Currently viewing the category: "Mikala Ash"

Mistletoe Madness by Mikala Ash

Mistletoe Madness

Red Velvet Christmas (multi-author series)
by Mikala Ash

Changeling Press

eBook ISBN: 06725-02164

An alleged customs infringement over mistletoe and a theft motivates a crooked sheriff to send a posse in pursuit of the wagon train. Meanwhile lust and love result in an unexpected alliance, and a showdown on the dusty plain, where Christina and her “helpless” women have a surprise in store for the hard frontiersmen.

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Prologue

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Paradise Pass by Mikala Ash

Paradise Pass

Tales from the Margin, Book 1
by Mikala Ash

Changeling Press

eBook ISBN: 06653-02140

Blind circumstance throws prize fighter Maximus into the arms of a woman who has been stolen, her past erased, and her future promising only pain and degradation.

They say a person’s past predicts their future. On the edge of the desert, in an isolated whorehouse called Paradise, the future of justice is at stake.

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Chapter One

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Aqua Vitae by Mikala Ash

Aqua Vitae

Rain Catcher, Book 2
by Mikala Ash

Changeling Press

eBook ISBN: 06467-02079

Now a navigator on an independent rain catcher, Audrey’s career takes a great leap forward when she is given command of a derelict, the Aqua Vitae, found abandoned on the high seas — its reactor shut down and its crew murdered. Audrey’s success comes with a price, as the echoes of her painful past clash with the promise of the future, and threaten her lifelong dream with destruction.

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Chapter One

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A Fine Line by Mikala Ash

A Fine Line

by Mikala Ash

Changeling Press

eBook ISBN: 06395-02055

One night, in search of the ultimate orgasm, I found myself at a new BDSM joint, Club Sensuelle, and I got more than I bargained for. For a start, there was a masked barman with a butt plug stuffed where the sun don’t shine who had a penchant for flogging helpless females…

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Chapter One

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Dire's Strait by Mikala Ash

Dire’s Strait

Protect and Serve (multi-author series)
by Mikala Ash

Changeling Press

eBook ISBN: 06293-02022

One has to be careful when in love with a cannibal. One must time liaisons with care. Meeting after a meal is recommended, never before.

Agent Dire of the Paranormal Defense Department is in such a predicament. His relationship with Max Detroit, a Frenchman with an appetite, is problematic at best. For to Max, fine dining and love are two sides of the same coin, the distinction between them often hard to judge, much like good and evil.

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Prologue

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The Girl in the Cartwheel Hat by Mikala Ash

The Girl in the Cartwheel Hat

by Mikala Ash

Changeling Press

eBook ISBN:

In a pub, a hunky college guy gets the eye from a beautiful girl. Beneath the ethereally glowing ivory skin and behind the captivating eyes there was a dark and deadly secret. He buys her a drink and one thing leads to another. She takes him home. It’s a common enough occurrence. But who is the girl in the cartwheel hat, really? What’s her story? For Garth, this one-night stand could be his last.

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Chapter One

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Sweet Delight by Mikala Ash

Sweet Delight

Protect and Serve (multi-author series)
by Mikala Ash

Changeling Press

eBook ISBN: 06202-01992

My name is Ciara Callaghan. I’m a cop, and I thought I’d seen love from both sides, seen both the best and the worst it can do.

I was wrong.

The worst is yet to come.

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Prologue

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Realm of Night by Mikala Ash

Realm of Night
Protect and Serve (multi-author series)
by Mikala Ash

Changeling Press

eBook BIN: 06000-01925

I go by the name of Lili Tu, and I amuse myself owning Club C, a BDSM club for vampires and werewolves. I’m an elemental, a force of nature, and Detective Michael Munroe won my jaded heart the moment I met him.

Problem is he suspects me of murdering shape shifters. I could force him to love me, I have the power, but what is the value of that?

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Chapter One

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Endless Night
Protect and Serve (multi-author series)
by Mikala Ash

Changeling Press

eBook BIN: 05817-01865

My name is Ciara Callaghan. I’m a cop. These things I believed to be true: I loved my partner, Detective Malcolm Blake. Three years ago he was incinerated. Was it my fault? Everyone thinks so, and so do I. Everyone has secrets. Mine is — I’m a shapeshifter. Everyone lies — especially those who say they love me. Demons exist — and they can be found where you least expect them.

Prologue

Three years ago
I can relate only too well with poet William Blake’s “Auguries of Innocence.” In the beginning, when we enter this world kicking and screaming, we do not know if we are meant for his “sweet delight” or the misery of “endless night.”
The thought of a predetermined future scares the crap out of me because sweet delight doesn’t appear to be on my dance card.
In my experience, quality of life can be measured by the depth of the crap you happen to be standing in. At Mal’s funeral I took a step into the Marianas Trench of crap. I detest attending funerals. I’ve attended far too many. However, in this particular instance, I was grinning mischievously when I knocked three times on the varnished wood of my partner’s coffin.
“You owe me big time,” I playfully admonished.
Mal didn’t answer. One by one I unscrewed the ornate brass bolts, prattling on about how much I hated saying the fake eulogy to a packed congregation of our uniformed colleagues.
“Who, by the way,” I chided, “hate my guts for letting my partner get shot. I’m a better actress than I thought. Believe me, it wasn’t easy extolling said partner’s virtues as the Sheriff’s Office’s best detective when all the time I know he’s safe and sound in his coffin. But you know?” I added. “This would have been so much easier if you hadn’t insisted on an open casket.”
Mal had wanted everyone to be sure he’d gone to his maker. “It’s pivotal to the investigation,” he’d told me when he first outlined his plan. “They’re on to me, so they have to be totally convinced I’m dead,” he said. “Otherwise they’ll keep after me until I’m really dead.” Mal liked to dazzle me with his brilliancy, and as an awed probationary detective I didn’t mind hearing it, but his silence now was beginning to worry me. The drug I’d given him to slow his respiration to practically nothing should have worn off by now.
“What? Too dead to apologize?”
It had been a mad morning. He’d slept in the coffin (oh, how I wished I could have snuggled up and spent that long night with him) while I sat guard from the shadows. Before sunup I’d dosed him up with the drug, supervised the viewing, and watched everyone who solemnly walked past the open coffin to see if any stuck him with a pin like in that old Grant and Hepburn movie. No one did and no one had looked the least bit suspicious as they’d filed past the open lid that exposed his pallid and hauntingly beautiful face.
I’d copped a lot of nasty looks and nasty comments aimed at my back. Everyone thought it had been my negligence that had gotten him shot. Well, if that was the price of keeping Mal alive, so be it. I can live with a few nasty looks.
Once the viewing was over, we’d screwed down the lid and proceeded with the modest ceremony that Mal had stipulated in his “will.” Apparently, the funeral service Mal had required was not standard practice, and I’d had to fight the bureaucrats in the department who wanted a big showy PR type of deal. That fight didn’t win me any more friends, but I’d eventually prevailed. It’s amazing what a flood of tears can achieve. This way Mal avoided the usual guard of honor, etc. that was due fallen law enforcement officers. By minimizing the ceremony, Mal believed we’d have more control over the event.
I didn’t think it necessary that he stay inside the box, but he had insisted that he didn’t want to run the chance of anyone catching a glimpse of a body — which should be lying peacefully in a coffin — walking around.
And now it was all over. I’d said my piece; a moving statement about the cost of freedom is eternal vigilance, yada yada, feeling so very self-conscious that the selfless dead I was tearfully eulogizing was still very much alive. After I’d stepped away from the podium, we’d solemnly watched the coffin slide though the curtains toward its fiery end. Little did the audience know that we’d arranged for the coffin to be switched and taken to a little storage room out back, and in its place an empty box was, at that very moment, being consumed by the flames.
It all seemed to go amazingly well. There had been no incident. Mal would be happy. He could now track down his mysterious suspect unimpeded. His quarry, he’d said, was on to him, so he had to disappear, letting the suspect relax. I asked Mal a dozen times in a dozen different ways who the bad guy was, but his reply was always that it was safer I didn’t know. The bad guy was high up and powerful, otherwise he wouldn’t have to resort to such a bizarre method of investigation. Mal said he could trust no one except Anton and me. I had severe reservations, but what can I say? I was besotted with him, and whatever he suggested, I was all for it — despite my better judgment.
I unscrewed the final bolt, popped the lid and looked inside.
It was empty.
“Son of a bitch!”
The door behind me opened, and the nerdy ginger-haired kid Mal had bribed to send a dummy coffin into the flames strolled in. He was too casual by half. His nineteen-year-old face registered surprise at seeing me there with the lid half open. “What is it?”
I flew at him, grabbed him by the collar and pinned him against the wall so hard his head dented the fake teak paneling.
“What have you done, you stupid son of a bitch?”
The wide open eyes and expression of sheer red-faced horror seemed real enough, or maybe that was because he was choking. His shirt collar and tie had slipped up under his chin, and his feet were six inches off the ground. His face went from red to blue, so I threw him to the floor. Before he could scramble to his feet, I grabbed a handful of hair, dragged him to the coffin, lifted him up and showed him the emptiness within.
“Where’s Mal?” All I got in response was a crying sound. I lessened my grip a tad and through gritted teeth I said, “Tell me the goddamn truth before I rip out your heart, stuff you in the coffin and screw down the lid.”
“I dunno,” he whimpered.
“Whaddya mean you dunno?”
“This is his casket, I swear.”
“Then where the fuck is he?”
“I dunno.”
“If you say that one more time I swear I’ll rip out your heart. Capiche?”
He nodded tremulously. “This is the right casket,” he said, with tears streaming down his cheeks — due, no doubt, to the fact that I was still holding him up by his hair.
“It isn’t,” I maintained. “If it was, he’d still be in it.”
He pointed with a shaking finger at the smear of flesh-colored makeup on the pillow and a strand of jet black hair. I dropped him and reached for the hair. It looked like Mal’s, though without a forensic match, how could I tell?
“And look,” he said from the floor. “That’s the scratch in the wood you said was okay.”
I glanced at the said scratch. This morning, at the viewing, the nerd had apologized about the tiny scratch on the coffin’s corner, and I had, indeed, said it didn’t matter.
“Then where the fuck is he?”
“I…” He shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked.
My thoughts were in a panic. I guessed that while I’d been out front, watching the coffin slide through the curtains, Mal’s enemy or at least an accomplice, had somehow switched coffins. “Has the other coffin been incinerated?”
The kid nodded.
My heart sank into the pit. “Go now and check if he was inside it.”
“He won’t be. It was empty.”
“Just do it, for fuck’s sake!”
He scampered away, whining about how he hated women in uniform, how they caused him nothing but shit. That was nothing, I thought, to the heap of shit I was in. Trouble was, back then I didn’t know the half of it, but it seemed that I was indeed destined for the misery of Blake’s endless night.

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The Erogenous Affair
Spaceport (Multi-Author Series)
by Mikala Ash

Changeling Press

eBook ISBN: 978-1-60521-360-6

Conflicted over Silas Archimedes’ questionable behavior Peri Barberossa seeks solace in the arms of strangers.

A chance meeting with a hunky fighter pilot sends Peri on an erotically charged adventure where secret agendas abound and the name of the game is undiluted pleasure.

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Chapter One

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