Discover Jazz Bang Boom by Will Okati

Title: Jazz Bang Boom

Author: Will Okati

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Sci-Fi

Themes: Alternative Universe, Cyber-Punk, LGBTQ+ Gay, Second Edition

Book Length: Novella

Page Count: 33

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Synopsis

Riot’s attempt to teach his pretty lover to behave himself doesn’t… quite… go as planned.

Jazz loves pretty things and things that go BOOM. Tyger, AKA Riot, is a man on a mission, searching for the bits and pieces that’ll repair his damaged, bio-constructed DNA. It only makes sense for the happily mismatched lovers to turn airship pirates and sneak, snatch or con what they need, right?

Right. One problem. Occasionally Jazz gets a little too fond of explosives, and Tyger gets a tad too focused on his quest. When that happens, they need to vent a little steam. So to speak.

Excerpt

Jazz Bang Boom
Second Edition
Will Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2026 Will Okati

T-minus sixty seconds. Really, it was bad manners to blow up a tea party, but some society dames were just asking for it. Jazz landed in the ornamental rose bushes outside his hostess's parlor window, gathered his heavy silk skirts around his knees, and ran like hell.

Not that he was worried. Jazz knew his explosives like he knew his way around the three-dimensional differential equations of a projected illusory field.

And wine. And perfume. What? Jazz prided himself on having layers.

He ticked off the seconds in his head, listening to an internal countdown. Right about now the aforementioned queens of "polite" society (and those who knew Jazz knew far better than to push a particular argument on behavior becoming to a lady and the mind-boggling double-standards that -- oh, anyway).

Jazz did enjoy traveling to different worlds and sampling the finest wines, velvets, songs and yes, incendiary devices from the thousands of cultures that flourished around the galaxies, but the next time his honey, Riot, wanted to spend time where good manners were forbidden in favor of good times? No thanks.

Where had he been? Oh, right. Crap! Cue the fine ladies screeching, coughing and sneezing, the last of a harmless fog floating out the window he'd helpfully, er, opened by jumping through, and they might have regained enough composure after the flash and bang that went with the smoke to have started complaining and oh, right.

Five, four, three, two --

Jazz managed to free himself of the pannier hoops just in time to dive under the cover of a cluster of almost-certainly-sacred ancient oak trees, before -- BOOM.

If a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing properly. "Proper." See what I did there?

This time, however, the dainty device of detonation had not been hidden in Jazz's decolletage (quite convincing cleavage, if he did say so himself). He'd set the charges long before smiling politely and pretending to enjoy a coin-sized cress sandwich in the ladies' salon.

BOOM.

There, that was the ticket! One for distraction, two to cause confusion to his enemies, e.g. the people in possession of A Thing Jazz Wanted, and a third to blow the ever-living fuck out of irritatingly secure locks that otherwise prevented his honey from wholesale liberation of a few deliciously prized goods.

POOF.

Oops. He'd forgotten the fourth bomb in the salon. Well, that one had been a bit spur of the moment. And a leetle more powerful. Enough to, say, jar loose some ripe pickings of his own, if he were lucky. All he needed to do was circle back around, and --

The discreet two-way comms device concealed in the cunning shape of a rosebud earring spoke to him. "Overkill, Jazz. Overkill."

"Spoilsport," Jazz said, and sneezed. "Let he who has never enjoyed the smell of C4 in the morning cast the first stone in a glass house."

"Excuse me?" The voice on the comms sounded amused. "You're high on adrenaline again, aren't you?"

"Pish, tosh, nonsense, and absolutely, yes. Perhaps that was overkill. Others could say I was in the wrong, but I can't blame me."

"You are a ridiculous man," the speaker said fondly.

"I know." Jazz preened. He sneezed again. "Tch. Plastique is one thing. Debris coated in dust is quite another. What about you, tick-tock man? Did you get what you came here for?"

"Stop calling me that," Riot said, quite clear -- even over the comms -- that he didn't mind in the least, and even had a soft spot in his heart for the nickname. "Yeah, I got what I needed. And then some. Wasn't easy to find and I had to pay a price, but it was worth it."

Jazz enjoyed a ripple's worth of goosebumps. He anticipated all sorts of good things once back on board the Sarah-Jessica-No-Parking. A triumphant Riot made for a feisty Riot with his blood running hot and his body all-systems-go. He employed the same affectionate tone when he replied, "Tell that to the watercress and unspiced kimchi I had to eat to make nice with my hostess."

"The one you just blew up?"

"Unspiced kimchi," Jazz repeated.

"The trials and tragedies you face, darlin'."

"Darn right. This piece of the puzzle you went after -- tell me about it," he coaxed.

"Later. For the moment --"

"Yes, yes. Run and keep running until you swoop in to save the day, and clear out of here before the smoke does?"

"You read my mind," Riot said, very dryly indeed but pleased. Almost purring.

Consider Jazz's curiosity piqued.

"I'm on my way." Such a tragedy, but the skirts had to go. Almost a full bolt of silk! Still, a man had to do what a man had to do, even when he'd tricked himself out in the finest of ladies' clothing.

Probably more so at such times. Hmm. He'd have to think about that more later. In the meantime, business. Beautiful, sparkly, gloriously shiny business! Jazz retrieved the pouches of more easily liftable and valuable trinketry from the panniers and pushed them into his reticule.

"Jazz? When I said run, that wasn't a suggestion."

Oh! Right. "And what'll you be doing while I skedaddle? How will I know if I'm being rescued by the right man?"

"I'll be the one dangling out of an airship with a rope and a half-cocked plan."

"Easily recognizable," Jazz said happily. Wait. "How long a rope? How high do the airships go?" Wouldn't exactly Be Done to whip off the 3-D fooler facade, and on this steampunk aficionado's wet dream of a world the airships he'd seen before had to go quite high indeed --"Riot? How high?"

"High enough I'll make it worth your while to man up and climb. And," Riot purred, "when I say 'worth your while' I mean, 'I plan to punish you, then fuck you three-quarters of the way through the nearest flat surface.'"

"I am so on my way now."

"Fast?"

"Darling, you have no idea." Jazz kicked off his heels. Not the shoes, mind, those gorgeous soft-supple open-calf boots of fawn-soft suede. Just the heels and pattens. "After all, who do you think you're talking to?"

Oh dear. Jazz heard a set of mastiffs on their way. Here I go again. Skirts, knees, running feet, check. Go time.

Fast.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet the Author

Will Okati (formerly known as Willa) has lived through a few Interesting Times, but come out the other side a little grayer, a little wiser, and ready to get writing. Still as passionate about coffee, cats, and crafts as ever, but knowing that to your own self you must be true. Also still one of the quiet ones to watch out for, but life -- like storytelling -- is always a work in progress.

Website | Facebook

Guest Author Day with Kelli A. Wilkins: Confessions of a Vampire's Lover

 

Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover – A Late-Summer Paranormal Love Story

By Kelli A. Wilkins

www.KelliWilkins.com

Hi romance lovers,

To celebrate the summer months, I’ve been posting a “Summer Romance Series” of blogs. Summer may be almost over, but there’s still time to hit the beach. In fact, I wrote a romance that plays upon this “end of season” time of year.

My contemporary paranormal, Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover, is a different type of romance. For starters, the novella is told in the first person from the hero’s point of view. The story also makes use of a setting where you don’t normally find vampires—the beach! 

Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover is a unique end-of-summer romance. The story is told in first person by Brian, the hero. Why? It just came out that way. As I was writing, it felt more believable to have Brian tell the story of how he met and fell in love with a vampire. Readers meet Brian and are swept into the story as it unfolds for him, so they’re more personally involved.

Most romances are told in third person and alternate between the hero and heroine’s points-of view. This story is different in that we don’t hear from Anya (the heroine) at all, other than in dialogue, and we only get to know her through Brian.

The setting also makes it a bit unusual. Most readers don’t think of the beach as a place to find a vampire. When Brian first sees Anya, she is sitting on the beach at night reading a book by moonlight. I wanted to contrast the differences between Brian and Anya from the start. He’s a sun-worshipping surfer who is outside all day, and she’s a nocturnal loner, happy to lose herself in a romance novel when nobody else is around.

The idea for the story came to me as I was sitting on the beach one afternoon in late October. It was cool and windy, and I had on a light jacket and sunglasses. Nobody else was on the beach (except for my surfer husband) and I liked the desolate surroundings.

I started thinking… what if a vampire went to the beach at night to do all the things regular people did during the day? What if the vampire fell in love with a surfer? It would be like night and day. Would he give up his life in the sunlight to be with the woman he loves? That’s the main question of the story, and Brian’s ultimate dilemma.

I liked the idea of contrasting typical sun worshipping beachgoers and surfers with a darkness-loving elusive vampire. Besides, what could be more mismatched than a die-hard surfer falling in love with a nocturnal blood-drinker?

As I was writing, I wanted to capture the essence of what Brian was experiencing when he was with Anya. So I gave the book a surreal, almost Gothic, dreamlike feel. I also knew that a vampire romance could easily become too gory or too realistic when it came to feeding and turn into a horror story.

When I’m writing a paranormal romance, I have to be careful I don’t cross the line from paranormal romance into horror. The “monster” character must retain human traits and remain a sympathetic character the reader can identify with and like.

If your paranormal creature is too scary or the story gets too gory it will turn off romance readers and cross over into the horror genre. I liked creating Anya. And I deliberately kept a lot of her background a mystery. Anya is a gentle, sensitive vampire… up to a point. We do get to see a more violent and assertive part of her vampire nature—but she has a good reason.

Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover is also a very explicit romance. Anya is a sensual woman with needs that must be satisfied, and Brian is all for helping sate her desires. (Believe it or not, some e-book sales channels won’t carry the book because it’s labeled “erotica.)

But this isn’t just an erotic love story; there’s plenty of plot and drama for all romance lovers. It’s a unique blend of vampires, romance, and the beach. Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover makes a great summer read and I’m proud to say it got several excellent reviews. Readers and reviewers like the first-person aspect—it pulls you into a story that would seem unbelievable.

Here’s the summary and link:

Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover

The moment Brian spotted Anya sitting on the moonlit beach, he was hooked. Beautiful, smart, and sexy, Anya was the girl of his dreams. She didn’t mind that he spent the hot summer days riding the ocean waves, because once the sun set, he belonged to her—all night long!

Everything is perfect between them—until Brian discovers Anya’s shocking secret. Can Brian give up the sun, sand, and surf to be with the woman he loves?

Read Brian’s first-hand account of their unusual love story in… Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover.

Read reviews and order your copy of Confessions of a Vampire’s Lover here:

 

https://www.kelliwilkins.com/confessions-of-a-vampire-s-lover

 

I hope you’ll check it out. It’s the perfect blend of steamy beach romance and mystery to end your summer!

Happy Reading,

 

Kelli A. Wilkins

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kelli A. Wilkins is an award-winning author who has published more than 100 short stories, 24 romance novels, and 9 mystery/thriller/horror ebooks. Her romances span many genres and settings, and she likes to scare readers with her horror, mystery, and thriller fiction.

Her latest book, The Route 9 Stalker, was published in January 2026. This mystery/thriller is set in Central NJ and follows Detective Jim Rourke on a disturbing new case. Meet him for the first time in The Route 9 Killer.

Look for a new short story coming in August! Kelli’s story “Neighborhood Watch” will be included in the upcoming Witches Save the World: Covens, Cauldrons and Curses Gone Right anthology.

 

Kelli's 24th romance, For Love’s Sake, an epic historical/fantasy romantic adventure, was published in January 2025.

 

In 2024, she released Surreal Escapes, a collection of 7 speculative/spooky stories. Anything can—and does—happen in this anthology.

Follow Kelli on her Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorKelliWilkins and visit her website/blog www.KelliWilkins.com for a full title list, social media links, and more.

 

Book Tour Stop & Giveaway: A Strange & Terrible Wonder by Nichole Louise

A Strange & Terrible Wonder
Nichole Louise
Publication date: August 18th 2026
Genres: Adult, Historical

Eleanor Dare, daughter of Roanoke’s Governor John White, has no choice but to accompany her overly ambitious husband Ananias and her idealist, yet inexperienced father to England’s new colony. Manteo of Croatoan wants nothing more than to cast off his association with the English and return home. Haunted by memories of an unexplainable event, he sets out to find the truth about what was brought to Roanoke by the English two years before as a weapon against the Spanish.

Based on real people who vanished from history, Eleanor and Manteo form a taboo friendship as they work against unseen forces to end the violent and otherworldly attacks upon the settlement. In the midst of this survival scenario, both Eleanor and Manteo—once powerless and marginalized in England, emerge as unlikely leaders of the ravaged colony.

Blending 16th century science, occult, and the impacts of early colonialism, A Strange and Terrible Wonder reimagines what became of the Lost Colony.

Goodreads / Purchase

—

EXCERPT:

Prologue

“All down the church in midst of fire, the hellish monster flew, and passing onward to the quire, he many people slew.”

– Rev. Abraham Fleming, 1577

August 4, 1577
Bungay, England

At first, the congregants believe the slight rattling is only wind insisting upon the church door. A sudden summer tempest. Rain begins to patter above the nave, the sound not altogether unpleasant—soothing, even. A woman closes her eyes and exhales the stress of the morning as she focuses on the rhythm. Her peace is soon jilted by the growing tempest above, for the rain is now a wonderful force with no less violence than abundance. Her eyes snap open and roll to the vaulted ceiling. The great, forceful torrent empties above in what she imagines as glassy sheets pouring from the eaves. A low grumble of thunder. A child presses close to his mother. The two men kneeling at the altar do not flinch in their prayer; one for an abundant harvest season to pay his debts and another for a wife ailing in childbed.

Lightning flashes in brilliant brightness through the clouded, stretching windows. Silhouettes are carved out of the pews. A gust through the crack beneath the front door snuffs out the altar candles as if the tempest is compelling the congregants to sleep. They are all at once aware of the palpable darkness, so much so that one person cannot perceive another. The only light discerned by the congregants is not from the god hanging above them, but from the intermittent great flashing of fiery bolts.

The roar of the storm is so powerful now that the congregants shift with discomfort. A chill tightens the base of their spines as sweat springs on brows with each fearful heartbeat. The men kneeling in prayer do not relinquish their positions, though they see little, and their knees begin to ache against the flagstones. Instead, they press their eyes and hands tighter and pray now for the light to return. The only answer they receive is a terrible crack of thunder with such force and might that the congregants begin to believe doomsday has come.

The doors are thrown open as if by a blast of gunpowder. Lashing wind explodes down the nave, spraying hot rain onto the necks and backs of the congregants who dare not turn from the cross. The woman who had before held a moment of peace, presuming a gentle patter could not turn tempest, winces at the scalding sensation of boiling water against her bare skin. The church seems to quake and stagger as the scent of glowing iron, not unlike a blacksmith’s shop, permeates the darkened church.

The child clutches tightly to his mother when, amid twin lightning strikes, a great shape dashes down the nave toward the altar. The drops of rainwater on the flagstones sizzle as the thing passes in a hot rush of a blacksmith’s bellows. And with another flash of fire, the child sees it—they all see it: a great black dog with one ember glowing eye running with incredible haste. The woman muffles her scream as others bend beneath the flimsy pews as if a mere board of wood will save them from this devil.

The praying men feel great heat against their backs as if a bonfire has been lit before the altar. A sacrifice. Liquid fear runs down their legs, and still they dare not open their eyes nor pry their rigid hands apart. In another crack of thunder and lightning, the great black dog wrings both men’s necks backward in one clean instant. Its movement is so violent, so swift, that the dead men still kneel in prayer.

The child gasps when the lightning illuminates the whites of dead eyes in the heads bent unnaturally back. He buries his face in his mother’s skirts as her nails dig into his narrow shoulders. The beast turns on the congregation, its low growl indistinguishable from thunder, like a thousand carts moving across cobblestones. It stalks down the aisle, its bellows as hot as the summer sun’s rays. The congregants close their eyes against the darkness, press their slick palms together, and pray for their god to save them in his very house.

The beast chooses a man who dares glance up, for he believes he can slip out the door and escape this hell. Instead, the beast’s shining obsidian claws grip the man’s back in so forceful a manner that it is as if his entire body becomes drawn together and shrunk, as if it were a piece of leather scorched by hot fire. Wordless, he topples over with limbs trailing smoke.

The beast shifts into shadow, and the woman sitting next to the burned but still living man stumbles away from the charred flesh and wheezes for help. The rector, who has finally slid out of the shadows, catches her as she falls from the pew. He prays over her—whispering first, then increasing to test the roar around them. He exhorts the terrified congregants to prayer, and in their extreme distress, do so in darkness. The hot wind and scalding rain lash them, for the tempest has now fully invaded their sanctuary. Some congregants are frozen in terror, save their lips flapping desperate prayers, while others try in vain to crawl for the door.

In a flash, the beast materializes on the main beam above the congregants. Its searing talons set the old oak to smoldering as if coaxing a fire. Its ragged back chars the angel carved into the ceiling. The demon swings down through the church. Three lightning bolts follow the dog jumping from one man to another, then a lad, killing all three instantly. The dog dashes from the crumpled boy, and a deafening crack as if the earth has split in two cleaves the roof, and with it, the steeple. The cascade of stone rumbles down the side of the church, and for one striking moment of terror, a woman cries out that hell has opened to swallow the church whole.

The dog bounds for the next man. He dives away, yet not before his hand is burned by the scalding creature’s touch. In shock, the man lifts his charred hand to the burning sensation where his ear used to be. The creature blasts through the church doors, leaving a trail of scorch marks in the wood. The mischief thus wrought, the beast flies with wonderful force out of the churchyard in a hideous and hellish likeness.

Like a decimated forest in the aftermath of a windstorm, the congregants are left quivering. It’s clear to the man with the burned hand and missing ear that there are forces at work mightier than God, who could not protect his devout followers in His own house. Dazed, the man staggers out of the ruins with his compatriots. He looks to the rapidly clearing sky and resolves to find someone with knowledge of these unseen forces—and how to master them. A conjurer with the influence to pursue the arcane unhindered. What other reason could there be for such hell if not as a path to Providence for England? He will accept no other explanation.

Author Bio:

Nichole Louise is a speculative historical fiction writer and book reviewer (NicholeLouise.com). Raven Rock (2023), a prequel to The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, was recognized by Writer’s Digest, the Historical Fiction Company, and the CIBAs. Her articles and book reviews have appeared in the Journal of the American Revolution. Her second title, A Strange and Terrible Wonder (2026) is a historical folk horror tale exploring the Lost Colony of Roanoke. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading, gaming, and volunteering at Philadelphia Animal Welfare Society.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram

GIVEAWAY!

A Strange & Terrible Wonder Blitz

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Book Tour Stop/Giveaway: The Call to Authorship by Tim W. Lindsay

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Tim W. Lindsay will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tours.

Embrace the call to authorship: 10 steps to leverage the power of a book!

Books help people—they inform, inspire, and engage. Books are also a powerful force for those who write them. Publishing a book builds your authority, sharpens your thinking, and opens doors to media exposure, speaking engagements, partnerships, and more.

Despite the greater accessibility of publishing than ever before, many would-be authors hesitate. They get stuck with self-doubt or believe producing a book is incompatible with a busy life. They may start writing but don't finish. Or they finish but don't publish or market their books.

The truth? With a little dedicated time, consistent effort, and the right guidance, anyone can publish a book that changes lives for the better. And they should.

Put down your phone. Take the leap from consumer to creator!

This step-by-step guide will show you how to:
- Use a one-page tool to clarify your goals, target audience and plan.
- Craft an outline that drives your manuscript forward.
- Overcome mental roadblocks and craft habits to finish your first draft in months, not years—even with a busy schedule.
- Select a publishing model, refine your manuscript, and make informed design and distribution decisions.
- Employ promotional strategies to achieve goals that transcend royalties.

Become more than you are. Have courage. Commit to growth by authoring a book, strengthening your ability to serve. Write with purpose. Publish for impact!

Bonus for book professionals: Special content for book coaches, editors, and ghostwriters—those helping ordinary people become extraordinary authors.

Read an Excerpt

We live in an age of swipes, scrolls and soundbites, where attention is fragmented and surface-level engagement is the norm. In such a world, choosing to sit down and write is bold indeed.

Writing a book is an act of meaning-making. It’s how we wrestle with ideas, make sense of experience, and speak into the noise with words that are considered and enduring. It takes courage to believe that your words matter. It takes character to see them through and shape them into a book.

That journey often begins with a spark. Maybe you’ve been through something, built something, learned something—and now you feel the quiet tug: This should be a book.

But with that tug often comes hesitation: Who am I to write this? Will anyone care? I’ve heard those doubts from countless aspiring authors through my work at Tellwell, where we’ve helped thousands turn that first spark into a finished book. And I’ve watched them write anyway. What followed was often extraordinary.

For Cindy Cherry, that moment came unexpectedly. For years she resisted writing a book about her father, Don Cherry, the outspoken hockey commentator who became a household name in Canada. She feared a memoir about her dad might seem biased, or worse, opportunistic. But everything changed when a Google Alert lit up her phone screen: a news organization was praising the Western Hockey League for cutting ties with Don following what she calls “Poppygate,” and for erasing his name from an organ-donation campaign he had helped champion, raising nearly half a million dollars. This cause was close to Cindy’s heart. As a teenager she had donated one of her kidneys to her younger brother.

She realized that the public narrative was being written in a way that dishonoured the man she knew and loved.

About the Author:

Tim Lindsay founded Tellwell in 2015. Since then, he and his team have guided some 5,000 authors including entrepreneurs, professional speakers, coaches, consultants, experts, course creators, community builders, religious and nonprofit leaders, Indigenous organizations, athletes, influencers, and everyday citizens.

Website: http://www.Tellwellpublishing.com
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/tellwellpublishing/
Tellwell - YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@tellwellpublishing
Amazon: https://amazon.com/dp/1834180422

Enter to win a $10 Amazon/BN gift card.

New Release Spotlight: The Duke's Runaway Omega

Title: The Duke's Runaway Omega

Author: Autumn Montague

Cover Art: Bryan Keller

Genres: Action Adventure, Mystery /Suspense /Intrigue, New Releases, Paranormal, Romance

Themes:Capture Fantasy, Dark Romance, Historical (Dark Ages, Regency, Victorian/Gaslamp & Edwardian), LGBTQ+ Gay, LGBTQ+ Sex & Gender Shifters, MPreg

Series: Fated Mates (#1)

Book Length: Novel

Page Count: 137

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Phillip’s on the run, with not just one but two alphas on his trail.

Raised as an alpha, Phillip’s unexpected manifestation as an omega turns his life upside down. His father demands a handfasting, insisting Phillip be mated to whichever alpha wins the day with their pheromones. But when the triumphant alpha turns out to be his school friend Everett, Phillip realizes they are fated mates. However, as a diminished omega, his chances of bearing Ev’s children are slim. Heartbroken, Phillip flees to London.

Everett never expected to be Duke of Harriford. His title brings a slew of distasteful marriage and handfasting offers. The latest invitation for his old friend Phillip shocks Ev into accepting. Phillip is everything he remembers and more, and Ev soon finds himself responding to the potent scent of Phillip’s pheromones. When his mate runs, Ev questions whether their feelings are true, or merely the bond of alpha and omega. Despite his fears, he’s determined to find Phillip and bring him home.

As Ev searches London, Phillip questions the wisdom of his choices. His plans have begun to unravel rather spectacularly. To start with, he’s pregnant, the one thing he thought he’d never be. Worse, there’s an alpha hunting him -- and it’s not Ev.

Excerpt

The Duke's Runaway Omega (Fated Mates 1)

Autumn Montague

All rights reserved.

Copyright ©2026 Autumn Montague

Yorkshire, 1811

Lord Phillip Tyerman stared through the barred windows of his tower room at the parade of men and women summoned by his father. All of them were well-heeled and every one of them was looking to make a prestigious match with the earl’s eldest son. The earl’s omega son, who was unable to inherit either lands or title. The earl’s useless son, who wasn’t even a full-fledged omega. Just a not-quite-beta whose first presentation had caused no scandal, lured no lusty alphas, and could have been passed off as little more than being in his second puberty. Not even the beta servants of the household had realized anything was amiss. Only his youngest sister had noticed. It had been Philomena, who was now heir to their father’s estate at fifteen, thanks to her unexpected and early manifestation as a dominant alpha. Lovely Phil, whose patrician nose had wrinkled as though a bad odor had just filled the air.

“What a dreadful stink! Have the oranges gone over?”

Phillip could hear it even now, a full year hence, and it still rankled to the point where he’d taken to wearing a strong sandalwood fragrance to avoid smelling like rotted fruit. His father’s shocked look had likewise never left his mind. The forbidding expression on the earl’s face had been bad enough, but Phillip’s subsequent banishment to the tower room from the heir-presumptive suite had cut even deeper. He had been nearly twenty-two at the time, grown tall and strong. He was the spitting image of his father. Everyone, even his omega mother, had assumed he’d manifest soon as an alpha, and his delicate sister as an omega.

The tall and strong young man had become the omega, and the petite, delicate, and winsome girl had become the alpha. God most certainly had a peculiar sense of humor, at least insofar as the Tyerman family was concerned.

With a snort of irritation at the memory, Phillip turned his attention back to the courtyard below, where the last equipage had rolled up to the front steps. The livery on the carriage door proclaimed the occupant to be a member of the Harrifords. Intrigued despite himself, Phillip opened the windowpanes and peered through the bars, hoping for a glimpse of whomever it was that had come from that prestigious family to gawk at the sale of the Tyermans’ awkward omega son. Of course, even if the occupant proved to be Ev Harriford, Phillip fully intended to be well away from this house long before arrangements could be made to pursue a match with any of these honored guests.

He sighed and turned away from the window, leaving it ajar to bring in fresh air to a room that was stuffy even in the dead of winter. He had no fear of his scent drawing unwelcome attention from all those alphas despite being near his heat. His pheromones were practically indiscernible, as even in heat they never carried much beyond his immediate person. The doors to the tower stair were securely locked, and only his mother and his beta valet carried the keys. He felt no qualms about allowing the room to air out while he dressed for this ridiculous charade.

Well, said charade would come to an abrupt and hopefully embarrassing end for his father. Phillip had a small bag packed with the most minimal necessities safely stowed in the bottom of the wardrobe. He’d return to his rooms to “refresh himself” when the alphas retired for brandy and banter, and he’d make his escape then, while his father negotiated with them for Phillip’s eventual marriage to the highest bidder.

The tiniest tremor ran along his spine. It seemed his estrus had chosen to come in a timely manner. At least he would not have to spend several days in isolation waiting for it to arrive so the festivities could begin in earnest. The mere thought of said festivities sent another shiver through him, this one of disgust.

A brisk tap sounded on the door, followed by the sound of keys in the lock and his mother’s quiet entrance. She gave him a mildly disapproving glance upon seeing him still in his ordinary daywear. “You should always lock the inner door, Phillip,” she chided him. “You ought to be in your tails by now. You have a scant half hour before dinner. Your father wishes you to meet the guests tonight prior to the formal ceremony on Saturday.”

“Ceremony!” Phillip winced as the word came out in shocked tones. “What ceremony?! I thought this was the usual idiotic dinner party series so he can twist the arms of his alpha friends and convince one of them to marry me to their offspring --”

“No, dear,” his mother interrupted with false serenity. She smiled at him, the attempt obviously meant to soothe, yet the smile did not reach her eyes. “The earl has decided to make this a formal handfasting ceremony, to ensure the chosen candidate does not hand you the mitten after. So only the most acceptable and honorable suitors were invited. If you don’t find anyone particularly to your liking, the earl will decide who wins the right to bond with you.”

The earl will decide. His mother’s use of his father’s title told Phillip that Lady Winifred Tyerman did not support this extraordinary decision. It also told Phillip that his father had chosen not to leave the critical matter of his awkward son to chance or romantic feelings. His thrice-damned sire would pick the person who would control Phillip for the rest of his life. Then the true significance of his mother’s words penetrated the fog engendered by the word “ceremony.”

“A handfasting? What on earth are you on about?” Phillip cursed himself for the shake in his voice.

Handfasting was an ancient custom, very much out of use, as it used a bonding bite to ensure the omega couldn’t flee with another alpha or beta. But to do so in this day? The handfasting ceremony included a public bite, binding the omega to the alpha forever, socially and physically, even if the alpha chose to marry someone else. While the ceremony wasn’t precisely outlawed, it was frowned upon as outré and generally reserved only for omegas of wealthy families perilously close to the end of their breeding years.

And this was to be his fate? He’d be damned first.

Purchase at Changeling Press

Meet 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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Book Spotlight Tour Stop: This Never Happened

 

Title: This Never Happened

Author: Kent Heckenlively

Publisher: Manhattan Book Group

Publication Date: June 23, 2026

Pages: 403

Genre: Romance/Political Thriller

Formats: Paperback

Watch the Book Trailer at https://f.io/rLzZemf1.

Heidi Scherzinger is just a typical working girl in Chicago in 1972. Well, maybe not so typical. In fact, she's running Chicago's most successful independent call girl outfit when she's summoned to meet with Sonny Battaglia, the country's most powerful Mob boss.

The other local call girl agencies are complaining about her success, so Sonny offers her a deal: either she gets whacked, or she relocates to Washington, D.C., where she'll be working for the "Agency" under the control of the creepy Sidney Gottshalk, the resident blackmail specialist.

The Agency wants blackmail material on all the horny Democrats flooding the Capitol in the run-up to the presidential election, trying to defeat President Nicholas Dixon as he runs for a second term.

The always efficient Heidi quickly sets up a first-class operation, aided by the quietly competent Milton Greenbaum. What follows is a Florence Gump-style adventure through a 1970s Washington, D.C., that might be just a little different than the version you read about in your history books.

This Never Happened: A Call Girl in D.C. is available at Amazon.

BOOK EXCERPT

My Life Now – November 21, 2024

Most of those who’d want to kill me for telling this story are either dead or living in a nursing home.

I’m not dead, I’m not in a nursing home, but I am living in a “senior community.”

I’m the kind of woman you’ll often see is such a setting, teaching a morning and afternoon Pilates class, then checking out a lecture or play in the evening with her friends. I dress immaculately, my hair and makeup are always perfect, people often wonder if I’m in my mid-fifties or early sixties, (seventy-six, thank you very much) and truth be told, often getting propositioned by the Viagra crowd of men convinced they’ve still got it.

The truth is I’ve always loved sex and I’m pretty good at getting men and women to fall in love with me. But I’ve also mastered the art of convincing a person I’m fascinated by them, while at the same time remaining just out of reach. They know I’ll come and play for a few hours, especially if the money and conversation is good.

And there’s nobody better than me, man or woman, at listening to what the powerful are really saying while they’re trying to get me into bed, or do the commitment thing (no, thank you). That’s why I was on the payroll of the Agency for such a long time, although, truth be told, most of them are a bunch of psychotic morons.

You might call me a prostitute, call girl, hooker, or even a whore if you’re feeling particularly righteous, but I prefer the term courtesan.

Everything in life can be done poorly, or with style.

For example, President John Francis Fitzgerald did everything with a certain devil-may-care nonchalance, from bedding beautiful actresses to getting himself shot in Texas.

By contrast, President Nicholas Milhous Dixon could find the grey cloud on the

sunniest of days, and that partially explains how he went from winning the biggest landslide in American history to resigning in disgrace a year and a half later.

I say only partially, because there’s the part I played, that nobody’s ever really understood. You see, I’m the woman who’s been whispered about for years, the main player in the story you thought you knew, protected by forces more powerful than you can imagine.

But was it really my fault?

Maybe after fifty years it’s time to finally tell the story.

I’ll let you be the judge of whether I’m a hero or a villain.

– Excerpted from This Never Happened by Kent Heckenlively, Manhattan Book Group, 2026. Reprinted with permission.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kent Heckenlively is an attorney, science teacher, and two-time New York Times bestselling author. He is best known as coauthor of the Plague series - Plague, Plague of Corruption & Ending Plague) with Dr. Judy Mikovits and Dr. Francis Ruscetti, winner of the Distinguished Service Medal from the National Institutes of Health. His book, Plague of Corruption reached #2 on the New York Times Bestseller list in June of 2020, has sold more than 200,000 copies to date, and is being turned into a documentary narrated by Liam Neeson. Kent has published numerous non-fiction books, focusing on the tech sector, controversies in medicine, and media bias.

His most recent two books,Twilight of the Shadow Government and Catastrophic Disclosure, focus on government corruption.

This Never Happened is his third novel and reflects his belief that we all need a fun book for the summer. With more than 15,000 Amazon reviews, a 4.7 average ranking out of 5.0 stars, more than 750,000 of his books in print, critical praise from Kirkus Reviews, including a highly coveted, “Kirkus preferred review” for his book on interferon, as well as his books being translated into ten languages, Kent is quickly becoming a powerhouse in the literary world.

Visit his website at www.kentheckenlivelybooks.com.

Connect with him on X at https://x.com/KentHecken.

 

Book Blast & Giveaway: Heidenröslein: The Little Rose on the Heath

 This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Christopher Whittaker will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Two men. Two worlds.

One war that will remake them both.

Peter Schiller, a disciplined officer from privilege, is trained to lead—but not for what war truly demands.

Günther Klein, a working-class recruit, is thrown into the trenches and forced to learn fast or die.

In the mud and ruin of the Great War, rank and class begin to dissolve. Orders blur into instinct. Honour bends under necessity. What remains is survival—and the thin, unspoken bond forged between two men who should never have met.

But war does not end when the guns fall silent.

Heidenröslein is a powerful, unflinching story of war, brotherhood, and the quiet, irreversible cost of becoming what the battlefield demands.

Amazon: https://amazon.com/dp/183454193X

Read an Excerpt

The von Schiller estate sat upon a gentle rise overlooking the town, separated from the noise and smoke of industry by iron gates, trimmed hedges, and the unspoken certainty that families like theirs did not belong amongst ordinary life.

The house itself was not ancient enough to be called ancestral in the medieval sense, yet age clung to it all the same. Three stories of pale stone and dark timber stood behind carefully shaped gardens, its tall windows reflecting the morning light like polished glass. Ivy crept deliberately across portions of the outer walls, restrained rather than wild, allowed to grow only where it improved the appearance of age and permanence.

Nothing about the home was accidental.

Even the gravel upon the drive had been chosen for the sound it made beneath carriage wheels.

The front doors opened into a grand receiving hall floored in black-and-white marble tiles imported decades earlier from Italy. The ceilings rose high overhead, crossed with dark wooden beams stained almost black with polish and age. Portraits of Von Schillers long dead stared down from the walls in oils darkened by time—military officers, industrialists, stiff-backed women in lace collars and jewels.

Men who had built.

Men who had commanded.

Men who had expected obedience from the world and usually received it.

The air carried faint scents of furniture wax, old paper, polished silver, and the lingering aroma of Ernst von Schiller’s pipe tobacco.

About the Author: 

Chris lives in Perth, Western Australia with his wife Dianne.

Enter to win a $10 Amazon/BN gift card.