Date Published: September 18, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

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

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

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

Copyright ©2026 Marteeka Karland

Juniper

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Author on Instagram & TikTok: @marteekakarland

Author on Facebook

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

Save 15% off any order at ChangelingPress.com with code RABT15

Children’s Book

Date Published: September 14, 2026

With her beautiful deep-blue fur, bright eyes, and sweet fluffy face, Dea is
impossible to forget. But this curious little puppy has one special talent:
finding trouble wherever she goes!

Luckily, Dea has Rocky by her side. Together, they discover that being brave
doesn’t mean never feeling scared. Sometimes, true courage means slowing down,
being careful, and listening to those who love you.

But Dea’s adventures are only beginning…

Beyond the garden are new friends, mysterious places, and unexpected
surprises. And somewhere out there, a mysterious fox is watching.

Who is she? What does she want? And where will Dea’s curiosity take her next?

Dea will be back… so hold on tight! Her next adventure could be even more
exciting!

 Daniela Hristova arrived in the UK with an English vocabulary consisting of
little more than “teabag” and a background as a multi-media journalist,
actress, and singer who had spent years working in television, radio,
newspaper, and stage in her home country. With a diverse professional journey
that later ranged from wielding a mop to building a career in leadership and
court security, she has navigated life’s twists with a steady faith, a sharp
eye, and a wonderfully dry sense of humor. Channeling her unique experiences
and cultural blunders into the written word, she has penned a witty tribute to
the resilience it takes to start over. When she isn’t writing or tackling new
adventures, she enjoys spending time with her family and her dog, Dea. Fluent
in Faux Pas is her debut memoir.

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Fantasy

Date Published: September 14, 2026

A year after defeating the evil wizard army, the elves of Edira prosper, yet
Luma, the Daughter of Starlight, senses something is amiss. Shadows move where
light should reign, and ominous whispers fill her mind, hinting that this
hard-won peace may be more fragile than anyone realizes.

Soon, attacks by a vicious darkness confirm her fears, and Edira is not the
only world under threat. Malicath, home of the wizards, faces the same
darkness, which drains and corrupts magic, including Luma’s own powerful
starlight.

Faced with a shared enemy, Luma and the elves form a tenuous alliance with the
wizards. Together, they search for the Unseen Star, an ancient magical relic
capable of restoring balance to both their worlds. But as the darkness grows
stronger and time runs out, Luma realizes that all magic demands a
price—and this one may be more than she can pay.

Return to the magical world of Edira in this sequel to the multi-award-winning
fantasy, Daughter of Starlight.

About the Author

Molly is passionate about crafting meaningful moments and heartfelt narratives
in fantasy-adventure stories brimming with magic and mystery. An unapologetic
language nerd, she earned a degree in English and Communication, laying a
strong foundation for her writing career. Not stopping there, Molly pursued a
second degree in American Sign Language (ASL) Interpreting. As an avid runner,
Molly often gets her best story ideas while running and remains outraged that
those ideas do not then present themselves, fully formed, on the page. When
she’s not running, writing, or interpreting, Molly can often be found
taking an excessive number of photos of her dog, Bungee, and her two cats,
Rose and Clover. Molly lives in the beautiful St. Croix River Valley of
Minnesota with her husband and two sons, who bring her joy every day.

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LGBTQ+ Regency Vampire Romance

Date Published: September 11, 2026

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

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

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

EXCERPT

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you ready, Holland?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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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