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New Release – The Beary Best Holiday Party Ever by B G Thomas

Posted in Excerpt, Guests, New Release on December 8, 2015| Leave a Comment »

Title: THE BEARY BEST HOLIDAY PARTY EVER
Author: B G Thomas
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Pages: 76
Cover Artist: Catt Ford
Available: NOW

Blurb:

Before he discovered the Heartland Bear Clan, Ron Corbin figured no one could ever love a “fatass” like him. But the big group of big men accepts him, and likes him just the way he is. Having finally found a place he belongs, he works hard to get elected president of the club—and wins. He’s the happiest he’s ever been.

But Paddy Brennan, a sexy bear cub who blew into town and became Mr. Popular overnight, is elected vice-president. Ron doesn’t think Paddy has earned the honor, and now he’ll have to work shoulder to shoulder (and belly to belly) with the guy for a year.

Ron will do what’s best for the club even if that means setting his personal feeling—that Paddy is a jerk—aside. But then as the two men get to know each other, Ron reluctantly finds he not only likes the guy, but is growing more and more attracted to him.

Deep down, Ron still worries he isn’t good enough, but maybe Paddy can show him there’s a beary happy ending waiting for them after all.

~~~~~~

Excerpt:

JULY

WHEN RON Corbin heard his name announced as the new president of the Heartland Bear Clan, he could hardly contain himself. He bellowed a loud, “Yowza,” which made everyone laugh. It was only by the grace of God that he kept himself from whooping out, “I’m king of the world.” After all, hadn’t nearly everyone thought it a very egotistical thing for James Cameron to shout when he won his Oscar for best director?

Ron had never understood that. It seemed like a logical thing for the Titanic filmmaker to shout. Perfect, actually. The Leonardo DiCaprio line was one of the most famous from the movie. And it was how Cameron must have felt when he won the Academy Award.

It was certainly how Ron felt when Mel Gunter, the man who had run the club for well over a decade, stood up in front of everyone and declared him as his successor. Ron really did feel like the king of the world. Or at least his world—and his world was the Kansas City bear club.

There was nothing more important to Ron than the Heartland Bear Clan. In many ways the social group had saved his life—at least he felt that way. He’d been one big old depressed bear when he’d been introduced to the group of men. In fact, once upon a time he’d hated the fact that anyone thought of him as a bear in the first place. Bears were fat. And fat was bad, right? Men who couldn’t stop eating, right? Who couldn’t stick to a diet? Who refused to take care of themselves? Who had no self-pride?

That’s what he’d thought. What he’d been told over and over and over again.

“I do not know how you can be a child of mine!” came the voice of his mother.

“Fat! You’re a fatass!” came the voice of his father. “My son—my son—a fatass!”

But the Heartland Bear Clan had changed all of that. Had changed his life. Okay, so he was a bear. Yeah, he was a bit chunky. But not ugly. He’d worked quite a bit to find his style, as well. He kept his brown hair almost military short and his full beard trimmed fairly tight. Yeah, a bear. And a pretty good-looking one. And now, as president of the club he’d devoted so much of his time to, he couldn’t be happier.

Until he found out who was going be his vice president.

~~~~~~

Buy Links:

Dreamspinner Press: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7192

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Beary-Holiday-Party-Advent-Calendar-ebook/dp/B018RVC1NW/

Amazon UK: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Beary-Holiday-Party-Advent-Calendar-ebook/dp/B018RVC1NW/
Barns & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-beary-best-holiday-party-ever-bg-thomas/1123051116?ean=2940157929145

Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/ebook/the-beary-best-holiday-party-ever

ARe: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-thebearybestholidaypartyever-1937324-149.html

~~~~~~

Meet the Author:

B.G. is a novelist and blogger. For the past year he has made and entry every day in his blog “365 Days of Silver,” where he finds something every day to be grateful for. You can find it right here: https://365daysofsilver.wordpress.com/

B.G. loves romance, comedies, fantasy, science fiction and even horror—as far as he is concerned, as long as the stories are character driven and entertaining, it doesn’t matter the genre. He has gone to conventions since he was fourteen years old and has been lucky enough to meet many of his favorite writers. He has made up stories since he was child; it is where he finds his joy.

In the nineties, he wrote for gay magazines but stopped because the editors wanted all sex without plot. “The sex is never as important as the characters,” he says. “Who cares what they are doing if we don’t care about them?” Excited about the growing male/male romance market, he began writing again. Gay men are what he knows best, after all. He submitted his first story in years and was thrilled when it was accepted in four days.

“Leap, and the net will appear” is his personal philosophy and his message to all. “It is never too late,” he states. “Pursue your dreams. They will come true!”

Visit his website and his author blog at http://bthomaswriter.wordpress.com/ where you can contact him. He loves to hear from readers and is always quick to respond.

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Squeee

Posted in Excerpt, tagged nanowrimo, the bones of our fathers on November 30, 2015| 2 Comments »

I’m so excited *chair dances* and I just can’t hide it!

This month I have written more than in the past 2 years put together. Now I just need to consistently do a bit each day.

Anyhow – excerpt – this is the bit where I hit 50k:

Mal looked at Gary’s collarbones, which were level with his eyes, and tried to get his head round the idea that this immense, intimidating, inarticulate and very straight man was trying to facilitate his gay best friend’s love life. It was one of the sweetest things he’d ever seen.

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Almost there

Posted in Excerpt, tagged nanowrimo, the bones of our fathers on November 29, 2015| Leave a Comment »

I’m feeling quietly chuffed. 48534 words for Nanowrimo!

I never thought I’d manage that. The story is almost finished too in the sense that I’ve got it’s skeleton laid out, I just need to add some muscle and connective tissue and some glandular oomph – all the usual stuff including the bits where I’ve typed [add sex scene here].

Anyhow, here’s an excerpt. Everyone else has had the flu, now it’s Mal’s turn:

Twenty minutes later he was regretting ever moaning about wanting his Mum. Betty was no substitute for the soft handed angel of his daydreams. Brusquely she reorganised his room, opening the window to let an excruciating blast of cold air waft through the place because, she said, “smells like something died in here”, plumping pillows with sharp angry punches and banging a bottle of Lucozade down on his beside table with enough force to make it impossible to open unless he wanted his ceiling to be dripping.
“Um, Betty, it’s not that I don’t appreciate you coming but you don’t seem to be very happy.”
“Of course I’m not happy.” Betty put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “First off you went to Sharon to whine about being ill. Just because she’s all cuddly and mumsy and shit doesn’t mean that I’m not perfectly capable of giving you comfort, capische? Secondly, I’ve had to rush over here in my lunch hour in the rain because Elspeth is giving us both a hard time and Sharon doesn’t really want to be left on her own in the museum with her. Fuck sake, she’s a grown up, she could just tell Elspeth to piss off like I do but no she’s scared of losing her job and doesn’t seem to think that you’ve got our backs even when lolling there on your bed of pain, which I think you have really in your own wussy way, and – and – where was I? Yeah thirdly what have you done to Rob you wanker?”
“What do you mean, what have I done to Rob?” Mal had been expecting Rob to be mentioned but had assumed something a bit more specific. “I haven’t done anything to Rob. I haven’t seen him?”
“You haven’t?” Betty’s eyebrows rose. “Uhuh, so why did he tell me you and he were going out Monday night, and why has he had a face like a bulldog chewing a wasp ever since while you’ve been wandering around in a daze snapping left right and centre. And now, boo hoo, you’ve taken to your bed.”
“I’m fucking ill.” Mal hadn’t meant for his voice to rise but it did and his voice caught and he dissolved in a bout of painful coughing. Betty reached for the still too lively Lucozade, swore and fetched him a glass of water instead.
“There you go, though I don’t know why I bother. You were the best thing that’s happened to Rob, you know. Jeez, he’s had some rough years but … well, I guess it might be for the best.”
“Shall we agree not to interfere in each other’s love lives?” Mal suggested once he could speak again. “Otherwise I could make some comments about how friendly you seem to be getting with Gary.”
“Hey, lay off Gary,” Betty raised a warning finger. “Gary might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, though I reckon he might surprise us all yet, but he is good at one particular thing and that’s making me happy. Who do you make happy, Mal? Give that some thought, all right. Shit is that the time?”

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Posted in Excerpt, tagged nanowrimo, the bones of our fathers on November 21, 2015| 2 Comments »

I haven’t much else to talk about at the moment. I’ll be back in work on Monday, pretending I want to be there, so for now I’m making the most of my writing time.

I’ve just broken the 35k mark

*bounces carefully in chair*

and here’s an excerpt. Our hero has been to the barber shop and gets more than just a haircut:
(more…)

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Halfway into Nanowrimo

Posted in Excerpt, tagged nanowrimo, the bones of our fathers on November 15, 2015| 4 Comments »

25294 words!! Whoohoo, over 25k! That’s more in the past 2 weeks than I’ve written in the whole of 2015 so far.

I’m about halfway through the story too and have written the first Big Misunderstanding™, a trope I really don’t much like but in this case it’s more of an ethical disagreement than done to make the relationship more iffy.

Anyhow, here’s a sample, all unshod, uncurried and straight off the moor:

It was trowel work, quick and satisfying and he was soon able to see the slabs in their entirety. They were a lot wider than he had thought they would be and he realised he’d be unlikely to be able to move them alone. Luckily Sion and Rob were still close to hand and each man fitted a hand into the overlap of the lid with the supporting stone and stood ready to lift on Mal’s work. He held up a length of two by one.

“Just lift the first one a couple of inches,” he asked, “so I can slip this in to support the lid. I want to get a couple of pictures. If we can document the whole process it could be good publicity for the site.” And for the museum, went without saying.

“Ready, Rob?” Sion grinned at Mal. “On three then – one, two, three.”

The stone lifted smoothly just a little soil tumbling into the void below, and Mal slotted the piece of wood in about a foot. “Lovely,” he said and took a penlight from his pocket. “Want the first look boys?”

“Hell yeah,” Rob said and Sion grinned at him and shouldered into the space between him and Mal.

Mal turned on the little torch and directed the beam into the gap. He smiled to hear two indrawn breaths. It was such a thrill to be the first to see something that had been hidden in the ground for centuries. he remembered his first time well. The dry earth under his knees, sun on his back, the grit on his tongue as a breeze laden with the scent of thyme and seaweed blew dust across the rocky Aegean peninsula. Then he had moved some more dust and and been looking into the face of a man long dead, just bones but broad browed and strong jawed. Moved, Mal had murmured, “Hello brother.”

It was a long moment before Rob or Sion stirred.

“Oh wow,” Rob whispered, his voice a little shaky. “Hello you. Pleased to meetcha.”

“Mal.” Sion looked across at him, eyes wide. “You got to see this.”

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Today in the Comfy Chair – Ruff Bear

Posted in Excerpt, Guests, tagged author interview, comfy chair, sci fi on November 13, 2015| Leave a Comment »

My guest today goes under the name of Ruff Bear in most places though, as so many of us do, he has another name for those boring administrative things that aren’t nearly as much fun as being a creator of truth and beauty. Sadly Facebook doesn’t have much truck with truth and beauty and insists on the workaday name so I’ve invited Bear to my blog so he can talk about the real him for a while.

Welcome Bear.

Can you tell me a little about yourself? For instance, do you have to have a day job as well as being a writer?

I have been writing since I was a teenager and had my first work, a poem, published when I was 17. Although encouraged by my writing instructors, I was uneasy about the difficulties of establishing a writing career. I spent over 30 years working in higher education as a professor of political science and a student success specialist. In June 2014, I decided to fulfill my teenage dream and become a fulltime writer.

When you aren’t writing, is there any other creative activity you enjoy? Have you ever written about it?

I enjoy gardening, cooking, travelling, reading books on world history, working out, and submission wrestling. I have written about travel and have a work in progress about the adult wrestling culture.

Bear is also a cracking photographer. Check out more of his work on the Bearly Designed website.

What are you reading? Can you recommend something that you wished you’d written yourself?

I am finishing up a collection of short stories and novellas by Robert Heinlein. I read half of it and then switched to Neil MacGregor’s Germany: Memories of a Nation. I wish I could have written anything by Doris Lessing or Gabriel García Márquez. She blows me away with her range and he blows me away with his imagination.

In that crucial inspiration stage of a new story which comes first? Plot, situation or character?

Usually character comes first but sometimes I think of a situation I really want to explore. I never know what the plot is until I start writing.

Do your characters arrive fully fledged and ready to fly or do they develop as you work with them? Do you have a crisp mental picture of them or are they more a thought and a feeling than an image?

I know my characters completely the minute they set foot in the story. Well, maybe I don’t know their latest colonoscopy results.

Is there any genre you would love to write, ditto one you would avoid like a rattlesnake?

Eventually I am going to get around to erotica in the D.H. Lawrence and Henry Miller sense. I can’t see myself writing horror, crime, or anything with a lot of blood and violence. I admire 19^th century horror novels like Frankenstein and Dracula, but the horror isn’t the creatures but how people reacted to them.

I feel very alive when I visit deserts, but desertification is one of many problems facing the world due to climate change, inaction and greed. I wanted to tell a story about the consequences of that inaction and how it could lead to the near destruction of humanity. As someone in love with world history, I wanted to write about cycles in history but projected into the future. As a political scientist, I am drawn to study political change movements, the social contract and empires. I practice Taoism and wanted to create characters that reflected the promises and cautions of that philosophy.

Do you find there to be a lot of structural differences between a relationship driven story and one where the romance is a sub plot?

A relationship driven story almost has to be episodic and removes the opportunity to develop a lot of intertwining themes. Even sub plots have to tie into the main relationship. Romance or relationships as sub plots add layers or help explore themes creating a richer story.

When writing series, what measures do you take to keep track of those annoying little details – eye colour, car type, name of ex-spouse’s dog – that are so easy to drop into text and so easy to forget about?

I do one reading that is solely to insure continuity and reveal repetitious descriptions. It drives me crazy that even the best television series will do things like mention a sibling and then next season say the character is an only child.

Put together your ideal team of men/women – drawing from all and any walks of life, fictional or non-fictional – who you would want to come to your rescue if menaced by muggers/alligators/fundamentalists?
Calvin and Hobbes. They always come up with some way to deal with adversity by ignoring convention, usually by creating a distraction that stops anyone else in his tracks. And I have seen film of a leopard hunting and killing a crocodile in water near the riverbank; tigers are larger than leopards and alligators are smaller than crocodiles, so Hobbes can handle them.

Villains are incredibly important in fiction since they challenge the main protagonists and give them something to contend with beyond the tension of a developing relationship. The cruel sea. The serial killer. The society itself. Your hero’s inner demons. What sort of villains do you prize?

Women, getting stuff done, deviously, since, well, forever really.
[Sian Phillips glorious as Livia Augusta in I, Claudius]

Devious men (devious women are never villains), indecisiveness and inaction in the face of crisis, social norms and customs that have lost their meaning, active engagement in any of the Seven Cardinal Sins except lust.

What are you working on at the moment? Can you discuss it or do you prefer to keep it a secret until it’s finished.

I am ghostwriting the memoirs of a couple who have lived and traveled widely. I am finishing up the first prequel short story for The Secret History of Another Rome, researching the two sequels, and making notes for more prequel stories. I am finishing a short story about a woman protected by spirits. And I am waiting for my husband to finish the first draft of a science fiction novel we are co-authoring called Crossing Xavier.

Could we please have an excerpt of something?

From The Secret History of Another Rome (the beginning of The Fifth Moment)

Octavian’s mother told her five-year-old son they would be leaving home to live elsewhere. She said it would be a great adventure and they could spend as much time as they wanted together once they arrived. In the meantime, he spent several days with his grandmothers visiting gardens and going on drives in the open air vehicle that was fueled by used cooking oil. One evening, the entire family ate at his great grandmother’s house and stayed up late talking and amusing the child.

One day the boy’s mother instructed him to make sure he said goodbye to his friends after they were done playing in the fields. Octavian couldn’t explain why he was leaving, only that his mother said they were. It wasn’t too unusual for a family to move from a community since opportunities came and went. Still, so far in their young lives, Octavian’s friends had only seen off one other, a girl who left for the interior when her mother was needed at a family cattle ranch when her aunt could no longer manage the place alone. When he said his farewells, the boy with long, bright auburn locks did not know it would be more than two decades before he saw another person less than seventeen years old.

A few days later Octavian found two trunks sitting in the parlor near the front door. It already had been an unusual morning. Instead of giving him his usual short trousers and a shirt to wear, his mother laid out a red piece of clothing that looked like a long shirt without sleeves, an off-white, hooded robe that went down to his ankles, and a light brown leather belt. He asked her what the shirt-like thing was and she said it was a tunic. She said from now on he would be wearing these clothes. It was odd. Mother was wearing a shirt and pants.

After breakfast, the day became even stranger. They traveled some distance to the far side of Mandela beyond Table Mountain to a flat expanse with a modest, white-washed building on one side. Mother told him this was an airstrip. Sitting in the flat, dusty field was a large, metal machine that had wings like a bird, but with upturned ends. He recognized the lettering painted above the windows near the front of the long, silver tube that made up the bulk of the machine. It was Arabic: امبراطورية روما في الإسكندرية. Octavian had been learning Arabic for as long as he had been speaking English and Spanish. The elegant script said Empire of Rome at Alexandria.

Octavian had heard the Empire mentioned by his elders. They did not speak well of it for the most part. His mother, however, used maps depicting the territories of the Empire in her lessons with him. The intelligent child put the pieces together.

“Mother, are we moving to the Empire?”

“Yes, Octavian. Very good of you to sort that out by yourself. We are going to Alexandria, the capital city of the Empire. We will live there.”

“Hmm.”

“Are you ready to go into the plane.”

“Plane? Is that what that is?”

“Yes. It is an airplane, but people just call it a plane for short.”

“Like calling Michael Mike.”

“Yes,” she said. Octavian realized he probably would never see his friend Mike again. “Let’s go. I packed a lunch for us that we can eat in the plane.”

“That sounds like fun.” Octavian enjoyed picnics, but had never had one inside a machine.

Octavian and his mother climbed the stairs and entered the cabin. They were greeted by a member of the flight crew, a smiling, friendly, dark-haired woman wearing a sea green tunic who spoke English with a bit of an accent. “Welcome aboard. I am honored to meet you and travel with you to the city. Please find seats in the passenger cabin. I will speak with you momentarily.”

Octavian’s mother led him into an area in the front of the plane with six large, reclining seats covered in a durable, nubby fabric.

“Here are some blankets and pillows,” the flight assistant added. “I admit the fabric can be a bit scratchy on the seats, so you may want to cover them with one of the blankets. The pillows are a good support for your lower back, as well as your head.”

She disappeared again as Octavian and his mother settled in. His mother was just removing lunch from the bag she had brought with her when the attendant returned. “Oh, I guess they didn’t tell you we provide meals. No worries. I am sure you will be hungry again toward the end of the flight.”

“Flight?” Octavian sputtered. “This machine really uses its wings to fly?”

“Yes, dear. Do you remember a few months ago when I was away for six days? I rode in an airplane to Australia and back. I wanted to be certain I knew what it was like before we moved.”

“And?”

“And I think it best if I give you something after lunch to help you sleep. Even though we will be crossing Africa instead of the southern oceans as I did, there is not much to see and becomes boring rather quickly. You have never been in a confined space like this for any length of time. I don’t want you to become over-excited or ill.”

“But I want to see things, even if it is just clouds and sky.”

“You will be awake while we finish lunch. And I promise to wake you for the last hour of the flight so you have time to see what you want to see.”

Octavian knew his mother always thought matters out carefully and would not bow to him arguing further. Besides, while they were eating, the woman in green came around to ask them to use the belts attached to the seats before takeoff. The boy wondered why they should strap themselves in if they were going to remove their clothes and wasn’t sure why removing their clothes was necessary. However, he saw his mother connecting the ends of her seat belt without stripping. He must have misunderstood.

The engines made a thundering sound. Within minutes, the plane started moving. The machine picked up speed running down the flat, dusty field. Octavian was in awe watching the trees and ground go by so quickly. Suddenly, the airfield was pulling away and the plane was climbing. The boy felt the partially eaten meal settle in his stomach. He couldn’t take his eyes off the window as the landscape became smaller. The plane banked and he could see Cape Town and its harbor, then Mandela, his home community. He could even see his great grandmother’s house set amidst the fields.

As amazing as it was, take off and climbing above the spare clouds was disorienting. Octavian decided it probably was best to relax. After lunch, he took a small red tablet. Funny, he thought. Tablet means a small pill and an electronic screen for reading and writing in English and tableta could mean both in Spanish, too. Those sorts of connections always fascinated the child. Within minutes, however, all thought slipped away and he was curled up in the seat with two blankets and three pillows.

The Secret History of Another Rome

Blurb:
In the mid-2600s, Ranulf becomes Supreme Pontiff of the Empire of Rome at Alexandria, a patriarchy run by priest-bureaucrats called Librarians. After twenty-two years on the throne, Ranulf’s memories flood back to him, from the time he moved to Alexandria with his mother to his present situation resulting from his choices, his training and his relationships. Ranulf’s life has been a quest for truth, not the half-truths of the Librarians and their Secret History, but an understanding of how action rather than static dogma is the path to the future. Guided by mysterious strangers from another time and his own innate curiosity, Ranulf searches for this understanding. Why do the Librarians hide facts from their ruler? What will Ranulf do as he gradually uncovers the truth? How will he respond when he finally understands?

Buy Links:

Kellan Publishing | Amazon UK | Amazon US

Author Bio:

Bear was raised in the Baltimore-Washington area. He has lived in the Albany, NY, area for 20 years. He has been writing since the age of 13 and had his first work, a poem, published at 17. Bear has worked 30 years in higher education as a professor of political science and a student success specialist. He has lived overseas in China, Hong Kong, Lebanon and Saudi Arabia.

Bear currently works full time as a writer of plays, non-fiction, poetry and fiction. The Secret History of Another Rome is his first completed novel. He has written three full-length plays and a one-act play that is the start of another long play. Bear also writes political essays, which have been published at http://www.dailykos.com/user/Ruffbear7 and http://www.opednews.com/hkbearmcneelege. One essay was published in River & South Review’s Winter 2014 issue and a poem was published in December 2014 by Silver Birch Press in their I Am Waiting series. He is completing work on a non-fiction book on the changing definition of democracy and writing several novels and plays. Additionally, he sells blank note cards and prints featuring his original photography at http://www.bearlydesigned.com.

Bear enjoys gardening, cooking, travelling, reading books on world history, working out and wrestling. He and his spouse were married in 1996 in a Christian-Taoist ceremony in a beautiful state park. They enjoy taking care of their 95-year-old house and their three cats: Rani Dolly Lama, Buster Amarillo Spotbelly and Miss KayKay Snugglegrumps.

Links:

Author Page

New Releases – In the Company of Men by Lynn Lorenz

Posted in contest, Excerpt, Guests on November 10, 2015| Leave a Comment »

Author Name: Lynn Lorenz

Book Names: The Mercenary’s Tale, Jackson’s Pride, Baymore’s Heir, His Duke’s Gift

Series: In The Company of Men

Publisher: Hartwood Publishing

Cover Artist: Georgia Woods

Books: One through Five

Pages or Words: Varies by book

Categories: Historical, M/M Romance

Release Date: September 2015 – December 2015

Blurbs :

The Mercenary’s Tale – Drake is a mercenary for hire. He values little other than his sword and his skill. Fighting his attraction to the young men he trains, he refuses to take any on. When Ansel walks into his life, Drake breaks all his rules.
But life for mercenaries is hard, brutal and deadly.
Can Drake take a chance on finding the love he’s denied himself for so long?
Can he have a second chance?

Jackson’s Pride – Jackson has been called to attend his father, Lord Baymore. The man has never claimed Jackson as his son and Jackson believes this might be his father’s intent. He’s left the Duke of Marden’s employ to discover his destiny—to remain a nameless bastard or to claim his father’s name.
When Jackson stumbles across a man, stripped, beaten, and left in a field to die a slow death, Jackson rescues the man. After all, he’s guilty of the same thing—wanting a man.
Will Holcombe gambled and lost. His meeting with a young, willing man went horribly wrong, and now he must pay for it with his life.
Until a man walks up to him in a frozen field and cuts him down.
Jackson is like no one Will has ever met before—a man strong enough to stand with him, perhaps forever.
But Jackson’s on a mission. Will his pride blind him to what his life could be if he chose Will and not his father?
Or will his pride lead him to a fate worse than death?

Baymore’s Heir – Duke Jackson of Baymore finally has all he’s ever wanted—his name, a title, and the man he loves by his side. Lord Will Holcombe couldn’t be happier. He’s Jackson’s lover, best friend, and manages all of Jackson’s affairs. For two years, their life together, although deadly if anyone knew of their forbidden love, has been perfect.
Until Jackson the day when decides the one thing he needs is an heir.
And the one person to find him a wife is Will.

Silent Lodge – Drake and Logan are worried about their friend and captain of the guard, Peter. After the death in childbirth of Peter’s wife, he’s a changed man. Unfocused, lonely, and devastated, Peter needs a new challenge, instead of going through the motions of living.

Logan sends Peter on a mission – to discover Duke Weathersby’s plans for invasion. Logan’s father has a small hunting lodge near the border of their lands, and it has a caretaker. Peter sets off alone, to make camp at the lodge and do some scouting.

But what he finds at the lodge just may be his future. Arvel is a fascinating young man. Red haired, deaf and mute from a fever as a child, he’s been living in the lodge and caring for it for years. It’s a safe haven for him. But he’s not alone. He has a protector, Gareth.

When Gareth, Arvel and Peter are together, sparks fly. Arvel belongs to Gareth, but he wants Peter too. Can Peter join their small family? And if he does, will he always be the third to their couple?

His Duke’s Gift – In this Yuletide story, Duke Logan is preparing the keep for the holiday. Twelve nights of feasting and gift giving to those in his favor. Gifts must be made or bought. Once mercenary Drake struggles to think of just the right gift for his love and liege, and for their sons.

Something isn’t right. A stranger has arrived at the keep and Logan refuses to let Drake into his bedroom at night. Angry and frustrated, Drake fears Logan has lost his love for the mercenary.

When the Twelfth night arrives, and Drake has received no gift, he begins to think he might need to take his son and leave what has become his home.

Excerpt:

Ansel lowered himself with effort to the ground and leaned back on his saddle. From across the fire I could tell he still ached. I rummaged in my saddlebag and found the vial of oil I used to keep my leathers supple. It would work for Ansel’s back.

“That’s enough moaning from you. Take off your shirt and stretch out; I’m giving you a rubdown before you become so stiff you can’t move.” It came out more like an order, and Ansel obeyed.

He unlaced his leather vest, removed it, and then with careful motions, pulled his shirt over his head. Smooth chest met my gaze, lean muscles and wide shoulders. Dark hair trailed down his stomach to disappear beneath the strings of his breeches.

“Lay on your belly.” It was not the wisest thing I’d ever done, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. In truth, I wanted to touch him.

He stretched out on his cloak, his smooth broad back to me, arms over his head. There were no scars on his back or on his chest. Hidden scars, indeed.

He turned his head and looked up at me as I stood over him, his eye reflecting the firelight. I kneeled and straddled his hips. As I settled my weight on him, he gave a small grunt.

“Not too heavy for you?” I poured some of the oil from the vial and worked it over my hands.

“No.” He watched as I spread the oil between my fingers.

At the first touch of my hands on his skin, he shuddered. I smiled as his eye caught mine, then he closed it, giving me a ghost of a smile.

My hands roved over his back, lightly at first, then I increased the pressure as I pressed into his muscles, working them like a woman kneads bread dough. His smooth skin glistened in the firelight as my oiled hands glided across. Despite my best intentions, I grew hard as I touched him. Damn me, but I’d longed to do this. For his part, his breathing deepened and I could feel his chest expanding with each inhale. Was he as hard as I was? If so, it must have been uncomfortable to have his cock pressed into the hard ground.

I slid back, moving lower to sit at the tops of his thighs, his round buttocks firm in front of me. I rocked forward and back as I rubbed, pressing my hardness against him, watching for his reaction.

Part of me wanted to go further and part of me wanted him to tell me to stop. He never made a sound or moved.

“Roll over.” I stood, still straddling him.

Ansel pushed himself over, and I gazed down at the bulge in his breeches, long and hard. My eyes traveled to his face. No sign of shame, just that calm, steady gaze of his telling me to continue. He lay there, propped on his elbows, and looked up at my own hard bulge, then he slid flat to the ground.

I went down on my knees and sat across his hips, trapping his rod beneath me, a hard lump against my stones. Pouring more oil into my hands, I began to rub his shoulders, working my way to the sharp planes of his chest. His eyes were shut, and his mouth held that vague smile. I ran my thumbs across his small, dark nipples, resisting urges I didn’t want to give in to.

He hissed in a deep breath and held it as my thumbs played with those sharp points. Circling them first one way, then another, I showed him no mercy. For myself, I could feel my own nipples harden and ache under my shirt. At last, I stopped my torture, and he sighed, letting his breath out in a slow exhale. Damn, I wanted to take one of those sharp points in my mouth and make him moan for me.

Moving lower, I worked my hands over his taut stomach muscles and the tender, purple bruises I’d given him. He winced only once.

I rocked forward on his rod and he moaned. By all the gods, it sounded so good to my ears that I did it again. And again. My sac tightened as my rod swelled.

I lowered my body closer, rocked my hardness against his, and felt his responding push back. Supporting my body with my hands on his chest, all pretense of rubbing sore muscles was gone. I set a steady rhythm and pressed harder.

Ansel’s hands reached up and took my hips, pulling them tighter, his hips answering. He eyes were very dark, wide open, and locked with mine. Sliding over his chest, my hands ran down his arms, locked fingers with his, and pulled them from my hips and over his head. I stretched my clothed body against his bare chest and pumped.

His breath came ragged and his moans louder. My face was mere inches from his. This was it. If I lowered my mouth to his, I’d be kissing a man. Then I thought, we were two layers of cloth from fucking, what was a kiss? Merely damnation.

As if he’d read my mind, his lips parted and he closed his eyes. Unable to resist, I covered his mouth with mine and slammed my rod against him. I thrust faster now, even as my tongue entered his mouth to dance with his tongue, exchanging our tastes. He was as sweet tasting as any woman I’d kissed.

When he groaned into my mouth, I could feel it in my chest. I rocked faster and pressed harder. His legs widened, to give me more room, and I pumped harder. Sucking his tongue into my mouth, I held it captive. A groan ripped his lips from mine as he arched his back, his entire body tensed, and his hands clenched mine. I felt the jerking of his cock beneath me as he spilled and almost joined him.

With a shudder, he opened his eyes and looked into mine.

“Damn.” I smiled.

“Damn.” He smiled and licked his lips. I watched his tongue make a pass over the top and then the bottom, and then disappear inside. I wanted to take it in my mouth again.

Instead, freeing his hands, I rolled off him and sat against my saddle.

He propped himself up on one elbow, dipped his fingers beneath his breeches and pulled them out. They shone in the light, his cream covering them. Gods, I wondered what it would taste like.

“I should clean up.” He stood, went to his bag, rummaged in it, and came up with a bit of cloth. Wiping himself, he dropped the rag on the ground and came back to the fire.

I watched him as he stood in front of me.

“You’re still needing.” He kneeled, locked eyes with me, and pushed my knees apart. My rod strained against my breeches, so any denial would be seen for the lie it was.

When he reached for my strings, I should have said something, such as “Stop” or “Don’t touch me,” but we’d gone too far for false words.

His fingers made short work of the strings and he sat back. Without my shifting, my rod would remain firmly in place. There could be no more pretenses; if I wanted him, I had to move. I took a breath, shifted, pushed my breeches open, pulled the string of my trews, and freed my cock.

It stood tall, thick and long, dark with blood, as I took it in my already slick hand and greeted it like an old friend, with a slow, long stroke. Ansel’s gaze never left my hand as he moved closer.

“Let me.” He reached for my rod, and our fingers touched as he covered my hand with his. Together we glided over my quivering shaft, his fingers picking up traces of oil. Prickles of pleasure danced through my body, settling in my sac.

I slipped my hand from under his, sat back, and watched as his hand pleasured me. I’d held back before he’d released, but now it would be much harder with his hand wrapped around the bared shaft of my cock.

And what pleasure he gave me, like none I’d had before. He knew just how I needed to be touched, just how to stroke long, then fast and short, then long and squeeze the tip. I had to grit my teeth to keep from moaning as each stroke brought me closer to the cliffs of release. I wanted more. I wanted to possess him, own him, and make him mine in every way.

“Lick me.” My voice was quiet, deep, commanding.

Without a word, he lowered his head. I watched as his tongue made a long, slow pass over the blood-swollen tip, pulling a moan from me. He licked under the rim of my rod’s head and I moaned again.

Who possessed whom?

Buy the book:

Mercenary’s Tale

http://www.amazon.com/Mercenarys-Tale-Company-Men-Book-ebook/dp/B012F6H6VM

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Mercenarys-Tale-Company-Men-Book-ebook/dp/B012F6H6VM

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-themercenary039stale-1867272-340.html

Baymore’s Heir

http://www.amazon.com/Baymores-Heir-Company-Men-Book-ebook/dp/B015LGA598

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Baymores-Heir-Company-Men-Book-ebook/dp/B015LGA598

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-baymore039sheir-1897864-340.html

Jackson’s Pride

http://www.amazon.com/Jacksons-Pride-Company-Men-Book-ebook/dp/B0143O2B7S

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Jacksons-Pride-Company-Men-Book-ebook/dp/B0143O2B7S

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-jackson039spride-1881912-161.html

Meet the author:

Lynn Lorenz is an award-winning and best-selling author of over 30 gay romances. She lives in Texas, where she’s a fan of all things Texan, like Longhorns, big hair, and cowboys in tight jeans. She’s never met a comma she didn’t like, and enjoys editing and brainstorming with other writers. Lynn spends most of her time writing about hot sex with even hotter heroes, plot twists, werewolves, and medieval swashbucklers. She’s currently at work on her latest book, making herself giggle and blush, and avoiding all the housework.

Where to find the author:

Website: http://www.lynnlorenz.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/lynn.lorenz.58

Twitter: @lynnlorenz

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1496392.Lynn_Lorenz

Tour Dates & Stops:

10-Nov: Elin Gregory, BFD Book Blog

12-Nov: Up All Night, Read All Day, Tara Lain

17-Nov: Divine Magazine, Scattered Thoughts & Rogue Words

19-Nov: Molly Lolly

24-Nov: Velvet Panic, Havan Fellows

26-Nov: Lee Brazil, Jessie G. Books

1-Dec: Love Bytes, The Novel Approach

3-Dec: Bayou Book Junkie, MM Good Book Reviews

Rafflecopter Prize: E-copy of any book from any of Lynn’s series

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Blog Tour – Behr Facts by Pat Henshaw

Posted in contest, Excerpt on November 2, 2015| 1 Comment »

Author Name: Pat Henshaw

Book Name: Behr Facts

Series: Foothills Pride

Book: Three

Release Date: October 28, 2015

Pages or Words: 90 pages

Categories: Contemporary, Fiction, Gay Fiction, M/M Romance, Romance

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Cover Artist: AngstyG

Blurb:

Big, burly CEO Abe Behr is dismayed to discover someone—possibly a family member—is stealing from Behr Construction, which primarily employs Behr relatives. Abe takes the unprecedented step of hiring an outsider, likeable CPA Jeff Mason, to go over the books and help find the culprit. They are drawn to each other as they talk to workers, including Abe’s two younger brothers and their shifty cousin.

Since he has sacrificed romance all his life to build the business, Abe’s surprised by his feelings for the handsome Jeff. He’s even more shocked when they are confronted by bigotry in the Sierra Nevada foothills community, which is being inundated by gays moving from the San Francisco area. As he and Jeff get closer, Abe must come to grips with coming out to a family and community that aren’t very tolerant. Fortunately, being the head Behr helps him find his footing and grab onto love when it bites him.

Excerpt:

“You ever come up the bank to sit under my tree? Looks like a much more comfortable place to fish. Not as rocky at any rate.” Jeff took a drink of his beer as I again scrambled to keep up. “My dad called it the Fishing Tree. He seemed to think fish congregated off the shore there.”

We sat in silence. It was my turn to talk. I’m pretty good in business situations. Not so much in social ones. At social events, mostly I hold up walls. Shake hands. Grunt a lot. Let others carry the conversational load.

Lorraine set our meals in front of us. The full burger with everything for him. The grilled mountain trout and steamed vegetables for me.

“You do a lot of fishing?” I managed after a long silence.

“Not really.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “My dad said fishing couldn’t be taught. He said it was something intuitive. I never had any idea what I was doing. So I never saw any use in fishing. I never saw any fish either.”

Again, silence as I processed and caught up. “It’s not rocket science. You figure out what kind of fish you want. Where it lives. Lure it to you. Then catch it.”

He looked skeptical and almost self-conscious. “It can’t be so easy,” he said with a little laugh.

“Why not?”

“What about the different rods, lures, tackle, stuff?” He looked so serious, as if I were missing the point. As if I didn’t understand. He was right. I didn’t.

“Look. You can catch fish with your bare hands. If you want to. The extra stuff is just extra stuff.”

“If you say so.” He shook his head, a smile still on his lips. “Have you ever caught a fish with your bare hands?”

I lifted my hands and looked down at the mess that were my paws. Calluses, nicks, cuts, punctures, blunt fingers, the bandage now off the one with the splinter. These were the hands of a man who’d framed houses as a tall, rangy preteen and had lived in construction ever since. Could I catch a fish with my bare hands?

“Yeah. All it takes is absolute stillness and patience.” I sighed. “Not a whole lot of people have both together. Somebody once told me it’s all about Zen.” Somebody else said the only reason I could do it was because I was too stupid to know it was impossible.

“Zen.” His tone said he was surprised I knew such a word.

“You know, like the Eastern religion,” I answered. “Though why we still call it Eastern is beyond me. It’s really Far West, not Far East to us.” I was grumbling and rambling. Avoiding for some reason.

He rattled me. Nobody ever rattled me. I’m Abe Behr, the big Behr.

He was studying me as intently as I was him. He appeared too beautiful, too perfect, too unscarred. I just hoped his accountant skills were as perfect as he looked.

“What kind of fish you want to catch?” I asked. Staring at him wasted our time.

He pointed his fork to my plate. “How about that? It’s good, right?”

“Trout,” I agreed. “Lots of different kinds of trout.”

He looked like he’d never eaten any in his life.

“This is trout from our lake. Have a bite.”

He’d finished his burger but didn’t make a move on my fish. His expression was split between wanting to dig in and reluctance to do so.

“Just taste it,” I growled. “It won’t bite.”

His eyes snapped up to meet mine. His puzzled stare asked if the stupid bear had deliberately made a joke or not. Then he gave a happy, hearty laugh, and his fork raided my fish.

“So? What do you think?” I asked after he swallowed.

“I think you made a great joke,” he said with twinkling eyes. “And the trout is delicious. Is this why you threw your catch back? Did you know you’d get it cooked perfectly here at the cafe?”

“Naw. I was stalking the pie. Fish was a bonus.”

“They have good pie here?”

“Wait and see.”

Buy the book:

Dreamspinner ~ Amazon ~ Amazon UK ~ Kobo ~ All Romance Ebooks (English titles only)

Meet the author:

Pat Henshaw, author of the Foothills Pride Stories, was born and raised in Nebraska and promptly left the cold and snow after college, living at various times in Texas, Colorado, Northern Virginia, and Northern California. Pat enjoys travel, having visited Mexico, Canada, Europe, Nicaragua, Thailand, and Egypt, and Europe, including a cruise down the Danube.

Now retired, Pat has spent her life surrounded by words: Teaching English composition at the junior college level; writing book reviews for newspapers, magazines, and websites; helping students find information as a librarian; and promoting PBS television programs.

Her triumphs are raising two incredible daughters who daily amaze her with their power and compassion. Fortunately, her supportive husband keeps her grounded in reality when she threatens to drift away while writing fiction.

Where to find the author:

Website: http://patbooked.blogspot.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pat.henshaw.10

Twitter: https://twitter.com/phenshaw

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Pat-Henshaw/e/B00BPDEDEA/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1436131610&sr=8-1

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/pathenshaw/

Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/redesigningmax

Email: phenshaw527@gmail.com

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6998437.Pat_Henshaw

Tour Dates & Stops:

Parker Williams, BFD Book Blog, The Jena Wade, 3 Chicks After Dark, Divine Magazine, Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents, Jessie G. Books, Bayou Book Junkie, Happily Ever Chapter, MM Good Book Reviews, Charley Descoteaux, The Hat Party, Elin Gregory, V’s Reads, Vampires, Werewolves, and Fairies, Oh My, Molly Lolly, Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews, Multitasking Mommas, Mikky’s World of Books, Inked Rainbow Reads, It’s Raining Men, Michael Mandrake

Rafflecopter Prize: A $10 Starbucks Gift Card to 3 winners

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New Release – Haven’s Revenge by Phetra H Novak

Posted in contest, Excerpt, New Release on October 23, 2015| 2 Comments »

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Phetra H Novak’s newest book titled HAVEN’S REVENGE is OUT today.

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ABOUT THE BOOK

Series: A Caddo Norse Novel #1

Cover Artist: Shayla Mist

Length: 305 Pages

Blurb: Haven Naranjo is a proud Caddo Indian, with a frightening past. He was a mere fifteen year old boy when he found his parents, part of his tribe, and his high school sweetheart slaughtered by a wereman gone mad. Falling victim to a system that is not always prepared to deal with a shattered young mind, Haven finally gives up on himself. He grows up to be bitter and hateful toward the creatures he hate. Werewolves.

Alexander Prescott is the younger of the two Prescott boys and comes from a large werewolf clan. But things are bigger than that. Alexander, is the true vessel of the Fenrir Ulv and is to become the leader of all supernatural beings, the King of Wolves. On top of that, he’s in love with Haven. He’s known since he hit puberty that Haven is his true mate. But there’s one problem, Haven hates what he can become. However, Alexander has a plan on how he is to charm his, and his wolf’s way into the grumpy Caddo Indian man’s heart.

But fate has other plans for them. The Asa Guard enters their calm country living, determined to use their own kind against them and kill the true vessel—Alexander Prescott.

When war between the Asa Gods and the Fenrir Ulv starts knocking on their door, what side will the damaged Haven choose? Will he find a way of trusting those, especially Alexander, who he feels has betrayed him and let his animal, the eagle, lead him straight to his fate by his mate’s side? Or will he trust the words of strangers, who come to make his quest of seeing all shifters dead a reality?

Haven’s Revenge is a story of an emotional journey for a whole community. It’s about finding acceptance not just from others but in yourself.

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EXCERPT

Haven leaned back on his heels, quickly wiping his cum covered hand off on the grass before getting up, mumbling under his breath as he gave Alexander a quick glance. “What the fuck was I thinking?”

He stumbled toward camp, braiding his hair back with determination.

At first Alexander was taken aback, almost shocked by his abrupt, cold dismissal but it only lasted for a few short seconds before he got his bearings again. His new found confidence and possessive streak took over. Like the swift “animal” he actually was, he stood, crossing Haven’s path in no time. When their eyes met, sparks flew. There was nothing submissive at all with the look that sparked in Alexander’s eyes.

“No. You’re mine, Haven. Mine. I’ve waited for you for years and I’m done. Get used to it because you belong to me now.” His voice was calm but there was no misunderstanding the words that were spoken. He gripped Haven’s jaw in one firm grip. With a great force, that shouldn’t have been possible, he claimed Haven’s lips with his own, forcing his tongue into his mouth as he gasped at the heated intrusion. Dominating Haven and the kiss completely Haven couldn’t help but to give himself permission to melt into the hungry kiss. Just for a few seconds. When Alexander finally broke off the kiss, they were both breathing hard lips still only inches apart as they tried to stare each other out. Haven was the one who looked away first.

Alexander gave him a calm, almost arrogant smirk before turning his attention to getting himself dressed, rather than standing around with his jeans halfway down his thighs.

“In your dreams,” Haven muttered, shaking his head. He was pissed at himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. See what losing control did? It fucked everything up, and what the hell was wrong with Alexander? That kid needed a new hobby, one that didn’t involve him. But Haven feared that Alexander had made up his mind and wasn’t letting go.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He was so screwed.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Phetra often refers to herself as the odd man out, the dorky book nerd who rather spend her time with a good book or making up fantastic stories with even more fantastic characters, than live in the real world dealing with real people.

The real world is strange in a very non humorous way and people in it complicate it to the point of wearing you out. In the world of the written word no matter if it is in someone else’s words or that of her own things might get busy, complicated, and sometime even plain painful but somewhere along the line there is always a hero on the horizon. He might not be prime or proper, a church going pretty boy since the author prefer rebellious men and women who don’t follow the protocols of society.

One of her favorite saying are that only dead fish follow the stream and well she ain’t no dead fish.

Phetra live together with her family, two children, a domestic partner and their two cats in Gothenburg, Sweden and when reading her books you will notice that she always finds a way of bringing her own culture into her books.

The joy of writing and reading comes from her childhood and is something she has always loved, something she is passionate to share with others. Phetra loves hearing from her readers even with ideas of what they want to come next.

If you are looking for her the best place to start looking for her is at home in the quietest corner of the house where you’ll find her either curled up with her Kindle or her laptop typing away.

Facebook Page || Twitter || Google+ || Goodreads

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BUY LINKS

Amazon US
Amazon UK

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GIVEAWAY

Winner’s Prize: E-copy of HAVEN’S REVENGE

What to do to win?

Simply leave a comment telling us why would you like to read this book!

Contest Ends: 25^th October, 2015

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Cover Reveal – Cardinal Sins by Lissa Kasey

Posted in contest, Excerpt on October 21, 2015| Leave a Comment »

Author Name: Lissa Kasey

Book Name: Cardinal Sins

Series: Hidden Gem

Book: Two

Series should be read in order

Release Date: November 13, 2015

Pages or Words: 105,000 words

Categories: M/M Romance, Science Fiction, Urban Fantasy

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Cover Artist: Shobana Appavu.

Goodreads Link:

Blurb:

Paris Hansworth, star whore turned senator and the most powerful man in City M, has been hiding his terminal illness for years. Searching for a way to reverse the toxic environment that’s killing him, Paris stumbles upon a lost research facility, and a merman named Rain.

Years alone has made Rain long for companionship, and the beautiful man on the other side of the glass intrigues him. But Rain speaks the wrong language, and is decades out of touch. He isn’t quite sure what to think of the new environment he’s been thrust into.

As a virus spreads through the city targeting City M’s most private residents—A-Ms—Paris realizes he’s out of time. He’s willing to sacrifice everything, even his own life, to stop it. But Rain might just be the missing DNA link to explain the mutations created in the last plague, maybe even the cure.

Watching Paris race to save his friends, Rain knows he’s found someone special and will do anything to stay by his side. But the past Paris thought he’d escaped is seeking revenge, and he’s forced to adapt yet again, possibly even becoming a monster. He only hopes Rain will still want him.

Excerpt:

When the light aura faded from his sight he began to move the mobile unit again trying to find the small blip he’d seen before. Again just on the edges of the screen, so Paris turned the unit, following the movement. The snow was heavier this way, but when he looked back he could still see the copter in the distance and the people spread across the ice with different equipment.

The tires on the mobile unit spun as it hit something and was apparently stuck. Paris frowned and went to dig it from a fairly deep snow bank. It was wedged far enough that he had to chisel a bit of ice away to unhook the front from an unusual ice shelf. It probably wasn’t more than a few inches higher than the rest of the ice, but it had a lip. Paris hoped the mobile unit wasn’t damaged. He set it down and brushed the snow away from part of the shelf. The edges were shaped like water had spilled over the top and frozen—a sort of tiny waterfall. The snow was loose and light, so Paris shoved it aside, glad Candy had made him take two pairs of mittens instead of his normal driving gloves. The cold froze him to the core regardless. At least his hands weren’t numb yet.

The shelf was probably four feet long by six feet wide. Paris leaned over the cleared edge and brushed away the last bit of the snow. Maybe the facility was here and that’s why the water seemed to come up. Oddly the ice over the shelf was dark instead of white. Did that mean it wasn’t solid? He wasn’t dumb enough to try to step on it.

Paris picked up the mobile unit and set it on the shelf, moving it around for a scan. The ice was very thin. Less than a foot deep. How odd. Still there was nothing moving. Paris had hoped to find some sort of exotic fish or something so he could tease Aki relentlessly about his mermaid dream.

Something appeared on the screen just as Paris was reaching to put the mobile unit away. What was that? He stared at the screen as the blip came closer and got larger. He peered over the edge into the dark murky depth, not expecting to see anything at all. Most people would have been blind out here anyway. Paris’ night sight was better than most. He could almost make out a shape in the darkness. Was there something down there? The scanner was thermal so did that mean whatever was down there was cold blooded—perhaps had even adapted to the cold of long brutal winters and icy water?

He set the scanner aside and crouched low beside the shelf, then brushed away a bit more snow. There it was again. Something was moving down there. Something large. It could have been a fish, maybe, but a very big fish. There was definitely a fin. Whatever the movement was it was further to the side than Paris was. He got up and brushed the snow away, walking carefully around the edge just in case the ice wasn’t as solid.

The scanner began beeping—a signal that something large was close. Paris stared through the thin sheet of ice watching for movement. Was that something right there? He leaned forward, hand on the ice to steady himself.

Suddenly a face appeared on the other side of the glass. Not that of a fish, and not quite a person. A hand reached for him. Paris stumbled backward breath caught in his throat. What the hell was that? The ice thumped like whatever was on the other side was trying to get through. Paris took another step back. There was only a half a second warning of crackling before he was suddenly falling through the ice, though thankfully not into water. He rolled a few times, hit a few things on his way down but landed in a pile of fluffy snow surrounded by what seemed to be a frozen water fall.

“Holy fucking hell.” Paris sucked in a few heavy gasps before floundering his way out of the snow pile. Even with his good night vision everything was pitch black. The moonlight trickling through the break in the ice above gave him the impression of ice over rock, but he couldn’t be sure. He flicked on the light attached to his suit, happy it hadn’t been broken in the fall.

The ground was solid concrete here—not ice—or at least as far as he could tell it wasn’t ice. Very faintly over the far opening enclave that led off to darkness there was a number. Five. Apparently he’d landed in the middle of the missing facility. Part of it. The Great Lakes facility had twelve aqua ducts and tanks, all containing different species of fish. There had never been an official area for APs since APs were not known by the general public. Paris wondered if any of the records were intact. Everything seemed to be under heavy sheets of ice and water.

“Senator?” Paris’ radio crackled in his ear. “Location?”

He pushed the button hoping it would work and turned on his tracker. “Aqua duct five, I believe. Down a very deep hole. Watch out that first step is a killer.” He stared up at the broken layer of ice that had formed over what appeared to be an old stairway that was now covered in several haphazard layers of ice. Had there been a building on top of all this at one time? That made sense didn’t it? It would have been washed away in the flood.

A moment later several lights peered down the hole. “Do you need a medic?” One of them asked. The others were talking about rope and equipment, not sure if they had anything long enough to get them in and out or even pull him up. If Paris hadn’t slid his way down and landed in a pile of snow he’d likely be dead. The drop was over fifty feet.

“Nothing broken,” Paris shouted back. Bruised, sore, but mobile. The giant wall of ice in front of him was actually glass with a layer of ice over the top making it somewhat murky. “Did you really see a face, Hansworth?” He asked himself. “Soon you’ll be babbling about mermaids like Aki. It was probably just your reflection. Couldn’t have seen much through ice that thick anyway.” He adjusted the cuffs of his jacket and glared at the dark space beyond. The light reflected back his own weary face. His mask had fallen off in the fall, but toxic air couldn’t do much damage to him anyway. He was already dying. No need to dwell he reminded himself. He wasn’t one to focus on the misfortune of the past. He was wealthy and powerful. No one should pity him. Not even himself.

Something was glowing on the other side of the glass. Paris clicked off his light. The men above called to him that they were coming down. He ignored them. The brightness intensified. First in green, then blue, and finally purple. Not one or two things but hundreds lighting up to illuminate the darkness beyond the glass. Fish. Nothing Paris recognized from any file or book, but hundreds of glowing fish swirled and moved beyond the glass. A few even came close enough to brush by his outstretched hand like they knew what he was.

“Fish don’t look like people,” he told himself. These fish were beautiful. Something that might be found in the deepest ocean. Some looked deadly with large teeth and long antennae. Most were longer than Paris’ arm, a few as small as his hand. They moved in schools circling close before moving away.

Paris found an almost boy-like joy in watching them. He’d never experienced an aquarium before. There were two left in all the united cities, one on the west coast and one on the east coast. He’d never had time to go to either. Of course he grew up with videos that showed him of such things. Virtual environments could almost simulate going to one of these places. Or at least that’s what he’d thought until now.

The fish moved aside, seeming startled but unafraid by something else moving close. Paris watched with fascination as something swam toward him he was sure wasn’t possible. Hot damn, he owed Aki an apology. It stopped before the glass, reaching out to lay webbed fingers over where Paris rested his mitten-covered hand. A mermaid? Merman? Paris couldn’t tell as it was a swirl of fins and hair, but it did look sort of human on the top and all fish on the bottom. Multicolored scales decorated its torso in batches and even covered a good deal of its face. How odd.

Buy the book:

eBook: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7028

Paperback: http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=7029

Meet the author:

Lissa Kasey lives in St. Paul, MN, has a Bachelor’s Degree in Creative Writing, and collects Asian Ball Joint Dolls who look like her characters. She has three cats who enjoy waking her up an hour before her alarm every morning and sitting on her lap to help her write. She can often be found at Anime Conventions masquerading as random characters when she’s not writing about boy romance.

Where to find the author:

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorLissaKasey

Twitter: https://twitter.com/parisbvamp

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/parisbvamp/