(Taken 14)
Fantasy Romance
Date Published: October 2, 2026
Publisher: ChangelingPress
One touch sends her victims to hell. But he’s already been there.
Would not recommend. 0 stars.
Loren knows her job. She’s an angel of death. When she allows herself to
be seen, there are no survivors. She drives too fast, has no filter, and bows
to no man. Then she sees a vampire crumpled on the ground. It’s not his
time. She can’t leave him to die, but she won’t get involved with
him. Too bad he’s cute.
Michel never wanted to be turned. Never wanted to offer his services. Terminal
illness? You’re going to perish anyway? Want to do it on your terms?
Then he can help. It’s part of his death wish. But he can’t die.
When he finds himself in the presence of the most beautiful, moodiest woman
he’s ever seen, he can’t forget her. But she won’t touch
him. He makes it his mission to get to know and melt her defenses so they can
both have their heart’s delight.
If nothing else, he’ll die trying.
She kills. He can’t die. They shouldn’t work, but what if they did
and the results are fire?
Excerpt
Copyright ©2026 Megan Slayer
You are to report to Beelzebub immediately, a voice said in her head. Loren
scrubbed both hands over her face. She hated when he called her. He never
wanted anything good. Someone had to die. Always.
She rolled her shoulders, then waggled her head to stretch her neck before she
ambled into the fiery man’s office.
“You called, Bubsy Baby?” she asked. She never referred to him by
his preferred name. It just didn’t suit him. Or maybe it was to annoy
him that she wouldn’t use the name he preferred.
“You know my name,” he snapped.
“Look up the number?” She folded her arms and sighed.
“You’re not exactly menacing or scary behind that desk.
You’re like a red-tinged middle management clown.”
His eyes blazed and he snarled. Flames licked his horns. He drummed his
fingers on the desk. “Someone has to be in charge.”
“And you do it so well.” She sighed again. “What do you
want? You only call when you want something.”
“You have a job to do.” He pointed to the screen behind him.
“You have three, actually.”
“We’re still using screens? Isn’t that so last
century?” She read the information and filed it away in her mind. She
could be counted on to complete her mission without fail or issue.
“Why are you such a pain in my ass?” he asked. His glare deepened
and he gritted his teeth. “You can’t just go along.”
“No, I can’t.” She shifted her weight from her left foot to
her right. “I have to be your torture because you were a shit when you
still had your wings. I’m your punishment.” She didn’t care
that she gave him such grief.
“Just bring me the souls I deserve.”
“You don’t deserve anything,” she replied. “But
it’s my job.”
“If I could find someone else and give you a different one, I’d do
it.”
“You love me,” she snapped, knowing full well he didn’t care
for her at all. “I’ve got the orders.” She turned on her
heel and strode back out of his office. If he were removed from his post
tomorrow, she’d be just fine. Hell, she’d be happier.
“Don’t you dare leave this office until I give you
permission,” Beelzebub shouted. “Wait, I haven’t told you
where your targets are. You don’t even know where you’re
going.”
“I don’t?” she said over her shoulder. “Eerie, it
would appear.” She didn’t turn around but kept going. She
wasn’t stopping until she got out of his disgusting palace. No one
should have to look at so much death and suffering.
The display of bodies and souls in distress always churned her stomach. Sure,
the humans could be dicks to each other.
She flicked her hand and opened the portal to the roughest bar in Eerie. Few
beings were strong enough to withstand a night at Just One More. If there
wasn’t a fight in progress, there was one about to start. Bottles were
routinely thrown at anyone for just about any reason. There weren’t any
waitstaff. Just three vampires who tended the bar. They barely spoke but
expected high tips. She nodded to Stacy, the head vampire, then closed the
portal and headed out to the cooler air of the night.
The smattering of lights on the building flickered. The parking lot
hadn’t been paved in years and the potholes could prove dangerous for
anyone under the influence. Sweat practically poured from the interior and the
sound of laughter could be heard for a good mile from the place.
A hulking figure shielded her from the glare of the colored lights. “Hi,
Jack. Get out of my way.” She’d been involved with him for a whole
month and he thought he owned her. The fool. She barely let anyone get close
to her. Jack had been a decent roll in the sheets, but he wasn’t
relationship material.
“You’re here.” Jack Robideaux stood in her path. “Who
are you here to collect?”
“Not you.”
“Anyone here?” Jack asked.
“Nope.” She sidestepped him. She didn’t feel like having
this conversation. She kept going until she reached the parking lot where
she’d left her car, hoping no one had keyed it while she’d been
gone. The vehicle wasn’t anything to look at -- a worn ‘80 Mustang
with chipped paint, a woefully underpowered engine and nearly bald tires, but
the old girl got her where she needed to go. She unlocked the car and slid
behind the wheel.
A bottle flew over the hood and broke on the fence, sending shards of glass
through the air.
She growled, then flicked her fingers, directing the glass back to the guy
who’d tossed the object in the first place.
“Sorry, Loren,” he called. “Fuck, that hurt.”
“You had it coming,” she said, then drove out of the lot. Fucker
needed to watch where in the Hell he was throwing things. She sent rocks
flying as she pulled onto the main road.
According to her list, she was headed to the Trollville area of Eerie. The
trolls never bothered her, but if it was this one’s time to go, then she
couldn’t stop fate. Atropos wasn’t terribly flexible when the end
of the ribbon came. The being was expected to accept her determination.
But these were chosen by Bubsy. She snorted to herself. He had to know how
much it delighted her to see him squirm when she called him by that name. Call
it a perverse power play. She didn’t care. It gave her a minute to best
him and worked every time.
She stopped by the crossing and waited. According to the screen, this troll
was meant to pass while in the middle of the street. She hated this part. Why
did beings have to be so violent to each other? She fiddled with the black
diamond ring she always wore.
She noticed the male and female walking toward the road. The headlights of a
car shone in the distance. That had to be how he died. Loren remained in her
silent vehicle and waited. The man staggered and wobbled into the woman. She
laughed and sagged into him.
Loren rolled her eyes. They were going to cause an accident because they were
drunk. Cute. She could shout at them and get the pair out of the road, but
that’d only piss off Bubsy and string her job out. Atropos would be
pissed with her, too.
Not today.
The pair lazed out to the middle of the road. The woman dropped her purse.
When she bent to pick it up, the car seemed to come out of nowhere. The sound
of screeching tires, the scent of burnt rubber and the shriek of breaking
glass filled the air. The woman’s scream could probably be heard outside
of Eerie.
“Showtime,” Loren muttered. She left the car and made her way to
the pair. The woman, her face covered in blood and her hair matted against the
top of her head, reached for Loren.
“Help us,” the woman begged. “Call someone.”
“They’ve been called.” Loren shrugged, extending her black
wings. Her leather jacket crinkled and creaked, and her boots thudded on the
asphalt. “I should say I’m sorry.” But she wasn’t. She
touched the man, who’d stopped breathing not more than thirty seconds
after the car hit him.
“Go home,” Loren whispered. “Time for your ultimate
reward.” She left her index print on his head, sending his soul to the
depths of Hell. He dissipated into dust and his body was gone.
The woman screamed. “You killed him.” She swatted at Loren but
missed. “You destroyed him.”
“It was his time,” Loren said and stood. She flexed her wings
before tucking them away. “Now you’ll have to live with the guilt
and anger for what happened. You’ll have to accept that you’ve
done this. He’ll never come back.”
“Bring him back,” she said and lunged forward, grasping the front
of Loren’s jacket. “He wasn’t supposed to die. I was.
I’m the one who cheated. He was just along for the ride.”
Fuck. She hadn’t thought the drunken woman would’ve been so strong
or fast. She swatted her away, then stepped back. “Talk to the devil.
Your boyfriend is in his hands now.”
“Boyfriend?” She flopped backward onto her ass and her matted hair
fell in her eyes. “He was my john.”
“Now he’s your gone.” Loren straightened her jacket and left
the scene, almost as if nothing had happened.
One down, two to go…
Loren cleaned the blood from her hands once she settled behind the wheel of
her car. She didn’t bother to watch the woman or call for help. That
wasn’t her job. Besides, what would she say? The Angel of Death is
calling and would like an ambulance to be sent to the corner of Oak and Elm?
Yeah, that wouldn’t do much good. No one would believe her.
She drove away, leaving the scene. In the regular world, she’d be in
trouble for fleeing the site of an accident. But no one saw her, save for the
drunken woman and no one would believe her, either. They’d think Loren
was a figment of her sloshy mind.
Loren flexed her fingers on the steering wheel. She couldn’t remember
the last time she’d had a conversation with someone who wasn’t at
Just One More. Certainly not with someone who wanted to speak to her.
Not that she wanted to have deep discussions with anyone. Most people annoyed
her. She stopped at the traffic light and a thought occurred to her. If
I’m not careful and don’t rein in my sarcastic attitude,
I’ll turn into Bubsy.
She gagged.
No one is as insufferable as Bubsy.
She drove for two hours before reaching her next destination near Pittsburgh.
She spied a man crossing the dark street. He had his hands stuffed in his
pockets and his head down. His gait was quick, like he was hurrying away from
someone. She kept watching. This guy wasn’t on her list. Was he
perishing tonight? This wasn’t exactly a great area and people did die
here.
Another being rushed up to the man. Something glinted. A knife? She
wasn’t going to be a witness to this. Loren parked and surged from her
vehicle. She lunged between the men, pushing the first one out of the way.
About the Author
Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of
more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since
2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and
paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works
are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a
second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at
the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and
Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various
e-tailer sites.
When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as
well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but
football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends
of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.
Author on Twitter
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Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
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September 30, 2026
