A Life Through Books

A Story of Political Peril

Date Published: 09-10-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

The Vote is a political thriller built around a conspiracy among powerful political actors, billionaires, and party operatives who seek to manipulate the constitutional amendment process in order to permanently reshape the structure of American government. The mechanics of American politics, particularly the Article V constitutional amendment process, is the framework that informs the central premise of the novel. The current political landscape of the country lends credibility to the story and gives the narrative an interesting and timely foundation.

The manuscript opens with a series of interconnected storylines involving political figures, wealthy conspirators, and emerging state-level candidates. These threads gradually reveal a coordinated effort to gain control of state legislatures and Congress as part of a broader plan to fundamentally alter the country’s political system. The concept itself is ambitious and grounded in recognizable political realities.

Excerpt

Rudolph Conover fumed as the jet he’d sent to convey Aldon Powers to the Conover compound in Southern Illinois sat idling somewhere in Texas. No sign of Powers. No explanation. No apology. The plane should have left hours ago.

For Conover, meetings such as today’s were a carefully choreographed dance, designed to shape an opponent’s mental disposition and ultimately their amenability to whatever it was he wanted from them. Everyone was an opponent in Conover’s world and everything was meant to intimidate, from the jet’s amenities to the obsessive focus on secrecy to the quirkiness of his compound. When dealing with men like Powers, it was his way of reminding them of his preeminence in the hierarchy of billionaires. On rare occasions when someone dared to play by their own rules, he did not take it well. Today was one of those occasions.

Conover’s wife, Marcia, slipped into the war room where he sat. The meeting was scheduled to begin shortly. “Any communication from Powers?” he asked, irritated.

She shook her head.

“How can he be so disrespectful?”

She put her hand on his shoulder, “You have every right to be upset. I’ll go see if there is any news.”

Conover knew Powers was difficult and unpredictable but it was impossible not to respect him. A modern-day Edison, he was a daring visionary and the most technologically disruptive man in a century. His companies had mastered space, the Earth’s outer crust, and the ocean’s depths. The man had become so indispensable that some feared him as a veritable government unto himself, unfettered by borders and the normal rules of behavior. Everybody needed something from him that only he could give. Conover wanted to be a warlord. Powers wanted to be God.

About the Author

In 1981, he founded Daavlin, a medical technology company that eventually grew into a prominent player in the field of dermatology. As part of his career, he stepped foot on every continent and dipped his toes in every ocean on earth. Reading, writing, traveling, acting, and directing live theater are his favored pastimes.

He’s also a lifetime political junkie. As this book goes to press, Swanson is a candidate for the Ohio House of Representatives.

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An Inspiring Journey into our Better Natures

Date Published: 10-01-2025

Publisher: Greenleaf Book Group Press

Ten-year-old Luz sets out on an overnight camping trip, accompanied by her spiritual mentor. Peering through a canopy of California redwoods, Luz witnesses a council of animals confronting the menace of climate change. Led by a lustrous—and talkative—American Crow named Koro, the animals weigh their options. Some, like Koro, want to collaborate with humans. Others doubt humanity’s good intentions. The conversation compels young Luz, innately in tune with the natural world, to fight passionately in its defense.

At once a work of fact-based activism and a moving coming-of-age, Crows Calling immerses the reader in a richly-drawn family and community who, despite their differences, decide to dedicate their lives to the care of Grandmother Earth. They are not alone. Rather, they are accompanied by a colorful cast of savvy planimals—bears, coyotes, trees, and even chickens—with long memories and ancient ways of healing. However, some damage cannot be undone. Natural disasters, public apathy, and greed threaten everything that Luz and her friends are working for. Can the cross-species alliance find unity and resolve the climate crisis?

Excerpt

Before we go any further, I really should introduce myself. I am Koro—a lustrous female American Crow. Surely, when strolling in woods or along an urban lane, you have admired my family’s elegant, iridescent plumage and thrilled to our melodious song. You know of our prodigious memory, of our cleverness spearing hapless grubs from sodden logs with a favored twig.

The glint you see in my ebony eye is a tear shining for my grandmother—the earthly incarnation of generosity, whose bounteous lands and waters make room for every new arrival. Of late, however, one family—relative newcomers—has been pushing her limits, leaving their garbage everywhere and abusing the other guests. They run their noisy engines at all hours. Noxious smoke belches from their cooking fires. Every day, more and more of them come, crowding into other families’ spaces, destroying the homes of many of my friends.

Recognizing our Crow persistence, Grandmother Earth called us to help her get those inconsiderate tenants to clean up their act. Peering into the chasm of the coming Meltdown, I am proud to be on precious Grandmother’s team. My cawcus is responsible for majestic Northern California. The land we cover is a patchwork sprawl of asphalt and forest, garlic and strawberries, oranges and avocados, cattle and sheep raised sustainably and otherwise, bears guttering in their occult tongue, sweet jasmine brandishing her shameless perfume, and sixteen million busy humans.

Through wildfires, drought, floods, extreme heat, even earthquakes, Grandmother is pleading directly with humans. Some hear her message. Take Makah Andrews, professor of International Environmental Policy at Monterey University. Makah’s one of the good ones, trying to use the system to turn itself around. That’s the aim of “Team Grandmother”—a successful turnaround.

What’s that I hear? Ah, please allow me to introduce my most trusted teammate, Ursula, a beautiful California Black Bear who lives around here. Ursula, tell the folks what we’ve been hearing from other nonhuman parts of the natural world, from other planimals, as we call ourselves. Our fellow creatures are getting nervous. Some are angry. That’s why we’re organizing a Congress. …

A leading player on global peace and security issues at the intersection of governments, business and civil society for over thirty years, McConnell is the former President and CEO of the EastWest Institute. He serves on the board of The Stimson Center, in support of peace, security, justice, and prosperity for all living beings.

From 2009 to 2013, McConnell served in the U.S. Department of Homeland Security, where he was Deputy Under Secretary for Cybersecurity. He was a member of the Obama-Biden Presidential Transition Team. From 2000-2008, he created, built and sold two consultancies that provided strategic advice to clients in the technology, business and government sectors. In 1999-2000, McConnell led the International Y2K Cooperation Center, which was sponsored by the United Nations and the World Bank.

McConnell holds a Master of Public Administration from the Evans School for Public Policy at the University of Washington and a Bachelor of Sciences from Stanford University. He serves as a business advisor to various technology companies.

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Gay Paranormal Romance

Date Published: August 21, 2026

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

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

EXCERPT

Excerpt from Tail of Two Brothers

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Damn, I love my job."

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

"Hello?" a male voice responded.

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

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

"Thanks."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Date Published: September 2026

Publisher: Serapis Bey Publishing

TRANSFORM YOUR LIFE WITH THE WAY YOU SPEAK

As human beings, we have a deep need for social connection, yet our primitive fight-or-flight response can be a major barrier to achieving it, leading to misunderstanding, conflict and disconnection.

Fortunately, there is a solution.

The Human Language delivers a compelling message. By replacing our habitual, learned patterns of communication we can experience greater understanding, empathy and connection in our relationships, transforming our lives.

Through easy-to-follow chapters, this book introduces The MECAnism, to calm your instinctive reactions, gain emotional clarity and develop psychological safety. It gives you the practical tools and techniques to listen, speak and act in your daily life with compassion, for yourself and others, enabling you to meet your needs with confidence.

Pam Bryant, Oxford, UK

"Penny uses just enough science to help the reader understand why they behave the way they do while focusing on simple techniques to get to the heart of change.

The Human Language should be required reading for anybody who has to work or live with other people, which is most of us."

Diana D'Ascoli, Philadelphia, US

Excerpt

We all have the ability to re-engineer our relationships, and trade self-defence, blame and inauthenticity for understanding, compassion and trust, leading us to a greater sense of inner peace. We just need to find the right way to communicate.

The Human Language provides just the solution. Through practical tools and techniques, its MECAnism framework empowers you to foster a healthier mindset, to listen empathically, speak authentically and ask for what you truly need, turning conflict into understanding and connection.

In doing so, we not only bring about personal improvements in productivity, relationships and self-worth but also create a world where seeking understanding becomes the default approach.

About the Author

 Penny Newton-Hurley is the founder of CommPassion Ltd. She has worked with large private organisations in the UK and globally, and in the public sector across the areas of government, military, healthcare and education for more than 30 years. CommPassion provides training in interpersonal communication skills, resolving conflict between individuals and building psychological safety within teams for higher workplace and relationship performance.

In 2025, her company launched their first four online courses, taking their expertise and experience from the world of business directly to individuals in all areas of their lives. This book reveals the details behind her courses and supports the learning of improved communications skills.

Communication has been a fascination for Penny since childhood, when she spoke with her father in Morse Code! After a few exciting years spent working in International Marketing, Penny had an opportunity to be involved in the nascent field of Internal Communication where she began to understand the importance of humanto-human connection in the workplace. In 2005, she was introduced to the teachings of nonviolent communication. From that moment on, it became her purpose to spread this message as far as possible, a mission to change the way we talk and listen and communicate with each other; to change the way the world speaks.

Today, she is a trainer of compassionate communication techniques, Workplace Mediator, Certified Psychological Safety Facilitator with the Fearless Organisation; as well as a UK Samaritans Listening Volunteer. Penny holds a BA (Combined Honours) in Modern Languages (French/Spanish) with Politics, Economics and Linguistics.

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A Past Life Love Story

Date Published: 09-09-2019

Publisher: Flyway Press LLC

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

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

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

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

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

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

If, from the other we are ever lost,

Draw me in with your force of life

Somewhere inside, the truth resides,

My elusive woman of the wilds.

Our fates are entwined now and forever,

My dancer, my muse, my river nymph,

My elusive woman of the wilds.

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

Eric broke eye contact and looked down at his guitar.

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

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

About the Author

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

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

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

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

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

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Date Published: 04-07-2025

Publisher: RiverPlace Press

A hairy arm, plaid flannel sleeve rolled up, extended out of the pickup window and held high a fist with middle finger raised. A week before Christmas, at the end of the tumultuous year 2020, I was headed for the dump. Driving where four lane transitions to two, loud rumbling acceleration of an engine caught my attention. There he is, up ahead of me in the right lane, a big pickup. Speeding up, he slid in front of a small car. That’s when I spotted his obscene gesture. What, I wondered, did that other driver do to earn that reaction? Drawing close behind the little car, I spotted the offense. This little old lady had made the mistake of sporting a small presidential campaign sticker in her back window. I guessed giving her the finger was a victory for him.

Witnessing this attack on humanity by a bearded young man in a big pickup caused me to reflect on his place in our society and world. I thought about the large number of bearded young men I had lately witnessed in televised protests, a few packing assault rifles. Some, recently, shouted obscenities at me and others for standing in silent support of Black Lives Matter. I wondered, has this whole generation been lost? But then I recalled, my own son is bearded and drives a noisy, old jeep, and he’s currently using his vocational skills to put together a virtual Christmas Eve service for his church.

That was Friday. Today, Monday, my wife and I pulled into a long line outside Burger King. I immediately took notice of the young man ahead of us in the row. He was driving an old pickup, paint peeling off and rusty jagged holes in its fenders. Seeing him watching us in his mirror, I wondered if he was another of these young ruffians.

Behind us, a brand new, red Jeep slipped into line. In my mirror I saw another young man driving. I noted huge tires, winch, fancy mirrors, decals, all the options. Lots of money for that one, I thought. I wonder what kind of a job he has? I never had money to buy something like that when I was his age. I don’t have money to buy something like that even at age 68.

A long wait; we were one car back now. The young driver in the rusty pickup carried on an extended conversation with the window person whose hand held the outstretched plastic tub awaiting payment. Is he hassling that poor cashier? Finally, he put his credit card in the tub, received his food, and drove away. Our turn. The twenty-something man in the window, masked, said, “Your meal has already been paid for. The fellow ahead of you took care of your bill.”

“What?”

He repeated. Bill paid. Young man in the pickup truck. $17.84.

“Well, can I pay for the people behind me?”

“Yes, if you want to.”

“Yes, please, let me pay for their bill.” His bill. I remembered; it was the young fellow in the expensive Jeep. I handed the cashier my credit card and he rang it up.

“How much was it?”

“Just over three bucks.”

“Well, can I pay for the next car too?”

“Sure.”

“How much is that one?”

“That one is $24.95.”

“Okay, thanks, that will be just fine.”

Bill paid. Food delivered. Credit card returned. Ready to coast away, I looked my young fellow in the eye and offered, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas and God bless you,” he replied.

“And God bless you too,” I said to one of my new young friends at Burger King.

Five young men just before Christmas in 2020. Pandemic, political strife, racism. So much trouble all around. Five young men and an old guy. Maybe there’s still hope.

Darrell J. Pedersen was raised in the 1950-60s, on a little lake in Minnesota’s North Woods. He grew up and moved away, but his heart has never left that place. His family, the lake, woods, and critters that embraced his young life taught him to appreciate today and to be hopeful for tomorrow. He learned to care for the creation and the neighbor. To leave the world a little better place than he found it.

Since retirement, he has published his first memoir/collection of essays, Campfire in the Basement: Reflections from a North Woods Lake. One year later, Who Will Carry the Fire? More Reflections from a North Woods Lake is now in your hands. Both books include real life stories of everyday people living one day at a time in a challenging, yet amazing world. Hard work, laughter, tears, wins and losses. He believes you will find your story here too. Darrell and his wife, Jennifer, live in Baxter, Minnesota.

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Date Published: August 14, 2026

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.

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.

About the Author

Willa Okati (AKA Will) is made of many things: imagination, coffee, stray cat hairs, daydreams, more coffee, kitchen experimentation, a passion for winter weather, a little more coffee, a whole lot of flowering plants and a lifelong love of storytelling. Will's definitely one of the quiet ones you have to watch out for, though he -- not she anymore -- is a lot less quiet these days.

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LGBTQ+ Historical Romance, MPreg, Mystery & Suspense

Date Published: August 14, 2026

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

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.

About the Author

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

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

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Crime Thriller / Suspense

Date Published: 09-07-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

Prey animals are taken down by predators. It’s as if prey animals are made to be food. 

Carnivore predators possess razor-sharp canine-like teeth. Carnivores are the watchers from the shadows. All of them, such as lions, tigers, bobcats, and wolves, are wired the same way. They don’t eat lettuce for lunch. To a carnivore, you simply look like another rabbit in the grass. 

There’s another carnivore that is often overlooked – humans. Humans have canine teeth. They are born wired with the same instincts as the alpha predators. 

We’re taught to control it. Supposedly. 

Birds will tell you when the sun is going to come up. At the faintest glimmer of dawn's early light, they begin to converse with each other, presumably to find out where the bugs are that day. Usually, we don't hear them in their earliness. Our day starts later. Usually. 

Frogs and insects do the same during the pre-dawn moments, buzzing and croaking in the woods, fields, and swamps. Presumably they do this to find out where the predators are. It's been said that frogs might be telling each other where the rattlesnakes and blue herons are at any given time. We don't usually hear them croaking away in the early hours of the day. Usually. 

Today, however, as the woods came to life with this early morning serenade, Jim Peters could hear them very clearly. It was August of 1990. He was in his cabin in mid-Michigan, situated on the edge of a quiet, deep-woods nature refuge known as Turtle Lake. Peters was lyingin bed backwards, that is, with his feet at the head of the bed and his head at the foot of the bed, chin resting on his wrists as he looked at a model train set. 

The train set, an ancient Lionel from the 1940s, included buildings, roads, bridges, cars, trucks, a shopping center, and a train running through it. The set looked ordinary enough to the casual passerby or rare visitor to the cabin. But in fact, it was window dressing, a model of the crime scene that was to come. The train had nothing to do with it. 

In a short while, when the birds, frogs, and bugs had quieted down, Peters would push a button and Mozart's opera The Magic Flute would float from the speakers connected to his compact disc machine. Peters liked Mozart. The music was pure and uncluttered. It flowed from one section into another so smoothly that it was hard to tell a transition had taken place. The complexities of its composition flowed as smoothly as pouring oil. 

As smoothly as the diabolical scam he was planning.

About the Author

Bob’s extraordinary musical abilities were the subject of numerous brain studies, which have inspired a popular RadioLab podcast.

Little did they know that Bob was also a talented writer.

For years he wrote articles about his saloon-playing days for music publications. Many of these stories were compiled into a book called The Journeyman Piano Player: Adventures in Gracious Dining. Bob has written reams of poetry, some of which became lyrics to songs that he composed. The longest piece of poetry he ever wrote was the lyric book for The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, a grand opera he composed and orchestrated.

Mr. Milne has been fascinated by nature his entire life. At a young age he realized that instincts are present in all species of birds, mammals (including humans), and literally every living thing in nature. He has used this information countless times over his lifetime to predict what the human species will do in future situations.

Bob is now retired from the long piano tours and is enjoying his woodland home. Today he spends his time studying nature in the woods. Signed copies of his book may be purchased through his website.

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BDSM Erotic Romance, Multicultural & Interracial

Date Published: August 7, 2026

Reeling from her ex-husband’s infidelity and buried in the mountain of debts he left behind, Brandi needs to make money -- a lot of money -- fast, or she’ll lose her home. When she applies for a job as a hostess at an adult club, the last thing she expects is to come face to face with her high school flame.

Greg has grown up a lot since high school, but he’s never forgotten the woman who left him behind. No longer a quiet geek, the self-made multi-millionaire intends to win Brandi back, and his first step is to make her an offer she can’t refuse. He hires her as his escort for the evening at an adult party in his mansion. Now he has one night to convince her he’s matured into the masterful mate she needs.

EXCERPT

Brandi stared at her reflection in the mirror. The lush black velvet suited her better than she’d expected, contrasting nicely with the soft brown of her skin. She’d had her hair styled last month -- the day before her world fell apart -- and it fell just below her shoulders in a shimmery dark curtain. Definitely a good investment. She twisted sideways, wiggling her butt. Yup. That skirt was short. Real short. Short enough she’d be afraid to bend over. Then again, if she bent over her breasts would probably spill right out of the low-cut top that formed the other half of the costume. Did people really work in outfits like this?

She gave her head a mental shake. Of course they did. If you wanted the big tips, you needed to show off a little of the merchandise.

Life wasn’t fair, and happily ever afters only happened on the pages of those sappy romance novels. Losing her job and then watching her husband desert her for a teenaged slut sure brought that one home in a hurry. She needed this job, needed to pay off the huge stack of bills he’d left her with before she lost her home as well, and in this labor market she couldn’t afford to be picky.

When she’d seen the ad for a hostess at a local after-hours club, she’d plastered what she hoped was a come-hither smile on her face and applied for the position. If nothing else, it would give her some breathing room while she figured out what she wanted to do. She’d be damned if she’d let that lecherous excuse for a husband ruin her life.

Opening the front closet, Brandi perused the selection of winter coats. Since she’d been reduced to using public transit, she’d better make sure the skimpy costume didn’t get her mugged before she got to the interview. The man who’d dropped off the costume had been very specific. The interview for the job was at three sharp, and the manager did not expect to be kept waiting.

Picking a thick wool coat that fell partway down her calves to hide the scandalous outfit, she made sure she buttoned it all the way up to her chin. Catching a chill and sneezing all over the manager would not improve her chances of getting this job. She grabbed her purse off the side table and locked the door behind her.

* * *

Oh, shit! Brandi folded her hands behind her back and tried not to stare. Greg Bridger. With the way her luck had been going lately, why hadn’t she realized it would be him doing the hiring when she desperately needed the job? Greg Bridger was the guy she’d spent her entire high school career dating. The guy everyone expected her to marry. The guy she’d walked out on for the worthless piece of trash who’d just deserted her for the pom-pom queen.

She hadn’t kept track of him for the past ten years, hadn’t really given him much thought while she’d been so entranced with her scumbag of a husband. Maybe she should have. He carried himself with a self assurance that spoke volumes. He wore his dark hair short these days, in a cut that flattered the rugged lines of his face. Six feet tall, he had the muscular frame of someone who spent hours every week at the gym. That hadn’t always been the case.

Although he’d been quiet in high school, more of a geek than a jock, Greg had always had plans and dreams, big dreams. Somehow she never thought of him settling for a safe job like manager of an adult club, even if it was the most popular club on the east side of town. Maybe he’d decided to trade in his dreams of corporate success for that fantastic body.

She had no idea if she had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting this job. If Greg recognized her, he gave no sign. He circled her slowly, his eyes impersonal as he made notes on the clipboard he was holding. Was it her imagination, or did his eyes linger with just a hint of lust on her cleavage? And should that upset her or give her hope?

Brandi made an effort to rein in her errant libido and tried not to fidget. It wasn’t her fault. Seeing Greg again had been a shock, and reawakened feelings she’d long forgotten. He’d been an enthusiastic, if somewhat awkward lover in high school, and he’d matured impressively in the last ten years. Sex appeal was stamped all over his rugged frame, and if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that her husband had never really satisfied her in the bedroom. She’d always longed for him to be a bit more inventive, but he’d never really done more than give her a quick slam-bam before he’d rolled over and commenced snoring.

After the first few disappointing months, she’d resigned herself to a less than inspired sex life. She was surprised to feel the corner of her mouth tugging upward as she wondered if the little tart he’d run off with was getting bored with his insipid technique yet.

“Do you find this amusing? I was under the impression you wanted this job.” Frost tinged Greg’s voice as he stopped in front of her, one dark eyebrow raised in query.

“Not at all, sir.” It was fairly obvious he didn’t recognize her, and personal history aside, she really did need this job. “I was thinking of something else. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t.” His voice rang with disapproval. “I expect my staff to pay close attention to my instructions at all times.”

“Of course.” Damn. She really needed this job.

“Well, then.” His gaze swept over her in frank assessment before he consulted the tablet. “I have to say, I don’t feel you are suited for the position.”

Brandi felt her heart drop. She really needed this job. “You don’t? I’ll work really hard, I promise.” She hated the whining note in her voice. “I’ll do whatever you want me to. Just give me a chance.”

A hint of a smile hovered at the corner of his mouth. “I’m afraid not. We are looking for someone younger, someone the clients will keep buying more drinks from in the hopes of getting lucky.” His gaze swept over her briefly. “You are definitely not the cheerleader type. The clients would take one look at you and know they were outclassed. I do, however, have another opening that you might be interested in. If you would care to take a seat out in the lobby while I finish up here?”

Crap! He’d as much as told her she was over the hill. Definitely not something you want to hear from an ex-lover. Then again, he had mentioned another position. She’d come looking for a job, not a lover. At least he wasn’t holding their shared past against her, assuming he even recognized her. He’d given no signs.

About the Author

Anne Kane lives in the beautiful Okanagan Valley with a bouncy little rescue dog whose breed defies description, a cantankerous Himalayan cat, and too many fish to count. She spent many years trying to fit in and act normal, but finally gave up the effort. She started writing romance in 2008, and her fate was sealed when she won a publishing contract with Red Sage Publishing and just a month later Changeling Press accepted her first submission. Since then she has published more than thirty stories in a variety of sub-genres, all with a happily ever after.

She has two handsome sons and six adorable grandchildren and enjoys spending time with them whenever she can. Her hobbies, when she’s not playing with the characters in her head, include kayaking, hiking, swimming, playing guitar, singing and of course, reading.

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