Excerpt:
Agent Jonas Hunt was a member of the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit based in Quantico, Virginia, and assigned to work “special cases.” At 6’1” and 159 pounds, Agent Hunt managed to look more like a model than an agent.
Jonas had been supervising the removal of the body of a murdered pregnant woman from the Potomac when he was called to North Carolina to collect a unique set of humanlike bones found in a trashcan on a small college campus.
Agent Hunt’s phone rang, and it was Harlem Gilliams, the medical examiner back at Quantico, assigned to work his case. Harlem was an ebon-hued pseudo-nerd with small, slanted dark eyes and a set of exceptionally full lips. Harlem and Jonas had become fast friends over a year ago when they were assigned to work on the case of a female serial killer in the Baltimore metropolitan area.
“Harlem, how are you?” Jonas said.
“I’m fine. This is a very strange corpse that you sent me.”
“What do you mean?”
“The anatomy looks human, but the medical examination reveals significant anomalies in the bone structure, musculature, and nervous system.”
“What are you saying?” Jonas asked.
“I am saying that I have never seen anything like it,” Harlem explained.
“Just take good notes and don’t tell anyone what you’ve found. I’ll be back from North Carolina in a few days,” Jonas said.
“Are we going to get a chance to spend time together?” Harlem lowered his voice.
“You know Juliette is going to be expecting me to come home as soon as I get back in the city,” Jonas explained.
“I know, but what about what I need?” Harlem whined. Jonas sighed.
“You know I can’t always make it over to see you. We’ve talked about this a thousand times.” Jonas lived in Alexandria with his wife, Juliette, a Georgetown law school graduate who had never gotten around to taking the bar exam. Juliette spent her days and nights looking for ways for Jonas to make her the center of his world. Harlem, on the other hand, lived alone in DC, where he had made Jonas the center of his world for the last few months.
“I know,” Harlem said, sounding defeated.
“Don’t sound that way,” Jonas pleaded.
“I just don’t think you know how much I want to see you,” Harlem continued.
“You know what, I’ll work this out for you, babe. I’ll tell Juliette that I have to stay out of town one more day and then I’ll come back and spend the evening with you.”
“Really?”
“For real.”
“I’ll do that thing you like when you get here.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Meet the author:
Shadrach Octavio Walker, a.k.a. Shad O. Walker, has always been an avid fan of all things science fiction and fantasy. It wasn’t until he realized that there were no significant fantasy or paranormal series featuring LGBT characters of color that he created his first groundbreaking series, One Warlock’s Love Story (OWLS).
Armed with multiple degrees, numerous life experiences, and several writing awards, Shad remains as elusive as the vampires in his series’ House of Aleph with writing as powerful as the shifters in its Alpha pack. Supported by a coven of loyal readers, Shad is sure to take the literary world by storm.
Inspired by the creativity of Octavia Butler, storytelling of James Baldwin, and passion of E. Lynn Harris, Shad is at the forefront of an entirely new expression of science fiction and fantasy. Excerpts from the series were originally posted on a social networking site that gained Shad a solid and loyal fan base. What started out as a desire to create and share a new kind of fantasy turned into a dream come true with the release of the first installment of One Warlock’s Love Story titled All Knight Long. Follow Shad and the One Warlock’s Love Story series at http://www.shadowalkermedia.com.
Excerpt:
Veering to the left, I allowed myself a quick glance over my shoulder. Not that I saw any chance of the elgoth having lost interest in me, because those fucking beasts never lost interest once they’d set their sights on prey, but sometimes a new prey might attract them more, which I’d have welcomed right then.
My lungs burned and my leg muscles smarted like hell from running like a rabbit through thick brushes and overgrown ferns. I even zigzagged around. Too bad I couldn’t find a rabbit’s hole to hide in.
I had no idea where Tom, Carson, and the rest of the team were, either.
We’d been separated before—it happened when gigantic Tash’Ba war beasts decided we looked good enough to eat—but I’ve never liked it. No, scratch that. Every time it happened, it put the fear of God in me. A gust of warm breath, mingled with some spittle, sprayed my neck. I squeaked and swerved to the right, vaulting over a stunted tree trunk. Seconds later, wood splinters sped past my head, and I lost my footing on the vibrating ground.
I sprawled facedown in the mud, panic sending bolts of confusing messages through my body. Maybe… maybe if I kept completely still, the elgoth wouldn’t touch me? The first time I’d made the acquaintance of one of these towering forty-foot-tall creatures, Tom had instructed me not to move, because they wouldn’t be able to locate us.
It had worked on Ligador and a couple of other breeding stations, but last time a team member tried this approach, the elgoth had roared and ripped him apart. All Tash’Ba war beasts seemed to be altering their tactics, making them even more unpredictable than before.
The mud around me sloshed, almost causing me to inhale some of it. I suppressed the urge to cough and kept my mouth shut as tight as I’d ever done, even though a whimper threatened to spill over my lips any second.
Another gust of foul breath struck my neck. My hair stood on end, my muscles locked in some kind of rigid stupor. That was it. I’d end my life as a morsel for an elgoth.
A blast echoed from the south, and the beast’s breath vanished from my neck. Gunfire followed the blast, and voices filtered through my terrified haze. They’d run right into the elgoth if I didn’t warn them. But… if I moved, or raised my voice, the elgoth would bite my head off. Literally.
NICK PAINE tried to duck as a gigantic scarlet bird whipped over his head and he began to lose his balance. The first airborne attack was followed a second later by a screech and another swooping red streak that caused him to crouch and fall to his knees. At least he was wearing jeans today instead of a suit.
Katie snorted, let loose a torrent of giggles, and pointed. “He’s not going to hurt you, Daddy.”
“Isn’t it me who’s supposed to be telling you that?” Nick scrunched his eyebrows together and tried to chastise his daughter while also searching the birdhouse for further threats.
Katie rolled her eyes and flipped her long blonde hair off to the side, appearing much older than her eight years. “Come on, Daddy. I’ll protect you.” She offered her hand, and Nick grinned as he stood, taking her tiny hand in his.
It was a Wednesday morning, one in which Nick should have been sitting in a colorless conference room listening to doctors and administrators fight each other over inane operational details, but despite the threat of being pecked to death by tropical birds, Nick didn’t want to be anywhere else.
It was rare he was able to escape from work during the day, and this field trip to the zoo with Katie’s class had been the perfect excuse. The hospital system was always there. It was a twenty-four-hour seven-day-a-week commitment of utter chaos. Nick still wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up as a vice president by the age of thirty-three, but had to concede his success had a lot to do with the inordinate number of hours he spent downtown. His generous salary was meant to compensate him for the endless hours on call talking nurses and cardiologists off the ledge while also making sure all their equipment and staffing needs were met. He loved his job and he was good at it, but it took him away from Katie way too much for his liking.
Nick pushed aside thoughts of the hospital. He would be flooded with e-mails, texts, and voice mail as soon as he switched his cell back on. Instead he listened to Katie patter on about the different kinds of birds that filled the zoo aviary.
“How do you know so much about them?” Nick asked as he forced his complete attention back to her.
Katie shrugged in a gesture that was too much like her carefree Uncle Roban. “I watch the National Geographic channel.”
“That much?”
Katie huffed. “Yeah, Daddy. A lot. Loads and loads.”
Nick restrained a laugh. Where had she come up with that phrase? She was growing up so fast. Much too fast for his liking. The years just kept slipping by, and as hard as his path had been as of late, Nick was grateful for the luck he did have. Katie was a beautiful girl. Tall and thin, just like her momma, she had blonde hair shades lighter than his that ran down to her waist and snarled easily with how fine it was. He’d given up attempting to brush the mats out a year ago, leaving the task to Katie’s grandmother or her nanny.
“Look at the baby geese!” Katie exclaimed, letting go of his hand and running full tilt down the pathway toward the birds. Then just as suddenly she was veering off again, a delighted squeal emanating from her. “A waterfall!”
Nick dug into his pockets as he walked to catch up, knowing what she was going to ask even before she said anything.
“I want to make a wish,” she pleaded, looking up at him with wide eyes.
Nick placed a quarter in her outstretched hand, earning a satisfied smile from her.
She scrunched her eyes tightly closed and whispered something Nick couldn’t hear, then tossed the coin into the water.
“What did you wish for, baby girl?” Nick asked, as was part of their routine.
“Daddy, you know I can’t tell you,” she protested with a pout. “Or else it won’t come true.”
Of course he knew that. Katie wanted to flip a coin into every fountain they encountered. And she always went about it as if her whole existence was placed into making that one wish come true. But she never told Nick what it was that she silently hoped for.
Nick had to wonder if she would remember this later on. If she would remember what she wished years from now, or at the very least remember enough to tell him later whether or not they came true.
Nick looked into her brown eyes—so much like his but with a fire that was all her own—and his breath caught. Yeah, he was just about the luckiest man in the world. She stood on her tiptoes, cupped her hands around his cheeks, and planted a kiss on his lips that left Nick with an ear-to-ear grin that he wouldn’t be able to wipe off for hours to come.
A PLOP of wet plaster slid down Adam’s head, over his neck, and dripped under the collar of his shirt as Miriam’s laughter receded into the next room.
Well, then. He supposed he deserved that.
He’d been leaving Miriam to her own devices for far too long as he worked nearly nonstop to meet his deadline. Left on her own, Miriam would fill her time with the mischievous, surreptitious, and wicked dealings that could only be born of an Azzi. She was quiet like him, shy at first meeting, with the same black hair and chiseled features that stood out despite her age. Also like him, she was a goof when in her comfort zone, and Adam’s loft—even though it was a professional workspace—was one of the places she was most comfortable in. She had unlimited access to paints, pens, pencils, paper… and the plaster she’d just chucked at his head.
Adam picked up a stained rag and swiped the plaster off the back of his neck. “Miriam!”
He turned on his stool, rotating to face the kitchen area where Miriam peeked her head around the corner, hazel eyes wide and innocent. But Adam knew better than to be fooled by her appearance. He crooked a finger and pointed to the spot next to him.
She crawled on hands and knees, her eyes going Disney forest creature in size as she got closer to him, and Adam had to bite back a laugh. When she got to his feet, she sat with her legs crisscrossed, hands on her knees, and waited patiently for him to say something.
She was such a good kid. Wild at times, yes. But he’d been the same when he was her age. Unlike his upbringing, though, he was never going to allow Miriam to fear what kind of punishment she would receive. To others it might have made him seem like a soft father, but Adam had rules that were nonnegotiable and rules he expected her to challenge and break. He was always fair. Consistent. And he never touched her in anger. That alone made her childhood vastly different than his. Adam was going to protect her innocence as long as he possibly could.
“Miriam—” he started.
“Yes, Baba?” she interjected, then bit at her bottom lip.
Adam sighed. Whether it was genetics or environment, she was so like him it scared him some days.
“Why did you throw plaster at my head?” He asked the question in all seriousness, then heard how ridiculous it all sounded, looked at the growing smirk on his daughter’s face, and that was enough to send him into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Adam swooped her off the floor and hugged her to his chest, tickling her ribs. Miriam squirmed and protested, her high-pitched giggle filling the studio.
“I love you, Miri,” he said as he squeezed her tight.
Miriam tucked her head into Adam’s neck and pulled her arms in so Adam had her wrapped securely.
“I love you, Baba.”
Adam’s heart was full almost to bursting. The laughter was enough to give him a second wind. He needed to work. He had to get this sculpture done. But he didn’t want to let his little girl go.
“Finish, then play with me, ’kay?” Miriam offered.
Adam started to tear up. She knew him better than any person in the world. This brilliant, vivacious, too smart for her own good little girl was his best friend. And Adam wouldn’t have had it any other way.
“Yeah, yeah. No more plaster, though,” he chastised her, then kissed the tip of her nose.
Miriam rubbed her nose in protest and squirmed out of his arms, already retreating at full speed. On to another adventure.
Adam sank onto his stool and turned back to his sculpture. Less than three weeks until his next show. And this piece, the focal point of the entire fiasco, had to be done by then. But Adam found himself pushing the work off. He sought inspiration and didn’t find it. He would rather not show it at all than display something that was so… incomplete.
He picked up his brush and studied the form, then put the brush back down. His fifteen-year high school reunion had been last weekend and he’d had no desire to go, but the memories had been inescapable regardless. It was those memories that had led to this piece…. Led to this creative fog he couldn’t force himself out of.
He would eat first. Maybe they’d take a walk. He’d do his afternoon prayers with Miriam, grounding himself in the tradition of his faith. He wasn’t as active in his practice as his mom was, but he still found strength in the words and tenets. In Islam, he found calm, and a connection to his family and to something that was greater than him.
Then, maybe then, his head would be clear enough to see this project to its end.
CHAPTER TWO
“NO, ROB,” Nick said definitively into the Bluetooth mic above his driver’s seat.
“Come on, dude!” Roban yelled on the other end of the phone, and Nick had to turn down the volume on the car speakers because of the sheer volume of the accent-tinged wail. It was only when Rob was really excited or drunk that his Indian accent started to slip through.
Nick took a deep breath and rested his elbow on the armrest. “This is my first day off in five months. I want to spend it with Katie.”
“She’ll be asleep—” Roban started at the same time that Katie, from the backseat, said, “I’ll be asleep, Daddy.”
Nick frowned. Well, then. Apparently the wee ones were joining forces on this one.
“Roban—” he tried again.
“Niiiick,” Roban answered.
Nick stole a glance in the rearview mirror where Katie was strapped into her seat. She had her arms crossed and a disapproving scowl on her face that would make her Uncle Daniel proud.
“Fine,” he relented and Roban gave a much too excited whoop in response. “I’ll go out. But not too late. I have to be at work early.”
“You’re always at work early,” Roban reminded him. “Live a little before your cardiologists drive you into a heart attack.”
“Fine,” he repeated. “But I’m going to drive.” He could try to keep some measure of control over the situation.
“Nope. We’re cabbing it. I’m getting you fucking wrecked. Shit, sorry, Katie,” Roban backtracked, as if he was just remembering he was on speakerphone.
“No worries, Uncle Ro,” Katie yelled from the backseat.
“That’s my girl. Now, Nick. I expect to see you in something else besides a button-down shirt and tie. We’re going downtown. Mayhem will ensue and you must be appropriately attired.”
“It’s a Wednesday,” Nick reminded him.
“Willful Wednesday at the Screamin’ Shillelagh,” Roban responded with a laugh.
Nick stopped at the red light and hung his head in defeat. “Can’t we stay in the burbs?”
“I’ll pick you up at eight” was all Roban said, then his car notified him the call had ended.
Nick shut off his cell and threw it into the passenger seat, then pulled away when the light turned green. Roban would be the death of him. At the very least, the odds were in their favor to end up in a full-on street brawl after closing time. Either way, it wouldn’t be a boring night. Nick chuckled to himself.
“Who do you want to come stay with you, baby girl?” he asked Katie as they drove toward home. Katie was twirling her hair, deep in thought, when Nick glanced back at her. “What is it?” he asked with an edge of worry.
“Can you call Momma? See if she’ll come stay with me?”
Nick restrained a sigh and tried not to feel defeated at the sadness in Katie’s voice.
“Yeah, baby girl. I’ll call her when we get home.”
Meet S. A. McAuley:
I sleep little, read a lot. Happiest in a foreign country. Twitchy when not mentally in motion. My name is Sam, not Sammy, definitely not Samantha. I’m a pretty dark/cynical/jaded person, but I hide that darkness well behind my obsession(s) for shiny objects. I’m the macabre wrapped in irresistible bubble wrap and a glittery pink bow, I suppose.
I have a never-ending-abyss-like secret love for poetry. Especially Rumi, Hafiz, and Neruda. You can predict (as well as change) my moods and my writing schedule by my playlists.
Insomnia is my greatest ally and my nemesis. I like cheese and bourbon, not necessarily in that order, but I’m flexible.
If you’re in any fandom, then I’m probably already in love with you. I’m not joking.
I like my tv shows marathoned and I have to use internet blocking software to be productive. I have software called Producteev that I loaded onto my laptop and proceeded to fill out in detail and now I haven’t touched it in a year.
I enjoy normalized chaos.
Hit me up! I love to hear from readers. xx Where to find S. A. McAuley:
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Excerpt:
Sebastian stepped out of the sticky bus. It was hot for that time of the year, and Germany was melting under a heat wave. Munich was no exception. The temperature was somewhere around 35°C and the air conditioning in the bus was either non-existent or not working. The fact that everyone and their mother seemed to have agreed to take this bus didn’t help to make it more bearable.
Sebastian took a deep breath, but it did nothing to cool him down. All he got was a lung full of heat, his sweat, and fumes. Fuck this shit. He could be at a bar right now, sipping a cold beer. But he wasn’t, thanks to that fucking judge.
He had to be here, the last place he wanted to be. Okay, a few meters more, then he reached the place. The sign was unmistakable: Rehabilitation Center. Fucking shit. That judge had had way too much fun sentencing him. Wasn’t there a law against such things? The urge to kick something, anything in his way, rose, but Sebastian grit his teeth. He was no sixteen-year-old anymore. Instead of kicking something, Sebastian peered into the windows. An empty desk sat near the entrance door. Nobody was there.
Sebastian took another deep breath, which did nothing to quell his anger, and slowly pushed open the door. He wouldn’t get his Community Service hours done by standing in front of the building. And if the judge had his way, Sebastian was going to be here quite a few hours. Two-hundred, to be precise. Fucking two-hundred hours of work in a rehab center. He should kill that judge.
Today, he has encountered no southerners and only a few tourists from elsewhere, and he’d be okay with that if it weren’t for the rain. It comes fast. One minute it’s sunny and lovely and easy pickings, and the next the sky’s gone black and people are running from the park with street-vendor umbrellas popping open over their heads or shopping bags held up as makeshift shields. Trip switches to catchy pop numbers and more recent music, but it’s no use.
Some days this works. People take pity on a not-quite-twenty-something singing in the rain. Older women especially seem to take in the auburn hair stuck to his forehead and his relatively petite stature and read hungry young desperation in him. They offer him sympathetic smiles and a few soggy dollars.
Other times, playing in the rain has the opposite of his intended effect—strange boy with strange eyes playing his guitar as if he doesn’t know the rain is there. Those people see the darkness in him: a boy with a chip on his shoulder that makes them nervous. Those people give him wary looks and a wide berth. Trip’s not sure he blames them.
He’s a little put out and a lot cold, so he sells his umbrella for a few dollars before shouldering his guitar and closing the lid on his coffee can to set to work at his other favorite occupation.
He’d been a decent pickpocket in his younger years, but now, after a lot of practice, he’s a better thief and a good runner when he needs to be. Not that he steals anything of particular worth. He finds value in treasures scrounged from the bottoms of pockets.
Loose change, hair binders, halves of Vicodin, broken cigarettes, crumpled matchbooks. All of it has a purpose, a certain sense of importance. He envies women and their big purses. They’ve got whole bags of riches waiting to be exhumed. Though, more likely than not, those little trinkets will remain forgotten and neglected in the bottoms of Marc Jacobs clutches and Target sale hobo bags.
Other people don’t see it—the value in these things. Maybe that’s why he steals from them. Nothing they’d miss: a worn dollar here, a business card there. He keeps it all close and works out a life he could have if he could ever let someone keep him long enough for him to build up a treasure trove of small wonders all his own.
For now, he will live with worn shopping lists, broken crayons and ticket stubs he lifts off of others. He keeps them in a beaten-up bag that is more duct tape than canvas and lets them build up stardust. Then, in those lonely hours of the night, he scatters them across the floor and works them into constellations to which he assigns stories. Some he writes down; others, he forgets before the next day. It’s not a financially savvy task, but it’s his favorite, and it passes the time as well as anything else.
About the author:
Courtney Lux is a Minnesotan-turned-New Yorker whose love for the city is rivaled only by her love for wide, open spaces. She is a graduate of University of Wisconsin-Madison and a soon-to-be graduate of New York University. When not playing writer, Courtney is an avid reader, constant dreamer, and lover of dogs, wine and being barefoot. Small Wonders is her first novel, and is the recipient of a Publishers Weekly starred review.
Excerpt:
“One of these days, Wren Tucker…” Aaron turned to his side, pillowing his head with his bent arm. His eyes slid closed, and he murmured, “I’m going to get to you.”
You already do. Wren crouched beside the bed. The first time Wren had seen him, Aaron had been dancing. The light from the club had touched on every toned dip and groove of Aaron’s body as it swiveled on the raised stage, his tight ass shaking with the beat of the music. All of that had been amazing, but it had been Aaron’s face that had captivated him—the free expression, like he was in another world. His full lips mouthing the lyrics, his head thrown back, and the locks of his black hair waving around his flushed face.
In that moment of abandon, Aaron had met Wren’s gaze, a smile tugging at the corner of his sensual mouth. Aaron had continued the dance, but he hadn’t stopped focusing on Wren.
Meet Draven St. James:
Draven St. James is a born and raised Oregonian. She has traveled extensively in search of mischief and mayhem to fill her books. Her ventures have been quite successful in inspiring a wealth of stories. Of course at the end of the day, coffee within reach, laptop at the ready is where she finds her peace.
Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7155623.Draven_St_James
Publisher: Loose ID
Cover Artist: Dar Albert
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Parker Williams, Havan Fellows, Bike Book Reviews, Full Moon Dreaming, Carly’s Book Reviews. Kimi-Chan, Bayou Book Junkie, Molly Lolly, Vampires, Werewolves, and Fairies, Oh My, Nephylim, Jessie G. Books, Rainbow Gold Reviews, 3 Chicks After Dark, Scattered Thoughts & Rogue Words, Happily Ever Chapter, My Fiction Nook, Up All Night, Read All Day, Because Two Men Are Better Than One, Bookaholic Confessions, BFD Book Blog, Wicked Faerie’s Tales and Reviews, Divine Magazine, Three Books Over The Rainbow, MM Good Book Reviews, Foxylutely Book Reviews, Fangirl Moments and My Two Cents, Dawn’s Reading Nook, Amanda C. Stone, Inked Rainbow Reads, Ogitchida Book Blog, Mikky’s World of Books, Velvet Panic
To honor his father, young footballer Todd Mackerson commits to his goal of playing for a professional team. When, at the age of 20, he is offered a place to train with one of England’s biggest clubs, he leaves home convinced his dream is within reach. Being warned by his new team mates of the tough rules and hard training routines, Todd is undeterred. But when he discovers that the player’s way of bonding borders on the sexual, and that he must learn to accept the erotic affections that connect the team together, he wonders how far he can go for his dream. But, after experiencing the care and attention men can give to each other, Todd feels awakened. Learning that each player has a special “partner” on the team, who they play and bond with as intimately as lovers, Todd becomes fascinated with the idea. And when he develops feelings for one player in particular, he discovers how a stronger kind of romance – that between two men – can be pure and powerful enough to bring magic and success on the pitch.
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Excerpt:
…The locker room was quiet. It was nearly four PM and the rest of the first team had left after lunch. It felt good to be alone with Kieran, and Todd grew more confident about the guy becoming his partner.
But he was uncertain about what to do. Although he’d suggested the sauna, he wondered if Kieran took that to mean they were going to have some hand contact with each other. Perhaps he’d been through a similar experience with Jason or one of the other players when he first came to the club, and was now taking it for granted they were going to get intimate.
While they stripped out of their gear, they talked about Todd’s parents. He mentioned his father had passed away.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Kieran stopped half way through taking off his running pants.
“It happened years ago.” Todd smiled, hoping to ease Kieran.
Although it was a moment of sorrow for him, and he detected a pensive slant in Kieran’s voice, he felt positive about the knowledge he’d shared.
Once out of their underwear Todd placed a hand on Kieran’s neck and gave a delicate rub. “Let’s shower before the sauna.”
“You always need a shower after the session.” Kieran laughed. “Get all that sweat off you before you sweat some more.” He rubbed Todd’s back as they walked into the shower room.
Would he need to soap Kieran like he saw Josh doing for Leo? He didn’t know. Todd headed to the wall and decided to just wash himself. He needed to get this right, and making a move too soon could blow it.
Kieran showered next to him and they talked some more about what music they liked. Kieran liked the Irish bands like Coldplay and U2. Todd agreed, and added Ash to the list.
“What about American rock?” Kieran asked.
Todd soaped up his legs and tried to remember if he’d heard any recently. Music wasn’t his main interest but he tried to keep up to date. “I like that song which has a bloke screaming about money or something.” He frowned. “The video has him ransacking his bedroom, looking under floorboards and shit.”
Kieran stopped washing and glanced at him with a lost expression.
“You mean ‘No Cash No Hash’?” he asked. “Yeah, the video has him running around his bedroom searching through draws and coat pockets.”
Todd laughed. That was it. The bloke loses it at the end of the video and leaps from his tenth floor flat. “NO CASH NO HASH!” he screamed.
“GONNA SPLASH MY MASH!” Kieran continued. “I AIN’T SEEN NO GREEN! NO HASH NO CASH!” Kieran beamed while Todd laughed.
Seeing Kieran’s eyes in an almost adoring look, Todd felt suddenly out of place. Kieran was four years older and yet he seemed like a younger guy. He was the same height as Todd, but his body was slimmer, more athletic than Todd’s tougher frame. He wondered if this meant he had to take the lead in this budding pair process.
“I think we should spend more time training.” Kieran smiled. “We’ll both get each other hot for the game in two weeks and show the boss we’ve got something going.”
The positive tone in his voice lifted Todd’s stomach.
“Yeah, we should.” He nodded as his head filled with the two of them on the pitch for that charity game, passing the ball to each other as they ran to the opposite end, dodging every challenge. It could be just like that time when he’d gone to the tournament with his father and met that kid with whom he’d played so well.
“Tomorrow, yeah?” Kieran said. “We can work on our defense. If you can show the boss you’ve got good tackling skills, he’ll probably play you for longer.”
Todd liked that. It sounded like Kieran had been thinking about where his skills needed work.
As Kieran stuck his head under the jet, Todd took a deep breath. Looking down, he noticed his cock had swollen a touch. Although still limp, it had reached the pre stimulation stage, where it felt heavier and appeared bigger than usual. Casting his eyes to Kieran’s, he could see a slight increase in his groin too.
Heading to the sauna they grabbed a towel each. The sauna was a long room with the door at one end. Todd went in first and headed to the far corner. Even though the locker room was empty, and he had no worries about being disturbed, he felt it best to go to the furthest point away from the glass door.
He spread the towel on the bench and sat down. Kieran sat at an angle to him.
“Everyone’s glad you’re on the team,” he said. “We’ve been in need of a new pair of feet for years.”
Todd wondered if that piece of small talk was a sign of Kieran’s uncertainty. “Thanks.”
“I’m glad we talked at Sean’s party,” Kieran went on. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to you last week or the week before.” Looking over Todd’s body his face grew serious. “You should try to lose some weight.” His eyes widened. “Not that you’ve got any fat on you, I just mean that you should try to lose some of the muscle.”
“This is my natural shape. I’ve trained for years on the pitch, done loads of sprinting, and I’ve always been this weight.”
“Try to eat less protein and more carbs…I mean, I think you look good as you are but most players have an athletic build.” He shook his head and looked downcast. “Sorry man, I’m not having a go.”
Todd cast his eyes over Kieran’s body. “You’ve got a good build,” he said. “Do you lift weights?”
“I keep that to a minimum. I think the less weight you carry around the field, the more stamina you have and the better you are at using your body.”
Todd found himself wanting to rub him and wondered whether he should ask. Glancing at his cock he saw it was flaccid but still in that ready state. He decided to shift his butt towards him so their legs touched.
“I got a massage last week from Jason.” He felt a coy grin break on his face. “It was sort of, interesting.”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed for a second, making him look mischievous. “I once had one from him. I think he likes giving them.”
“Did you like it?”
Kieran laughed. “It was ok.” He looked at Todd with amused eyes. “We should just get it over with, yeah?”
Todd exhaled. Beads of sweat snaked their way down his forehead as he pushed his butt back on the bench and spread his thighs out.
Kieran placed his pert butt between Todd’s legs.
Feeling free to do what he wanted, Todd started on his lower back and gently rubbed with his thumbs. Kieran had smoother skin than Jason and Todd’s hands slipped easily over it. He rubbed slowly up his back towards his neck. Kieran’s head flopped down in front of him, and his breathing turned slow and even.
“You’ve got good skin,” Todd said as he rubbed below Kieran’s hairline.
“I eat lots of tomatoes and drink lots of water.”
“Do the rest of the guys on the team drink a lot of beer often?”
“No.” Kieran shook his head. “Saturday night was rare. Sean often has the lads round at his house, but we don’t go mad. Those Tequila shots were too much. I think they just went overboard to celebrate your arrival. You know, it’s really affected everyone.”
Having spent most of his time trying to deal with being the new boy, Todd had given little thought to how his arrival affected everyone else. They’d had a stable team for several years, and now suddenly he was amongst them. The notion that he’d had an effect made him feel confident.
The question of who Kieran woke up next to after that party crept into Todd’s mind again. But he kept quiet and rubbed delicately under his arms, and as he did, he felt Kieran’s hands on his thighs.
“You have got some muscle on those legs,” Kieran said.
Todd tensed them for him.
“Jesus,” Kieran hissed. “That is solid.”
Todd chuckled and worked his hands slowly around his chest just like Jason had with him. The guy seemed to like it and slid back a little further until his ass touched Todd’s slowly growing hard on.
When his butt found Todd’s cock, he gave it a soft squeeze with his cheeks. Todd saw that as the signal to go for it and dipped his hands down Kieran’s hot sweaty torso. They slid smoothly, as though coated in oil, and it wasn’t long until they brushed the hard tip of Kieran’s cock.
“Yeah, do it for me,” Kieran whispered.
Todd curled his fingers around the shaft. Kieran’s cock was a little smaller than his own, but it felt good in his grip. Like Jason had done for him, he worked it slowly, gripping delicately with each downward pull. Kieran’s back inflated and subsided against him, deeper and deeper with each jerk. With his free hand, Todd dipped lower and stroked Kieran’s soft balls. His lips brushed close to Kieran’s neck and the desire to gently kiss his skin, stick out his tongue and lick the sweat running down it, grew steadily with each heaving motion of the body in front of him.
Kieran reached a hand down to Todd’s cock and after lifting his butt up an inch, directed its length beneath him and sat back down.
Kieran’s tight ass cheeks rubbed along Todd’s cock. Todd was reminded of Sean Thompson, the night on his bed with Jason Collier. They didn’t fuck. Sean had done to Todd what Todd was now doing to Kieran, and that was just sliding his cock between his crack, pushing it forward until the tip hit the ball sack.
Relief lifted him. He pressed in harder.
Kieran let out a dull breathy sound and a warm trickle slipped over Todd’s fingers, making him look down over the defenders shoulder to watch.
Kieran thrust into his grip and fired. Author Biography
A bachelor of science (Computing), Rob worked as a software developer for over 15 years before turning his full time attention to learning the craft of writing. His love of science drew him into science fiction, but his love of man drew him to the MM genre. With his strategy of thinking differently, he aims to bring something to the market that pushes the boundaries.
Rob was born and raised in Manchester, England. Spent seven years living in London, but now lives back in his home city. Interests include: reading, film, weight training, and learning all he can about people – what makes them tick, what motivates them.
Into the Team is his first published novel.
Links https://www.facebook.com/rob.damon01 https://twitter.com/RobDemanc [email protected]
Excerpt:
It was shortly after lunch on Friday that Mrs. Jones came in. Although she had shown such tenderness to Audrey, I was still in fear and awe of this woman. To me she was curt and demanding. I still dreaded Fridays on account of her. Today she barged through the door: middle aged, shaped like a tank, with a formidable purse that I suspected she could brandish as a weapon if she so chose. I shamefully admit that I hid, shaking, in the back room. I remained hidden behind the door as I watched through the space under the hinge.
She marched straight over to Tommie, who was innocently concentrating in his chair, bent over his laptop. He didn’t stand a chance.
“You, there!”
Tommie looked up and scanned the shop. Not finding me, he sacrificed himself for the greater cause.
“Yes?”
“Tommie?”
He said something I couldn’t hear then he looked around the shop again, I supposed in a vain hope that I might come rescue him. I saw him take a deep breath, preparing himself for the inevitable. Poor man didn’t have a clue what he was up against. I knew I should come out of hiding, but so help me, I didn’t have the strength. I had been dealing with her on my own every Friday for over a year, and my morbid curiosity wanted to see what she could do to someone else.
“What can I help you with, Ms. ––?
“Mrs. Jones.” She said it decisively and firmly. No question about it, she was Mrs. Jones. Like no other, she stood like a rock.
He nodded and snapped his laptop shut. “What can I help you with, Mrs. Jones?” When he stood, her eyes scanned down his body like a CT scan, slowly taking in and savoring every inch carefully.
He carried his laptop and set it on the shelf under the front counter. Mrs. Jones took in the view from behind, her head tilted thoughtfully.
I remained silent. This was getting interesting. I was seeing a side of Mrs. Jones I hadn’t known existed. I was anxious to see if Tommie could handle her.
“Well,” she said a bit breathlessly. “Tommie, your jeans are a bit tight.” He turned slowly, but her eyes settled on his midsection, centering on the zipper of his jeans.
“My eyes are up here, Mrs. Jones.”
“Totally inappropriate!” But her eyes still wandered appreciatively over Tommie’s landscape.
“Very well, Mrs. Jones,” I saw him smile pleasantly then ask, “But may I help you find something?”
I didn’t hear what she said, but to my dismay, he led her to the closet where my adult books were stashed. I almost came out to prevent the disaster that I anticipated, but instead of indignation, within moments they returned to the front desk, and I watched as he rang up her purchases. She had chosen several books.
“I hope you enjoy these, Mrs. Jones.”
“You’ve been most helpful, Tommie, not like that naughty Fox that you work for.”
She waved goodbye happily and blew him a kiss as she went out the door, her purchases held tightly to her ample chest.
“Coward!” I assumed he was talking to me, although he didn’t look up.
Meet Fai Dawson:
Fai Dawson lives in a small town thirty miles northeast of Seattle Washington in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains with her beloved wife, Becky. Together, they work on restoring their 110-year-old Victorian home. She spends her days writing, blogging and walking Moxie, their Newfie-Chow through the rainy streets of town. Pepe, a brave and proud tuxedo cat is her muse, ever mindful of providing inspiration for her next project. Although she has filled countless journals in her life, she began writing seriously in 2009 as a way to deal with anxiety. She is currently working on her next manuscript.
At fifteen, Troy and Liam were fostered by the same family, and although they hated each other at first, they gradually became solid friends. As adults, the two foster brothers live together. Both experience tough times, each being a rock for the other, but their love had never been anything other than brotherly. Until they both fall for the same guy, and things get… complicated. Dalton is fresh out of a ten year marriage. Feeling lost, he concentrates on the only thing he can control—his body. Developing from a chubby, unfit police officer into a lean, mean inked one, Dalton has never looked better, but inside, he’s never felt worse. A relationship is far from his thoughts, and one with another man makes Dalton even more confused. He takes time to get to know Troy and Liam separately, but Manchester isn’t that big, and sparks fly when fate throws the three together. Together, these three fight it out between them. Both Troy and Liam demand Dalton choose between them, but what if he didn’t have to choose? What if it could work between three? The things in life we fight for are never the easiest, but they’re the ones worth holding onto forever.
Pages or Words: 382 pages
Excerpt:
Liam chatted with Milo, but Dalton was too busy trying to stop hyperventilating and not staring at Liam’s body, seeing it as he last saw it—wet and tense, excited and looking sinful in that shower cubicle. Those types of thoughts weren’t going to help him calm down. Why oh why did that have to happen?
Blue leaned in, calming strokes running up and down Dalton’s back, sweetly spoken words whispered against his neck, and Dalton’s tension eased a little. “Is he an ex or something?”
“No,” Dalton choked out.
“Oh, I just thought there was some history there.” Blue’s glossy red lips curled into a smile.
“There’s no history of that kind.”
“But there is some to speak about?” Blue opened his green eyes wider and nodded. “It’s obvious. Maybe it’s time you resolved this tension between the two of you somehow.”
“What?” Dalton stiffened.
“Well, there’s obviously something happening between you two.”
“Yeah, but not what you think.”
Blue bit his lip while he thought. “Hmm, there’s a few different things going on from where I’m sitting.” He nudged his thigh against Dalton’s dick, and for the first time, he realised he was excited. “Or is this for me?”
Dalton truly had no idea. He was confused by his own body, not understanding why he was reacting at all. But it had happened in the showers while he watched Liam. Maybe it was those moments replaying in his mind which caused his cock to stiffen in his jeans.
Maybe it was the fact he had someone sitting on him, caring about him, someone with long legs and big heels, who was wearing make-up and who was confusing Dalton’s body by being more feminine than he was used to in a man. But then, Dalton was close to Samuel. He was beautiful and more feminine than Blue and this had never happened, and hadn’t Samuel been sitting on his knee earlier? Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe he’d already lost it.
“I don’t… I really don’t know,” he whispered into Blue’s hair. “I just… I have to go.”
“Wait, sexy.” Blue pressed his body more into his, meeting his eyes, those black lashes coated thickly in mascara. “Don’t run off just yet. There’s no need.”
“I’m not gay,” Dalton rushed out as low as he could make his voice, darting his gaze to Liam, his tight V-necked vest showing off those big muscles, jeans encasing his firm arse, that bottle hanging in between his lips.
This time, when Blue rubbed his thigh over his cock, Dalton grabbed Blue’s slender calf running up his leg and just held it, not moving him away but not pulling him closer—just frozen, not knowing what to do.
“You don’t have to label yourself with anything, Dalton.” Blue took hold of his chin, fingertips gently caressing his skin and making Dalton shift his gaze from Liam back to him. “I think…” He eased closer still, his thigh now pressed against the rigid length encased in Dalton’s jeans. “If your body needs something, it lets you know. If your eyes find something pleasing, they look more. If your heart beats faster for someone, then you follow it. I’m not gay. I’m a person. A human being. That’s the label I want to be tagged with. Hashtag Human.” He clicked his fingers with a bright smile.
Dalton smiled through his fear and understood what Blue was saying. He just wasn’t ready to think the same way. “That’s nice.”
“It’s the truth. The truth is always a good thing. I always think our brains confuse us. They have all this bullshit ‘learned’ behaviour which they pick up over the years and it tells you to think one way, your body saying another. It takes time for those two to work together and come to some sort of an agreement, but we all get there eventually. Just don’t pressure yourself, hon.” Blue leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth, Dalton’s cock now crushed against his thigh. “Of course, I would like to think this is for me, but I know better.” Blue pulled back with a heavy sigh. “If you change your mind though…” He winked with a chuckle.
“Blue.” Samuel was beside them, looking between them both. “Dalton’s a bit…” He drifted off, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, obviously not wanting to spill too much personal info about Dalton’s bad day and emotional state.
“Confused, sweetie?” Blue offered brightly.
“Yeah.” Samuel looked to the sky, then took hold of Blue’s hand. “You go get some air, Dalton.”
Meet Nicole Colville:
Nicole Colville was born and currently lives in Leeds, England. She is a wife and mother of two young girls who somehow manages to fit in being a full time author of m/m romance and erotica. She loves writing complex characters in bittersweet romances which will leave you addicted and craving more from her men.
Although best known for her popular series, Hidden and Knights to Remember, she also enjoys writing with friend, and fellow author, E.M Leya. Together they have published two books in their Sinful Temptation Collection with more planned.
Her new menage collection based in the popular city of Manchester, England is her first solo full length novel outside of The Hidden Series and has three books planned for release in 2015 & 2016.
Alec sat back in the chair and held in a sigh, feeling every bit the lab rat he’d become. Since he’d become a vampire a year ago, he’d been put through test after test, so each and every one of his unending list of talents could be explored and documented.
He’d agreed to this, and he knew it was the right thing to do, but in that very moment, he wished to be doing anything else.
And with talents for making errant thoughts an instant reality—like setting fire to sofas and making Xbox controllers explode in Eiji’s hand because he’d somehow won—it wasn’t a good frame of mind to be in.
He loved Jodis. He really did. She had become one of his best friends. But she’d also taken it upon herself to document his talents, and he’d just about had enough for one day. If replicating wasn’t a talent so frowned upon in the vampire world, he’d make a copy of himself to endure Jodis’ tests while he and Cronin hid out in their bedroom. He’d replicated himself a few times, experimentally of course, and found it too taxing on himself anyway.
“Can you do it again?” she asked, notepad and pen in hand.
Alec had found a certain talent he’d dubbed the chameleon, for obvious reasons, because he could make things change color. It was absurd, really, and probably of no better use than a party trick. But he could, if he concentrated, turn a red pen blue or a white shirt black. The talent could only manifest by touch, and it lasted only a few minutes before returning to its original color, but Jodis was rather intrigued.
Alec, on the other hand, had passed bored like it was standing still and was well on his way to irate. “Jodis, I’ve kinda had enough of this today.”
“Last one, I promise.”
For Alec, it wasn’t so much as reining in a temper anymore, where the most damage done was a cutting remark. Now it was keeping a lid on a few dozen talents that reacted poorly to anger. He only had to get really pissed off and a rage would barrel out of him like nuclear fallout, literally knocking humans and vampires off their feet. Or he could burst eardrums with a furious roar, or maybe he could turn them to stone, or dust. Or maybe, just maybe, he could rip an earthquake through the apartment so he didn’t have to do any more of these stupid fucking tests.
“Alec,” Eleanor cautioned from the next room.
“I wasn’t actually going to do that,” he replied petulantly. He knew Eleanor, with the gift of foresight, saw possible outcomes of decisions made, and that did nothing to quell his frustration. “Jesus, now my thoughts aren’t even my own.” Standing up, he snatched the purple notebook off the desk, holding it for half a second and slamming it back down. It was now black, as was every page inside it, and it was smoldering as though it almost caught fire.
Cronin was suddenly in front of him, a hand cupped to his face. “He’s had enough,” he said to Jodis, and they disappeared.
* * * *
As soon as Alec’s feet hit the soft earth, he took a deep breath of fresh air and reveled in the silence.
His life hadn’t exactly been quiet in the last twelve months.
He felt the warmth of Cronin’s hand in his, smelled the sweet aromas of heath and moss from both the vampire beside him and the cool air of the long-abandoned battlefield, and Alec exhaled loudly.
Cronin had somehow learned to quiet his mind a little and it gave Alec the silence he so desperately needed. In the last twelve months, Cronin had taken Alec on more time-outs than he could count. Knowing when he’d had enough and was reaching breaking point, Cronin would simply remove Alec from the situation, leaping him somewhere quiet where his mind could have some much needed solitude. But with a gentle squeeze of his hand, Cronin reassured him he was there.
“I’m sorry,” Alec said.
“Don’t apologize,” Cronin said adamantly. “I can’t begin to imagine your frustrations.”
“Jodis is only trying to help. I behaved badly.” He could very well speak words directly into Jodis’ mind and tell her privately that he was sorry. But he’d prefer not invade the thoughts of others, preferring to apologize in person.
“She understands,” Cronin said, trying to pacify him.
Alec sighed loudly and allowed the quiet to envelope him. “I love it here,” he said eventually.
The field at Dunadd, Scotland, had become a sanctuary for Alec. No voices in his head, no city of millions with flurrying thoughts unbidden through his mind, no politics of vampire councils, no meetings, no one hovering.
Just Cronin.
“It affords you a great privacy,” Cronin said. His Scottish accent and formal tone still made Alec smile. “Your talents as a vampire are a burdensome gift.”
Alec had learned very early on to block out the voices and thoughts of those around him, but living in a city of millions made it a constant effort, and his display of anger at Jodis just minutes ago bothered him. “These talents are a pain in my ass.”
Cronin laughed quietly. “Your control over them still astounds us all.”
“The control you keep talking about is a talent in itself. It’s like casting a net over a thousand different fish.” Alec sighed loudly. “I’ve told you that before.”
“I know. Though it amazes me still.” Cronin squeezed Alec’s hand again and looked out across the field of long grass to the line of trees that fronted the river. “Lie down with me.”
Cronin simply lay flat on his back in the middle of the field and when Alec lay down next to him, Cronin snatched up Alec’s hand again. And together in the mind-clearing silence, they watched the blanket of stars glide across the sky.
It was a clear autumn night in Scotland, cold and dark. Neither of those things impeded a vampire of course, and Alec would never tire of the simple changes he’d gone through when he became a vampire. It was the complex changes he was beginning to struggle with. The talents he’d been given made him unique: the only vampire ever to have all vampire talents, some he was still discovering a year after his change. It was these talents that made his life hectic, his obligations as the key to the vampire world that gave him a great responsibility, and as Cronin had said, it was becoming a great burden.
Alec loved that Cronin would leap them to the very field where his human life had ended. The old battlefield in Scotland was also where they’d first made love, where they came to talk, to be by themselves. Like now.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” Alec whispered, his anger and frustration from before almost gone. “I feel like I can breathe here.”
“Is that not what husbands do?” Cronin asked with a smile. “Save the other from the myriad of madness?”
“Husbands,” Alec said, bringing Cronin’s knuckles up to his lips and kissing them softly. “Now that is something I’ll never tire of.”
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About the author:
N.R. Walker is an Australian author, who loves her genre of gay romance.
She loves writing and spends far too much time doing it, but wouldn’t have it any other way.
She is many things; a mother, a wife, a sister, a writer. She has pretty, pretty boys who live in her head, who don’t let her sleep at night unless she gives them life with words.
She likes it when they do dirty, dirty things…but likes it even more when they fall in love.
She used to think having people in her head talking to her was weird, until one day she happened across other writers who told her it was normal.
She’s been writing ever since… Where to find the author: Website
