One conference. One snowstorm. One nearly empty bar. Half a dozen small press publishers... and an organization was born.
Now we're shifting gears...
Three publishers step from behind the desk and work together to bring you a hot and sexy shifter anthology.
The first of many collective anthologies by The Association of Independent Digital Publishing, this book is sure to be the cat's meow. Enjoy!
A Shot at Love (Gina Kincade, Naughty Nights Press):
When faced with the displeasure of his lover's family over their son's sexual preferences, as well as the issue of him being 'not of their kind', Jay, an eagle shifter, thinks he's doing the right thing for everyone when he chooses to walk away from the only man he's ever loved.
Quickly realizing how hard it is to stay away from Mark, a panther shifter, Jay watches from afar and suffers a massive bout of jealousy at the first sign of another man in Mark's house.
Will Mark turn him down in favor of this new person in his life, or will Jay convince him they belong together?
The Twilight Mew (Rian Monaire, Mojocastle Press)
Rhylie loves the idea of becoming a cat shifter, and decides to cast a spell that will finally give her the abilities she's been seeking. But she needed to be careful what she wished for...or at least, be more specific.
Giordian just wanted peace and quiet, and the woods offered just that. Unfortunately, his twilight visitor was going to shake all of that up.
Better With Mustard (Shelby Morgen, Changeling Press)
When a stray cat blackmails Officer Joe Callahan down at Coney Island Dogs, Joe thinks he's got a case for Animal Control. But this is one of those rare times when duct tape can't fix everything. The stray cat's under Joe's skin. She's all too familiar, but can she find a place in Joe's bed -- and his heart?
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
All rights reserved.
Excerpt from "Better with Mustard" Copyright ©2013 Shelby Morgen
"Here, kitty, kitty, kitty."
"Babe, if that's a booty call, it's so not working."
I turned to look at Carley, my partner, trying not to let my irritation show. "Kiss my ass, Babe. A huge cat just ran under the car -- and disappeared. Didn't come out the other side. I don't want to grind it up in the radiator fan when I start the motor."
"A cat. Right." My demented partner stood with her feet spread just a little, one hand on her service revolver, the other holding her Coney Island Hotdog. "You're going to call a cat, and you think it's going to come to you. And you say I'm delusional."
"You have a better idea?"
Patience, Joe... "Care to share?"
"You want a cat to do something, make it worth its while."
"What do you mean?"
"Bribery." She nodded her head toward my chili cheese fries, which had temporarily taken up residence on the hood. That 350 small block made for a great warming pad.
"Oh, no. Not my damn fries. Just once I want to eat my lunch while it's hot. Besides, cats eat meat." I eyed her Coney Island Dog.
"Oh, hell no," she mimicked. "Don't even think about it."
I turned my back to the patrol car -- and my fries -- long enough to order another dog. "Plain, no bun," I requested, reaching for my wallet.
"She don't care what's on 'em," the vendor informed me.
"Likes mustard best, I reckon."
I glanced at my grinning partner. "She? You know this cat?"
"Know she likes dogs." He handed me the dog, on a bun, with mustard. And two dollars in change from my five.
I had a strong feeling I was being blackmailed. By a cat. I certainly couldn't blame the vendor. Even I knew no cat would ever actively follow instructions, no matter what the game. I crouched down, rather than bending over, because I knew my partner too well, and I wanted to avoid the wisecracks about the shape my ass was in. "Okay, cat. Here's your payoff. Now get the hell out from under my unit so I can eat my fries 'fore they get cold."
The cat -- a large, black bit of magic with greasy fur -- flashed by, and it and the dog, mustard, bun and all, disappeared down the alley.
"Damn, that was a big pussy."
Carley was razzing me, but I didn't care. I had my fries. Or I did until the radio blared. Fuck. "You owe me, cat!" The fries hit the trash, my partner hit the far door -- laughing, mind you, her dog long gone -- and we hit the street.
"I hate cats." Even I knew I was lying, but right then I didn't much care about that, either. The memory of those fries made me want to cry.