrub pocket. Right pocket held a roll of gauze and a
pair of shears.

The sink handle stuck. I jiggled it left, then right, then left again. The
water came on cold. I filled Stitch’s ceramic dish to the rim and set it
on the floor beside the table leg. He still didn’t move. The water would
be there when he woke up. It always was.

The clinic was mine in this hour.

Gerry had left at four-thirty, after sorting out where his keys were.
He’d said something about a dinner with his sister in town.

Tessa had clocked out at six sharp, her scrubs swapped for jeans and a
sweatshirt. The building settled around me after hours. The fluorescent hum.
The faint tick of the hot water heater through the wall. The smell of bleach
and fur and the underlying note of something chemical that never quite aired
out.

I moved through it without thinking. My hands knew where everything lived. The
suture drawer was three inches left of the anesthetic cabinet. The saline bags
hung on the far wall hook behind the scale. The crash cart sat where it had
sat for six years, its contents arranged by size rather than use because that
was how I’d found it and how I’d kept it. I could reach any of it
in the dark. I had, twice, during power outages.

The supply levels ran in my head instead of on the clipboard. Two cases of 4-0
suture. Three boxes of exam gloves, large. One case of saline, half-empty. The
drug drawer was locked. The key lived on the ring with the keys for the back
door and the crash cart.

The lead technician credential hung on the wall behind the front desk.

Framed. My name in block letters. Maren Hale, CVT, Lead Technician. Six years
in that frame. Six years in this building, working for a man who left at
four-thirty. I could have moved. There were clinics in Springfield paying
fifteen thousand more for the same credential. There were teaching hospitals
in St. Louis that would have taken my hours and my recommendation letters and
put me in a lab coat with somebody else’s name on the door.

I hadn’t moved.

There was a specialty credential I’d been eighty hours short of for two
years. Emergency and critical care. The hours were free but getting them was
another matter. Not to mention the exam fee, and the two days off work that
‘d need.

My grandmother’s memory care facility cost thirty-two hundred a month.
The number hadn’t changed in two years. It wouldn’t change until
she died. I wrote the check. Every time. What came after the check was mine.
Usually about eight hundred dollars. Sometimes less. Enough for my bills and
the occasional pair of scrubs when the elbows wore through.

I wasn’t unhappy.

I had a job I was good at. I had hands that didn’t shake. I had a cat on
a procedure table who trusted me enough to sleep through a mop bucket three
feet from his head. I had a grandmother who sometimes remembered my name when
I visited on Sundays.

The mop handle was warm from my grip. I leaned it against the wall and sprayed
the counter with disinfectant. The mist settled. I wiped it down with a paper
towel I’d folded twice. The surface came up. No streaks. No residue. I
tossed the towel and reached for the light switch.

The surgical suite went dark. Just the exit sign above the door throwing a
dull red glow across the floor. Stitch had shifted in his sleep. One paw now
draped over the edge of the table. His breathing was slow. Even. He slept like
a man who knew exactly where he was.

I stood in the dark for a second. Let the quiet settle. The phone in reception
had stopped playing. The building hummed. Somewhere out in the lot, a car
passed on the county road. Headlights swept the front window and were gone.

This was enough. For right now, in this hour, with the floors clean and the
supplies counted and the cat asleep on the table he wasn’t supposed to
be on, it was exactly enough.

About the Author

Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC Romances.
With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde immerses her
readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible women. Her works
exude passion, d...]]> Mon, 19 Oct 2026 12:00:50 +0200 https://api.follow.it/track-rss-story-click/v3/b_NPwv2xBJ5l1_DGFI5SSDcPzvhvkqXA?utm_source=follow.it https://api.follow.it/track-rss-story-click/v3/b_NPwv2xBJ5pmLAA70A02QnFCzTaAsyb?utm_source=follow.it

The Magical Run of the College Team That Lost Its School

Date Published: 11-17-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

Excerpt

The rise and ultimate fall of Birmingham-Southern College, a small
liberal arts school on a hilltop in Birmingham, has a history that mirrors the
fortunes and struggles of the United States since the mid-nineteenth century.
In 1859, Alabama Southern University opened its doors in Greensboro but nearly
closed them two years later when most of its all-male student body left to
fight in the Civil War. By 1866, the student body had dwindled to
twenty-eight. The school quickly rebounded, however, and in 1889, the
graduating class numbered 289 students, including the first woman graduate.

In 1898, another Methodist school, Birmingham College, was established less
than a hundred miles away. The new college was perched on a hill near the
western edge of the rapidly growing city of Birmingham. After the Civil War,
the two cities were a study in contrasts. While Greensboro was still largely
dependent on cotton, Birmingham had made the smart move to steel, and its
booming economy led to its nickname: “The Magic City.” By 1918, it
was clear that two Methodist colleges this close together would be
unsustainable. The answer: merge the two and call the new school
Birmingham-Southern College.

The merger solved an immediate problem, and BSC thrived—for a
while—but faced a devastating enrollment drop during World War I. The
college hung on during the Great Depression but lost most of its male students
and faculty during World War II. Two decades later, the Civil Rights Era
brought new challenges. BSC became an early supporter of the movement,
enrolling its first Black students in 1965, and continued to embrace diversity
as a core part of its mission.

About the Author

 Brian Nelson is a lifelong baseball fan, former player, and dedicated coach
whose love for the game spans generations. A pitcher at the University of
California, Santa Barbara in the 1980s, he later coached his three sons and
their teammates through Little League, high school, and college. Drawing
inspiration from a deeply literary family—especially his grandfather and
mother—Nelson brings an analyst’s brain, a storyteller’s heart,
and impressive baseball knowledge to his writing. After a multi-decade career
in finance, he has returned to his earliest passion to tell this story. This
is his first book.

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Date Published: 11-11-2025

Publisher: Epicenter Press

As the pressure mounts for a quick solution to the case, the detective finds that he too, is in the killer’s crosshairs. But Ryan is distracted from the investigation by a romantic encounter with an old university friend. He also worries about his mother, Mumta, and her new obsessive desire for grandchildren from her only son. Could this be linked to her recent medical tests? And there’s another pressing problem—the plague of rats in his apartment block.

Detective Ryan’s hands are well and truly full.

EXCERPT

ONE

WINTER

THERE WERE ELEVEN OF THEM SQUASHED into the red Ford Transit van.

All were in high spirits-except, that was, for the driver, Tommy Clarke. He wasn’t happy.

Tommy had thought long and hard about offering his services locally as a driver and wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for Anne, his wife. She had heard that people were looking for transport into the city for a protest march and saw it as the perfect opportunity for them to earn some money-even though it was scheduled for Saturday, which would mean Tommy missing the big match: the Swans versus the Eagles.

He had tried to argue, but it was a waste of time. Anne Clarke was an unstoppable force of nature and opposing her was an exercise in futility. Still, it was that same determination and persistence that had attracted him in the first place-that and a body that could stop traffic.

Before meeting his wife, Tommy had drifted like a ship without an anchor. But Anne had plans-lots of them-and the principal one was to buy a house. Of course, properties cost money, and Tommy had no idea where they would get that. Luckily, Anne did.

She stuck a big whiteboard up in the kitchen, taping it to the wall. Using a black marker, she split the board vertically into three columns: incomings, outgoings, and savings. Then, she crossed the lines with dates. Every week, she filled the boxes with numbers-money they earned, spent, and saved together. The savings column had gotten larger and larger, but they still needed every cent they could https://api.follow.it/track-rss-story-click/v3/b_NPwv2xBJ5pmLAA70A02c4_VlTcFBnA?utm_source=follow.it https://api.follow.it/track-rss-story-click/v3/b_NPwv2xBJ5pmLAA70A02R4bg70trmc9?utm_source=follow.it

A Collection Inspired by True Stories of the Jewish Immigrant Experience

Publisher: Acorn Publishing

Almost There offers an intimate, emotionally resonant portrait of the
Jewish immigrant experience in early twentieth-century America. This
collection of linked short stories follows individuals who faced the
uncertainty of a new land, summoned the courage to navigate unfamiliar
cultures, and endured the antisemitism that shaped their world.

While fictionalized, these narratives were inspired by interviews with
Americans who shared memories of their immigrant ancestors. Their stories
unfold against the backdrop of sweeping historical events, such as the Great
Depression, World War II, the Holocaust, and the founding of the State of
Israel.

Poignant and powerful, Almost There illuminates a pivotal chapter in American
history and speaks to the timeless search for belonging, identity, and home.

EXCERPT

About the Author

 Award-winning writer Jean Seager graduated from the University of California,
Berkeley, and received two graduate degrees from San Diego State University.
Her writing has appeared in the

literary publications Mikrokosmos and The Long Story. In 2018, her story
“The Award” won second place in the San Diego Public
Library’s short story contest.

A granddaughter of Jewish immigrants who came to America from eastern Europe
in the early twentieth century, Jean was fascinated by her mother’s
stories of growing up as a second-generation immigrant in Tennessee’s
tobacco country. The Jewish immigrant experience continued to intrigue her and
became the catalyst for her writing.

Jean is a native Californian and long-time resident of Coronado, a suburb of
San Diego, where she lives with her husband Bill.

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Book 1 of The Northern Crusader Chronicles

Historical Adventure

Date Published: 28th November 2024 (book/ebook) Audiobook: Approx. February
2026

Publisher: The Book Guild

Narrator: Kerry Hutchinson

Run Time: 12 hours and 2 minutes

1242: Wounded at the Battle on the Ice, English knight Richard Fitz Simon
becomes a prisoner of Prince Alexander Nevsky of Novgorod. Intrigued by his
captive, Alexander orders his scholar to record Richard’s life story.

Richard’s chronicle begins in 1203, when betrayal shatters his training
for knighthood and forces him to flee England. In Lübeck, he finds work
with a ruthless salt merchant and becomes entangled in an illicit affair
– until scandal and violence drive him onward once more.

Seeking purpose, Richard joins the Livonian Brothers of the Sword, a militant
order bent on bringing Christendom to the pagan Baltic. In the harsh outpost
of Riga, he faces not only enemy tribes beyond the walls, but suspicion,
ambition, and betrayal within – while grappling with doubts that
threaten his faith.

When a vast pagan army threatens to overwhelm the commandery, Richard must
choose what kind of man – and believer – he will become.

Sword Brethren is Book One of The Northern Crusader Chronicles, a gritty,
historically grounded series focused on realism, moral ambiguity, and the
brutal realities of medieval warfare.

Giveaway – https://kingsumo.com/g/1wg75rm/win-a-gift-card-and-ebook-copy-sword-brethren

 About the Author

The Northern Crusader Chronicles is a gritty, historically grounded series
focused on realism, moral ambiguity, and the brutal realities of medieval
warfare.

Written for readers who value authenticity and atmosphere over romanticised
adventure, the novel explores a largely forgotten crusading frontier,
culminating in the first of many confrontations in a harsh wilderness of
forest and swamp.

Readers who enjoy the historical detail of authors such as Bernard Cornwell,
Conn Iggulden, or Ben Kane may find familiar ground here.

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Spo...]]> Fri, 16 Oct 2026 12:00:13 +0200 https://api.follow.it/track-rss-story-click/v3/b_NPwv2xBJ5pmLAA70A02Uy1G_ajCdhn?utm_source=follow.it https://api.follow.it/track-rss-story-click/v3/b_NPwv2xBJ5I0rA2QJsSJXH544SP64FE?utm_source=follow.it

Date Published: September 7, 202

Freddy is a spirited rescue dog with a big personality and an even bigger
heart. Though he can be stubborn, bossy, and sometimes a bit of a
troublemaker, his playful nature and determination shine through—even as
he faces serious medical challenges, including multiple surgeries.

Through three foster homes and nearly three years of waiting, Freddy’s
journey is filled with ups and downs, laughter and tears, and the unwavering
hope of belonging. His story offers a meaningful look at the realities of
fostering, the patience it requires, and the profound impact of love and care.

This inspiring and emotional story reminds readers that every animal deserves
a chance—and that sometimes the most challenging journeys lead to the
most rewarding endings.

About the Author

Now based in Rhode Island, she shares her home with her husband and their dog,
Nera.

Ms. Donato enjoys word puzzles, black-and-white movies, anything
Beatles-related, being active in her church, practicing the frame drum, and
hosting doggy playdates with Nera.

Her love of animals and deep appreciation for poetry and storytelling come
together in her writing, where she highlights meaningful, real-life
experiences with warmth and authenticity.

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Political Thriller

Date Published: August 13, 2026

Run Time: 10 hours 17 minutes

U.S. Senator Rick Taylor has been warning anyone who’ll listen: the national
debt is no longer a spreadsheet problem-it’s a ticking bomb. But in
Washington, truth is toxic. Colleagues dismiss him, constituents scream about
“cuts to my benefits,” and the media paints him as the villain who wants to
gut Social Security.

Then the blackmail begins.

A shadowy network led by a ruthless operator making huge profits from
unchecked government spending will stop at nothing to silence anyone who
threatens the status quo. After Taylor’s wife is targeted in a terrifying
swatting attack and a sniper’s bullet nearly ends Taylor’s life, the message
is clear. Shut up… or die.

 Jack was introduced to thrillers when Tom Clancy’s The Hunt for Red October
was published. However, for most of his life, he was a reader rather than an
author. During the 2000 Presidential election as he watched TV coverage of the
Florida recount with ‘dimpled chads’ and ‘hanging chads,’ he thought an
election conspiracy would be a great basis for a thriller. It wasn’t until
2020 when he retired from his career, which included management positions in
corporate America and small business ownership as well as a brief stint in
ministry, that he sat down to write Wayward Patriot: Preserving the Vote.

His unique approach to political thrillers rips headlines from the news and
weaves them through a thrilling tale of patriotism, political corruption and
crisis. He says, “when I see some major new issue or technology in the news I
want to learn more about it. I enjoy sharing what I learn with others by
wrapping a story around it that will engage and entertain readers.”

He and his wife, Barbara, have three grown children and seven grandchildren
and divide their time between Colorado Springs and Tucson.

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