Controlled

Meet Harm Germaine from CONTROLLED, part of the Shepherd’s Watch box set which can be found at the following outlets… Ooh, ooh, it’s ON SALE at Changeling!

Changeling Press: https://tinyurl.com/ybjrltck

Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y8q9mfsv;   B&N: https://tinyurl.com/yc6fpg6r

Kobo: https://tinyurl.com/y9cbb5bg;  Ibooks: https://tinyurl.com/yaxkckrz

CONTROLLED

Harm Germaine is an alpha in training who embraces his ability to be man or dog. Meeting his mate,

who happens to be human, gives him second thoughts about what he is and finding a way to tell her causes the always-in-control alpha to lose control.

Elle Naylor’s caught his scent and can’t get it or Harm out of her mind. Strong and stubborn, Elle knows she’s found the one man who can make her life complete.

1st COMMENT, I'll have Changeling send you a PDF of Shepherd's Watch.
2nd COMMENT, a PDF of Can't Touch This with Fia's Wolf.

A stray shepherd, a series of accidental mishaps, and Harm becomes sure of one thing: Elle loves dogs!

But will she love him when she finds out that’s exactly what he is?

Interracial Romance

I have the original cover!

Excerpt:

Hell wouldn’t have seemed like a bad proposition to the asshole lying in the stagnant, garbage-strewn water had he known he was dealing with monsters.

“Oh, God, please!” Boots scraped asphalt in the alley as the jerk tried to scoot away.

“Aww, hell no.” Looming over six feet tall, Court grabbed the miscreant’s shirt collar and shoved his face into the slimy puddle beside the dumpster. Straddling the bloodied man, he asked, “You did not just take the Lord’s name in vain?”

“Let him go, man.” Not only was Harm late checking in with a very important client, he was tired, hungry and cold. Changing, covering his body in fur, would solve the latter, but it was too late. Why did they have to run into this son of a bitch manhandling his girlfriend? The woman silently huddled in the dimly lit corner of their apartment building. A few minutes earlier, a few later, this sordid situation would have gone unnoticed. “He’s a coward. I don’t think he’ll come back around here.” Harm strode over, took hold of the man and snatched him to his feet. “Am I right?”

“You can have the bitch, please, just let me go.”

“Jackass, you said one word too many.” Harm drew back and cold-cocked the bastard. Lifting him high, he told Court, “Open the dumpster. He can go out with tomorrow’s trash.” The unconscious body bumped loudly on the bottom where he’d be found in the morning by sanitation workers.

“Hey, stop, don’t put him in there!”

Turning in unison, the brothers gaped. Court spoke up. “Lady, your boyfriend was getting ready to seriously kick your ass.”

Belongings from her purse lay scattered on the pavement. Watching her stoop down to collect them, Harm’s head tilted quizzically. “Are you kidding?” She couldn’t possibly be upset at how they handled the creep.

“First off, he’s not my boyfriend. The dirty rotten sucker stole my wallet with my credit cards and money. It’s in his back pocket.” Straightening, she glared angrily in the direction of the trash container. “You arrived in time to prevent anything else.”

“Glad we could help.” Harm twisted toward Court. “Get the wallet.”

“You think I’m climbing into that stink hole?” Court’s hands dusted his still immaculate jacket, brushed at his pants and pinched the razor-sharp crease. “Brother, you’ve lost your goddamn mind.”

“Jesus Christ, get the wallet.”

“I’m not getting in there, Harm. No way.”

“Oh hell, both of you shut the fuck up.” Short legs ate up the distance from the wall to the dumpster. “And you’re both blasphemous idiots. Talk about taking the Lord’s name in vain. I’ll get it myself.”

Before Harm could move, she’d grabbed the container’s lip and hiked a luscious, petite body over the edge. His jaw dropped and he glared at Court. “She just jumped in the trash.”

“Good, because I wasn’t going in there.”

They spun toward the dumpster when they heard a loud smack. “Take my fucking wallet?” Another crack. “I’ll teach your sorry ass some manners.”

Court chuckled. “Damn, she’s vicious. He’s lucky we came along.”

Harm stood rooted to the spot in disbelief. He liked this spitfire. His shepherd was on the prowl, pawing and panting. He liked her too! Sniffing loudly, he picked her scent from the stench wafting through the air. Sweet.

Thinking about getting to know her better caused his cock to swell and jerk in his pants. Slender fingers appeared on the edge and Harm took hold to help hoist the woman over the side. Feet had barely touched the ground before she pulled one hand free and pushed a wave of dark hair back. Lifting Harm’s other hand to her nose, she sniffed loudly. Fuck. Something a dog would do and the action yanked his cock to full attention.

“His balls will hurt for a week.” Hearty male laughter bounced from walls of the alley, putting a smug smile on her pretty face. “I was ready to kick his nuts to hell and back when you turned the corner.” Purse in hand, she walked away and glanced over her shoulder. It was as if Court didn’t exist when her eyes nailed Harm to the spot he stood in. “It’s good to know chivalry’s not dead.” She disappeared around the corner.

“What the fuck was that?” Court continued to laugh. “I believe she would have taken him out.”

Harm wanted to chase after her but his feet wouldn’t move. Watching her plump little ass twitch away stirred something raw and natural in his gut, causing his shepherd to react by immobilizing Harm in his path.

“Well, I’ll be a son of a bitch.” Court’s head fell back and he roared, laughing until he choked. “Your dog got you by the balls.”

“Go to hell.” Her scent dissipated and Harm’s shepherd released him. Swiping his knees futilely in an attempt to remove a smudge of dirt, he glared at his brother. “Shut up before I bite you in the nuts.” Looking back toward the main street, he sniffed the air again. “Very, very sweet.” Harm needed to check in with a client and was already late. He didn’t want the customer contacting the office and complaining. Max had left him in charge. “Last thing I need is Ren and Wade sniping at my ass for not handling business.”

The Alsatians could be real sons of bitches. Well aware Harm would one day be alpha of their pack, they continued to treat him as if he was a pup in training. Max occasionally acted as a buffer but he’d gone with Harm’s sister, Victoria, on a working honeymoon somewhere in Africa with hopes of turning up information on the Germaine family as well as the shepherds.

“You ordering or asking?” Court stared at him.

“I’m asking, my brother.”

“Right answer. But I’m not leaving my clothes in this stink hole.” Court’s chest swelled with air. “Won’t be hard to pick up her scent.” His brother undressed and folded each item meticulously over Harm’s arm. Glancing sideways, he asked, “When are you going to kick those fucker’s asses? Men can afford to be diplomatic, Harm, but we’re animals.”

His mother suffered through hours of labor to give birth to Victoria as a woman. Afterward, no longer able to stand the pain, she changed into a shepherd and whelped Harm and Court. Though most of his life had been spent locked inside his animal, Harm didn’t think of himself as genetically fucked up. Hell, he embraced the ability to morph at a moment’s notice from dog to man, or vice versa. The Austrian monk who had experimented with mixing his DNA with an animal’s created something wonderful in his estimation. Not only did they live longer, they were stronger, wiser, in either body. As far as Harm was concerned, both worlds had distinctly wonderful advantages.

Growl and roar-it's okay to let the beast out. - J. Hali Steele

WIP Wednesday

Meet Deacon...

                  SUBSIDE

The only one of his kind, Deacon recalls thousands of years existing yet he has no memory of why. He can’t profess to living in seclusion because he greedily pursues pleasure in arms of so many men, he never lacks companionship. All those arms, lips, and asses, none feed his true desire. Deacon yearns for someone to make in his own image by introducing them to a hunger so vile, they will detest him forever.

Father Merck Hallowell stands at a crossroad of conscience and faith. His convictions, no longer satisfying, leave him searching for reasons to persevere. Befriending a handsome but strange parishioner opens a doorway Merck longs to enter and explore. Discovering Deacon’s secret, he realizes not only his life hangs in balance—so does his soul!

Excerpt:

Shadows caused by clouds scuttling across the moon played over stained glass presenting faces of heavenly creatures which magically came to life as silhouettes waxed and waned.

Deacon wasn’t there to observe this—he came for Merck Hallowell.

Having watched the holy man circumvent alleyways and side streets nightly in an effort to recapture something he’d lost and would never find again, Deacon decided, by sharing his affliction, Merck was the only person capable of subsisting with him.

Deacon sustained his life on the blood of others and, frankly, he didn’t care anymore if they lived or died though, that decision was usually made in the process of draining them of their most prized possession.

Some deserved to die instantly but he made them suffer more by showing a kaleidoscope of deviousness they’d lived with but hid deep in scarred psyches. He let them see a thousand-year-old visage of bone with peeling gray, shriveled skin. Those not so bad, he left to bleed out on their own or, if they were lucky, some derelict would happen along and save them.

He’d viewed that scenario often where the person finding them rolled the individual taking everything of value including their shoes. Enduring on these mean streets was hard. Before absconding with everything scavenged, they’d call out loud enough to attract attention to the dying before scurrying away in the dark to gloat over new prizes.

Many more were nothing but sustenance and they remained none the wiser as not even a tell-tale mark indicated why they felt slightly fatigued. Perhaps this group didn’t deserve to know Deacon at all but they did. Recently, no feeling other than being satiated before they were drained saved their lives.

These reminded him of a verse he’d read, reread, and memorized wishing to find something he, himself, lost millennia ago—Deacons must be dignified, not double-tongued, not addicted to wine nor greedy for dishonest gain. They will hold the mystery of faith with a clear conscience. Let them also be tested first then let them serve as deacons if they prove themselves blameless.

The rest of the verse didn’t mean much as Deacon never appreciated lying with women so he’d surely never be the husband of one wife nor did he wish to bring children into his world. Neither did he recollect serving anyone well but himself.

Deacon desired remembering why he was at all, why he’d lost his graciousness and faith.

Could one as lost as the priest help him find what went missing?

Still not too late in the evening, Father Hallowell, whom Deacon had observed for enough months to know his schedule inside out, would be in residence.

Having enjoyed a leisurely meal of rare prime rib at a swanky restaurant not far away, Deacon waited outside the cathedral to see the moon begin its slide into the sky, to watch cloud play on glass and illuminate the cross stretching skyward.

He entered the church and moved quietly down the aisle to take a seat in the row second from the front. Big mistake. The woman in the first pew, who still believed in covering her head in God’s presence, left her neck bare where a frantic pulse beaconed him as if a bright light flashed off and on beneath her skin with each beat of her heart.

The door beside a thick pillar squeaked open and voices preceded Father Hallowell and another, much older, priest. Deacon spotted the elder man arrive two days ago, knew he’d be in residence for at least four days as he helped out until a new priest could be assigned to the parish.

I should have taken your blood. Had he ingested a tiny bit, he’d know more about Merck and what machinations went on in his mind even though the mystery intrigued him. What he was able to glean came from a slight brush of hands between both men at a nearby market.

That momentous day sealed Father Merck Hallowell’s fate.

Had he been a pure holy man, Deacon would not have given him a moment’s thought.

The men were unaware he could hear every word they whispered.

“We all have crises of faith, Merck. It is expected especially in a parish such as yours.”

“You mean one without enough funds to carry out needed programs?”

“You can’t save them all.”

“Why? They sit in wealth at many surrounding parishes. Can they not share their abundance?”

The older man stopped to scrutinize Merck. “You feel the more you save the more it will appease your own soul.” Twisting away, he continued. “Faith should be something we carry daily and not be measured by how many we rescue from their quagmire of…”

“Of hunger? Of too little housing and not nearly enough public services to assist them? Rescuing them from knowledge they’ll be poor and destitute until the day they die?”

“We pray for their souls. You also have sisters helping with your shelter which provides housing and meals for the more unfortunate.”

Merck no longer attempted to modify his voice. “Jesus Christ, you speak of no more than twenty when there are hundreds who go hungry with no roof over their head daily!”

“Father Hallowell!”

“Rest well, I must see to confession.”

“Are you not going to change?”

“No, I’m not.” A labored sigh rattled from his throat. “See yourself out in the morning as I’ll be tired from scouring streets tonight in hopes of bringing in those who suffer most.” Hands jammed in his pockets, Merck watched the man walk away.

Turning, he touched his throat, made sure his stiff collar remained straight in his black dress shirt. When he faced pews, Deacon noticed something about the man he’d not paid attention to before. Sans vestments he wore every Sunday and for midweek service, not wearing the wool jacket he donned at night, Merck’s body appeared athletically fit in a pair of well-worn black jeans. All those nights walking.

Dark lashes fluttered up and down over light brown eyes which didn’t seem to take note of three parishioners, including the woman in front of Deacon, walk out. Merck ran a hand through waves of chocolate brown hair before he stroked it over a day’s growth covering cheeks and chin giving accent to a thin mustache he always wore.

Shit! Broodingly beautiful.

Left alone with Father Hallowell, Deacon stood, brushed down the front of his black pinstriped jacket, he straightened his fashionable tie, and pinched razor-sharp creases in perfectly fitting trousers. He left the pew and headed to the confessional.

Tonight, Deacon planned to open Father Hallowell’s eyes.

Life is complicated, it’s loud, death arrives silently. – J. Hali Steele (from Twice the Burn)

Locker's Fall

I missed Caturday! Enjoy...

LOCKER'S FALL

Loneliness is a great equalizer.

Locker can masquerade as anything including animals on land and, his favorite place, the ocean. His residence beneath a mountain protected by a waterfall has been home for a few years. Unable to leave, he controls the local pride of lion shifters with fear. Then he finds her—a mythical white lioness.

Lonely and harassed by her pride, Silk seeks solace at forbidden Locker Falls. Coerced to the dangerous waters, she’s swallowed by a whirlpool and carried into the arms of a creature so old, he’s seen the dawn of time. Lock uses magic to read her mind, will he use it to steal her heart?

Sharing one lifetime will not be enough.

Excerpt:

Coming to in a cool, dark cave, Silk sat up on a soft covering separating her from dirt. She scented the fur used to belong to a bear. Remaining in her skin because she wanted to keep her fur, Silk allowed her cat’s eyes to check the space. Air wheezed from her throat after hearing fingers snap and a torch blare to life in a corner behind a… A man! He stood between her and light making it difficult to see who lit it or exactly what…

“The bear was killed by one of your kind before I relieved him of his fur.”

Oh, Christ, he read my mind! “Did you harm them?”

“Those who killed the bear?” He reached and removed the torch from its holder. “I would have if they had ended his life for sport.” Silk watched broad shoulders shrug. “I understand both of your hungers.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Why would I do that, Silk?” He brought the torch in front of himself.

For the love of God! A man so beautiful, her heart skipped a beat. Black hair hung in waves around his shoulders and the same color dusted his jaw. Ocean blue eyes glinted beneath the torch’s light as drops of water dripped over an abdomen rife with muscle. Nothing more than a strip of material covered his loins. Long, long legs held thick, taut thighs and calves that appeared very useful for swimming. “Why am I here?”

“Would you prefer to have drowned in my pool?”

“Your pool?” Anger toward the selfish being took root in her chest. “That river runs through my pride’s compound.”

“So?”

“Excuse me? Wait, since you know my name, shouldn’t I know yours?”

“Let me explain. Your kind have a whole river to mess about in.” He stepped closer and his scent circled her head clouding it with confusion. The man smelled of fresh, clean water as if…as if it had just rained. “I’m Locker.”

“You stay right there, Locker.” Explained why cats came to saying that word. How in hell would she keep this being from her mind?

“I’ve returned your people to shore more often than I care to and I assumed all learned a lesson.” Soft laughter echoed around her. “You did not as you’ve been here before.”

Silk noticed him raise his head slightly and snuffle air. “Does that mean you aren’t going to return me?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“You…you… You’re a bastard.” Silk stood and let fur cover her body. As her lion, she’d be larger, stronger and possibly more capable of fighting this monster. When her big paws slammed to the cave floor with a thud, she knew she had Locker’s attention except Silk wasn’t sure it was the kind of awareness she sought.

His aroma grew stronger before he said, “I think I’ll keep you… For a while.”

Growl and roar-it's okay to let the beast out. - J. Hali Steele