Fireworks Friday: The Moment Passions (or tempers) explode!

 

This week it's tempers, as in Daddy G's temper when someone makes an offhand comment about Cas' Ferret suit. What I loved the most about writing this scene was the way it all happened without causing a scene or drawing undo attention to the comment that had been made. I have plenty of characters running around in my head who would have seen this as an opportunity to 'show off' they would have been loud, brash, and confrontational. They would have gotten their point across but in the process, they would have wound up humiliating Cas and making it more difficult for Cas to trust him and the relationship to evolve. 

This year, for me, has been an interesting one when it comes to characters like that. I've found that more often than not, they've been replaced by characters who, while just as intense as the brash ones, are actually scarier. They love with a fierce possessiveness that has been making for super steamy, extremely intense stories that are still fun and even playful, especially this holiday season with the introduction of my Daddies and their boys in Ryu and Ajay's stories. 

I look back on Painted Love as the lead-in to those, despite it being pet play rather than littles. There was still that layer of fun, a little sprinkle of danger, and a large coating of delicious smut to round out the book. 

Painted Love can be found here!

Cas' ferret suit is a patchwork collection of stitched-together fur, but he's earnest, honest, and just wants to prove that he can be a good pet.

Mouse is a pet, he's a kitty with a fantastic Daddy and they've been looking for someone to join them in their playtime and perhaps even a whole lot more. Meeting Cas offers a wealth of possibilities. The more time they spend together, the more they bond. But will an arsonist bring all their plans crashing down around them before they ever have the chance to see them realized?

Cas was adorable. Garratt watched him play with Mouse and realized he was a real sweetheart too. He was cautious, careful, and not touching any part of Mouse or his costume, which was a welcome change from the few they’d invited to play with them before. Some had been rough and grab happy, like wolves in sheep’s clothing. They'd come in looking like pets only to act like Masters. Cas was a true pet, even if he seemed new to the game. It was admirable that he paid attention and listened carefully. He was respectful and earnest too. Even though they were playing together, he was watching Mouse, taking his cues from him, letting him set the tone and following even when Mouse switched up the game.

Pounce.

The large stuffed toy was almost invisible beneath Mouse, who danced on it, then smacked it with a paw, sending it flying at Cas who caught it between his front paws and rubbed his face against the soft plush toy. These Squishmallows were the best things Garrett had ever come across. Fuck anyone who said grown men shouldn’t have stuffed animals. He had three large ones, one of which also served as his pillow. This one happened to be a special gift from Garrett to Mouse, and as he watched Cas handle it with reverence, he knew this was someone they had to know on a different level. He was exactly the type of pet they’d been looking for, provided his personality away from the game matched everything they saw here.

Back and forth Cas and Mouse shared the toy, coming closer and closer, until they were sitting face to face, eye to eye, watching one another, inches away from touching.

“You can touch me,” Mouse murmured, leaning in as if to present the opportunity for Cas to do just that.

Cas licked his lips and reached out hesitantly, clearly announcing, as he did, that it was okay for Mouse to touch him too.

Garett watched as paws caressed, explored, petted ears and tails, even as he heard someone whisper about Cas’s costume, and how it looked like he’d sewed a bunch of roadkill together. Okay so it wasn’t as nice as some of the ones hanging around the shop, but not everyone had a couple hundred dollars for the most realistic thing available, and damnit all…

Cas had clearly heard.

He’d ducked his head and scooted away from Mouse like he was ashamed to be interacting with him while appearing the way he did, which, was probably close to the truth considering the way he was shutting down.

Grumbling, Garrett stood and cast a quick glance at them to see Mouse inching closer to Cas, uncertain if he’d heard it too.

The person who’d said it had drifted several feet away, but Garrett still had him in his sights, so he stepped over the play area wall and stalked towards him, pausing beside him with every inch of his five foot ten inch form exuding exactly the kind of malice he was feeling.

“Excuse me, but who the fuck do you think you are?” Garrett hissed.

“What the hell?”

“That’s what I am asking you,” Garrett said, glaring up into the posh blond’s sculped features.

A pretty boy, joy, probably entitled, privileged and completely oblivious too. Oh happy, happy.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Clearly.”

“Are you going to tell me what you want or kill me with innuendoes?"

“Trust me, if killing you were on my mind, I could think of some more creative ways to do it,” Garrett shot back.

“Are you threatening me?”

“No, you were the one who mentioned killing. I just came over to tell you it’s pretty damned tacky to insult someone’s attire where they can clearly hear you, and then walk away. Since you obviously have no manners, I won’t suggest you apologize, but I will suggest you keep those kinds of comments to yourself, especially here. I also suggest you think about the damage that kind of behavior can cause, especially in someone new to our scene. It isn’t very welcoming, or becoming of someone who struts around calling himself a Master.”

“What I call myself is none of your business.”

“Apparently you’re missing the point, so I’ll leave it at this,” Garrett said, hands closing into fists at his side. The urge to protect was strong and making it difficult for him to keep his voice down. “I happen to have been trained by Mistress Lynn and Little D., who as I hope you know, run this establishment. I will be mentioning your behavior to them and suggesting that name-calling, or insults of any kind become another rule violation that can get you banned from here.”

The man’s expression went from blasé to crimson, a tick along his jawline suggesting there was plenty more he wanted to say but lacked the courage to spit it out. Instead, he tried puffing up in his super lustrous designer leather, nose wrinkling as he glared at Garrett.

“What right do you have to try and get me thrown out?” The man hissed.

“What right do you have to hurt someone’s feelings? This is a safe space. Mistress Lynn said that in her speech. What you did makes it a little less safe, at least for the young man you said it about.”

“I wasn’t even talking to him.”

“But he heard it. I heard it, and that’s what I’m attempting to get through your thick skull. You might not have meant for it to happen, but it happened. Now you can do with that bit of info what you will. I’ve already told you what I’m doing with it,” Garrett said before he turned and walked away.

WIP Wednesday: Shedding Lies Comet Lake Chronicles Book 6 Coming to you Feb 2024

 

Shedding Lies: For more than a decade, mates Baz and Charlie have lived separate lives. Baz has spent much of it on the road as the president of the Howling Devils Motorcycle Club, protectors of the Comet Lake Pack, and one of the biggest contributors to the pack's financial success. Charlie, on the other hand, has spent his whole life on pack lands trying to move past the accusations that cost him five years of good standing among his friends and family. Between bitterness, loneliness and a longing for the truth, he's harbored ill will towards his mate, even after Baz keeps his promise about turning over their mate if he should ever find the wolf meant to be their third. Now Kale is living with Charlie, wanting to learn more about Baz, and struggling to process the events that landed him at Comet Lake. Unfortunately for the three of them, the past hasn't finished wreaking havoc on their lives. If they are to have any hope of a future, they must first shred the lies of the past.

Preorder Available Here!

The river was a little closer from this vantage point, the churning of the water much wilder as he peered over the edge of the bridge staring down into it. A cool wind made the hair on the back of his neck stand up seconds before he heard the crack of rifle fire.

He expected pain, only to feel nothing but another gust of wind. A second shot joined the first, coming from a slightly different direction and Baz knew with sudden clarity he was about to wander into someone’s hunt.

Not a wise thing to do when you have no idea who was doing the shooting or how good of a shot they were. Tugging his foot free of the boards, he righted himself and turned back the way he came, though no more gunshots filled the valley.

A good sign, hopefully. It was never a good thing for a hunter to lose their prey, especially when there were family and pups involved. Once, he and Charlie had plans for that to be them, only they never would have hunted with weapons, only teeth and claws. Melancholy descended again, leaving him clumsy and a bit off balance, distracted enough that as he reached the edge of the bridge, he forgot the boards that had cracked ominously early in his trek. His thoughts were on decades-old dreams, so much so that he lacked the presence of mind to grab hold of anything when they gave way beneath him. With a suddenness that took his breath away, he dropped through space, arms windmilling, feet kicking as if looking for a purchase that never came.

Striking the water was like getting thrown from his bike and landing on the pavement, the smack of it sickeningly hard and so swift it took his brain several seconds to register the pain. By then, his head was underwater, so the breath he sucked in was a wet, suffocating one. Choking, he struggled to get his head above the surface, even as the current dashed him against a couple of rocks. His boots and clothing weighed him down and kept him from shifting, the swiftness of the water kept him disoriented and unable to work out which way was up. He took another breath, but that was water again, and there were so many voices in his mind, reaching out to touch base and check on him, that he couldn’t believe he'd been on the verge of giving in to the misguided thought that no one would look for him if he was gone.

From the sound of things, they were looking for him now, some more frantically than others. There was the faint buzzing of Kale trying to make clearer contact and a loud, demanding roar that was unmistakably Charlie, wanting to know where the fuck he was.

Air.

Gulping, he reached out with shaky fingers, trying to find purchase on something, anything, before the river spun him around and sucked him under again. His back struck another of those god damned boulders hard enough to drive that precious lungful of water right back out of him, and once again he was choking, his vision narrowing down to a tunnel of ever-darkening spots.

It dawned on him then that he wasn’t getting out of this, and for as much as he’d wanted all of his pain and disappointment to end, it sucked that it should be like this. Desperate, he thrashed, flailed, and managed to struggle his way to the surface again, draw in air, and reach out with questing fingers. His sodden hair and the water in his eyes made it difficult to see anything more than water and rocks, but one of them….

Yes.

As the river spun him towards it, Baz welcomed the crash and even braced for it, wrapped his arms around it when he hit, and clung to that slippery surface with every shred of desire he had in him. His lungs burned as he coughed, trying to clear them, wheezing and choking as he tried choking air in too. His chest hurt, his body ached, but the dark spots were clearing and the bolder wasn’t too fat for him to keep his arms locked around, anchoring him in place.

I swear to fuck, if you don’t fuckin’ answer me there will be hell to pay when I find you!

Charlie again, and he sounded clearer as he growled in Baz’s head. 

River.

Which one?

Beneath the old swinging bridge.

Are you out of your fuckin’ mind that bridge is rotten?

No shit.

Can you get out?

Not without almost drowning again.

Then stay where the fuck you are.

Working on it.

You better be!

He’d have laughed if he could have breathed well enough to manage it. Even concerned Charlie just sounded pissed off and aggravated with him.

Which fuckin’ end, cliff or valley?

Cliff

Fuck.

Tell me about it.

It would be harder for Charlie to get down there, especially if he was alone. Would be even harder for him to get to Baz, no matter which form he took. The river wasn’t playing today, and the last thing he wanted was for his mate to get caught in the same mess that had almost killed him.

Might still kill him, the voice in the back of his head reminded him.

Yeah, there was that chance too, and it wasn’t one he wanted Charlie to have to witness.

Need you to listen to me, Baz thought, reaching out to him again. I don’t want you to come down here.

I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.

Just listen to me, okay, for once just… allow me to say what I need to.

Musical Monday: A glimpse at the original start to the book that didn't become Damaged Saints.

That's right. This is the opening to the first draft of what I thought was going to be Damaged Saints. It wound up not being the book released this year, but it is a good look at the start of Kane's story and what is coming next in the Tattered Angel/Bleeding Dawn world. Damien, as many of you know, is the drummer for Tattered Angel, while Kane is the bass guitar player of Bleeding Dawn. They met as the bands were touring, but it was a stray comment that led them to where they are at the start of this WIP. 

Son of a…

Snarling, Damien slammed the sticks down on the drumkit and pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn it all to hell, that was not the beat he was after. Scrubbing his hands over his face, his fingertips pressed to his sweat-soaked bandana, he tried to stem the frustration that was threatening to derail his night. Unfortunately, closing his eyes brought a series of extremely distracting images he really didn’t need right now.

He blew out a long breath, grabbed the sticks, and twirled them between his fingers, counting down in his head before he started playing again. Less than a minute in, one flew out of his hand and bounced off the wall behind him, smacking him in the back of the head. He pitched the other across the room with a wild cry and smacked the cymbals, which did nothing but hurt his hand and further piss him off.  

He’d been at it for hours with nothing to show for it but sweat-slicked skin and aggravation. Okay so maybe that wasn’t entirely true, the aggravation he’d brought through the door with him, and it hadn’t faded despite how much energy he’d poured into those skins.

Maybe that was because it wasn’t the type of energy he’d wanted to be expending, only thoughts like that just left him testier and frantic to make something good come from this night. Of course, nothing worthwhile ever came from forcing things. He knew that and still he grabbed another pair of sticks and dove right back into the song that had been frustrating him all week.

Damnit damnit damnit damnit fuck this shit! Those were the words that flashed through his head, translating into the beat he pounded out on his drums. It sure as hell wasn’t the rhythm he wanted, which only fueled the mix of anxiety and pissed off that had been simmering inside of him all day.

Green eyes flashed through his mind, framed by electric blue hair streaked through with vivid shades of denim and pearl. Recalling the feel of it crushed in his fists and that triple-pierced tongue teasingly flicking out at him, left him squirming on his stool and irritated as hell.

This had been the most painful two months off the road that he’d endured since he’d joined Tattered Angel, and if all their downtime moving forward was going to be like this, then he was going to go insane.

Okay, that wasn’t fair. They’d completed a whirlwind, three-band, nine-month tour, and needed some time to decompress before they geared up for Rocktoberfest. Damien could appreciate that, he really could, but the resulting time away from the road had him twisted up in knots.

No.

That wasn’t exactly true either. Being home wasn’t the issue. Not having access to Kane was what had him tattooing his frustrations into the surface of those drums. His phone sat three feet away, but what was the point in texting the man when he was several states away? It wasn’t like they could just sneak off to a motel and indulge themselves the way they’d done when they were on the road. Hell, it was pointless even thinking about it.

And yet, that’s exactly where his mind roamed.

Such a good boy.

It didn’t matter that the carpet was threadbare and worn, or that there were cigarette holes burned into it in several places. It didn’t matter that they could afford a whole lot better. This place was old school, with the option to pay cash and a ledger where they could sign any name they chose. It took effort to find one of those these days, and yet, they’d managed in every major city they’d stopped in. So, what if Kane swore that the hole in the wall of one was made by a bullet, or if the showerhead in another one was dangling by a metal cord. All that mattered was that they were away from prying eyes and well-trained ears. Free to indulge themselves in any manner they choose.

Those green eyes of Kane’s tracked his every move as he reached into his bag and pulled out the leather studded paddle he’d purchased specifically for him. Damien laid it on the edge of the bed, right beside his thigh, before retrieving several other items from the bag, among them a green rattan and a braided rope, a ball gag, a low-heat candle, massage oil, and a lighter.

He positioned them just so before encouraging Kane to get comfortable on the bed, the man’s eyes were twin pools of excitement and desire as he sprawled out on his belly, hands beneath the pillow where he rested his head.

His intercom bell buzzed, yanking him out of that perfect memory before the rest of it could unfold. Frustration fueled him as he stalked over to the security monitor, mentally racking his brain to try and remember if he had any deliveries set up for today. It was Wednesday, so there shouldn’t be, but he’d been mistaken before and the last thing he wanted was to greet someone with a shitty attitude when they were just trying to do their job.

It wasn’t a man in a delivery outfit standing on the other side of those bars, but rather, a neighbor he’d only nodded to in passing. Scowling, he hit the intercom button, and called out to the guy.

“Hey, can I help you?” He asked through the device.

“Yeah, I’m your neighbor, Seymore Shane,” the guy said, pointing to himself and then the house next door. “I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

“And what would that be?” Damien asked. “My practice space is soundproof, so I know I wasn’t disturbing you when I was playing earlier.”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” the guy said, fidgeting and standing so close to the monitor that Damien could see his pores. He kept glancing over his shoulder too and shifting from one foot to the other like he was expecting someone to appear behind him at any minute, that or he was tweaked out on something. “I um, was just wondering if I could park my car in your driveway for a little while. I’ve got some guys coming to do some work and I don’t want to park the car on the street.”

Yeah, cause their street was so busy something might happen to it, Damien thought as he watched the guy scrub a finger beneath his nose.

“Sorry man, I can’t do that. You’ll have to find someplace else to park it,” Damien said.

“Hey, hey man, I can pay you,” the guy said. “It’s not just any car, it’s a Maserati. I can’t just leave it sitting out.”

“Then have your repair guys park on the street,” Damien said. “Either way, it’s not my problem. I don’t know you and I don’t know what’s in that car, so it’s not coming on my property. Now if you don’t mind, I’ve got shit to do.”

He took his finger off the intercom button, silencing whatever the hell the guy tried to say. Whatever it was, he wasn’t interested. He’d have given him a cup of sugar if that’s what he was after, though he couldn’t remember if he had any.

Detouring to the kitchen he took stock of what was in the cupboard: Some cereal boxes, half a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, a container of marshmallow fluff, a couple boxes of pasta, several jars of sauce, cracker boxes, hot sauce, and three different types of salsas. Of course, he had no chips to go with them, no taco shells either, and no tomatoes after he’d cut the last one and tossed the chunks in his tomato soup.

Fuck.

He was going to have to arrange a delivery whether he wanted to or not. 

Twisted Tuesday: Webs of deception...or a glimpse at Saint's Seduction

 

So, for the past few weeks, I have been introducing a new story through my newsletter. If you aren't a subscriber yet, it isn't too late to hop on board. I will be compiling the story on my website and linking it to my newsletter when it goes out on Friday, so all new subscribers can catch up. The scene below takes place in the third edition of the story, in which bodyguard Christian discovers that someone has managed to get an extremely creepy stuffed animal onto the band's bus while it was parked in the hotel lot. He's worried, his client however, isn't showing the same concern for his welfare, which is starting to piss Christian off. 

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“You got Sully.”

“And we’ve got problems.”

“What’s the situation?”

That was one thing he liked about Sully, he didn’t waste time with useless words.

“Someone managed to get a stuffed animal onto the bus while it was parked in the secured parking garage beneath the hotel,” Christian said. “Last show it was the dressing room, or more specifically, Micha’s dressing room where they left a t-shirt with a similarly designed stuffed animal on the front. Now I know why. Whoever this is has been following the band for awhile. They’ve managed to snag a bracelet off his wrist, a t-shirt he draped over a dressing room door, and the notebook he was writing lyrics in.”

“How the fuck did they get so close to him in the first place!”

“That’s what I want to know. Each time he was being guarded by Tomas. As for the dressing room and the bus, I’m still trying to figure out how they managed those.”

“Where are you guys now?”

“Raleigh.”

“Which means you’re heading to Atlanta next. I’ll have Dominick meet you at the venue. I’m pulling Tomas.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything I should know about this stuffed animal?”

“You mean besides the jagged teeth, tentacles, one eye sewed closed and lines of stitches connecting different colors and textures of fabrics? The damn thing is creepy as hell. I just sent you a picture.”

There was pause, followed by a low grumble. “Are those safety pins? And ribbon wrapped around the tentacles like

“Yeah, they were safety pins on the t-shirt too. They’d cut the collar off, hemmed the edges of it and the t-shirt, then reattached the collar with the safety pins. Classic old school punk design. There were safety pins on the back of the shirt too, with ribbon running through them, the same color ribbon as is on those tentacles. I bagged both.”

“Good, let me reach out to the band’s management team and see how they want us to proceed. With several state lines involved I’m sure they’ll want to get their own investigators on this so it doesn’t leak out to the media. For now, keep doing what you do, and I’ll update you with anything I learn.”

“Affirmative.”

He heard Sully blow out a long breath and the sound of papers rustling in the background. “How’s Micha handling it?”

“He’s not. He doesn’t see the threat. Just wants to blow the whole thing off and not be bothered with it.”

“Then we’ll have to be bothered for him.”

“I’m guessing he doesn’t want to make waves,” Christian admitted. “It’s like with anything else, he does everything in his power to keep the focus off of himself when he’s not on the stage.”

“Good in some ways, bad in others.”

“Exactly.”

“Alright. I’m on it. Thanks Christian.”

There was no need to reply, Sully had already disconnected the call. That was fine with Christian. He knew without a shred of doubt that his boss would do what he did best and likely send more than just Dominick out to aid them. Threat assessment was his specialty, leaving Christian to expect a fully revised protection plan from him before they reached Mercedez-Benz stadium along with the names of the additional guards that would be joining them.

There was nothing left to do now but load up so they could get underway and hope he could hold his tongue and his temper with his principal over the course of the six-hour drive. He knew himself, and he knew the feelings he harbored for Micha, the ones he dared never share and not just for the ethical reasons of it being irresponsible and reckless to fall for the person you are supposed to guard. There was a glaring age difference between them that would have made him reluctant to approach Micha even in a club setting. When you coupled that with Micha’s exuberance, imagination, and whimsical pursuit of all things legend, lore and mythology, you wound up with a recipe for incompatibility. 

Saturday Author Spotlight: E Broom

 And now we are getting back on track with our author spotlights! 

Welcome back to the Saturday Author Spotlight in which an author drops in to chat about their process, worlds, future plans and works in progress, and anything else that comes to mind. This week we have E. Broom with us and we're so grateful for the opportunity to learn more about their low-angst, insta-love stories and what they have in store for their readers in the upcoming year. 

Q. What’s the creepiest place you’ve ever sat in to write or draw inspiration from?

A. Before I really got into writing I used to volunteer with a paranormal tours company and would spend my weekends leading teams around haunted locations I use events that happened to me in my books, especially The Haunting of Hatfield Manor. 90% of the events in that book are from things I have witnessed during these events.

Q. What are some of the quirks you share with your characters? 

A. I was going to answer nothing to this question, but then I read it to family and friends and apparently, I share my sayings and my personality with many of my characters.

Q.   Of all the characters you’ve written, which one do you like the least and why?  

A. I’ve written a lot of dark characters. I think at the moment, there are two I like the least. One is Gerald Banks, from The Eulogy. He tried to kill my MC on several occasions.

The second one is Chris from The Perfect Husband List. He was mentally and physically abusive to my MC George.

Both Gerald and Chris got the endings they deserved. 

 Q.   What was your most difficult character or story to write? Why?

 A. The most difficult story to write was The Gods are Coming, from my Fortuna Pack Series. I had written a bonus book for the pack coronations. In hindsight I should have kept it and written it into the Gods book. As it was I had to split the book into two parts.

 Q.       If any of your books were to be made into a movie, which one would you like to see on the big screen and who would you like to see play your main characters. 

 A. I would love The Crazy Bookshop made into a film, with Tom Hiddleston playing Ernest.

 Q.       Describe your writing space?  Is there anything you have to have when you write? A favorite type of pen, certain music, a stuffed critter that always keeps you company?

 A. Honestly I can write anywhere from a noisy coffee shop to a peaceful bench in a park.  I wrote all my first drafts with pen and paper, so as long as I have paper and pen that writes I’m golden.

 Q.      What has been the biggest influence on your writing? Why?

 A. I think my work with the paranormal tours group, plus the fact that I use to read cards at fairs up and down the country. All my experiences in that world have influenced my writing.

 Q.       Is there a particular genre that you have always wanted to dabble in but haven’t had the opportunity to explore yet?

 A. Not really. I’m happy where I am.

 Q.     Is there a particular book that you’ve written that you wish more readers knew about? If so share a little about it here:

 A. The Perfect Husband List. It’s my only contemporary book. George and Chris have been together for six years. George thinks getting married will fix their issues, but Chris refuses to marry him until he works through a list of changes to become the perfect husband. Chris has to go away with work for a year and will give his answer when he comes back. But a year is a long time, especially with the handsome and lovely James Henderson on the scene.

 Q.   If you were to write a spin-off book featuring one of your side characters, whom would you choose and why? Can you tell us a little about the story you’d like to feature them in?

 A. I’m actually thinking of writing a spin off series from my Vampire series, called The Wolves and series. spin-off. The wolves were supposed to only be in The Vampire and the Librarian, but they decided to stay and have appeared in all three books. They deserve their own books.

 Q.  Do you celebrate when you finish writing a book? If so, how?”

 A. No, I celebrate when I publish the book and not before.

 Q.  What are some of the things you wished you knew about becoming an author before you headed down that path?

 A. Marketing, I never realized there was so much involved with marketing a book.

        Book piracy, I never gave it a thought until mine appeared on several pirate sites.

 Q.   If you could have dinner with any author, living or dead, who would that be and what would you like to talk to them about?

 A. Sir Arthur Conon Doyle. He was the one responsible for me wanting to be a writer. The first time I read, The Hounds if the Baskervilles, I fell in love with his stories. Indeed this is still my favorite book

 Q. If you couldn’t be an author, what do you think you’d be doing for a living?

A. A holistic therapist. I trained in a lot of different therapies.

 Q. What is a book you wished you had written and why?

A. The Hounds of the Baskervilles, it’s amazing.

 Q. If you could spend a week writing anywhere in the world, where would you want to go?

A. To a cabin either in the woods or near the sea. Both would be bliss.

I'd just like to thank E. for popping in today and taking part in our Author Spotlight. We will be back next week with another lovely edition and a new author to learn about. 

Firework Friday, the moment passions and tempers explode!

 

From my current WIP: Be My Little Valentine: Shanny's Surprise which is available for preorder here!

Shanny has had a little accident and Casey and Riggs are taking him to the hospital to get checked out.

“Here we go, sweetheart,” Riggs cooed as they reached the sidewalk where Casey waited with his car. He had the door open too, which made it easier to ease Shanny inside. His insides did a funny flip flop when Shanny refused to let go, meaning Riggs about cracked his head on the roof of the car climbing in after him. Shanny immediately curled up against him which made it difficult for Riggs to get their seatbelts on but he managed as Casey pulled away from the curb and headed in the direction of the hospital.

“How bad did it look,” Casey asked as he maneuvered through traffic.

“I’m not a doctor, but I’m pretty sure he dislocated it.”

“Damn.”

“It might not have happened if you hadn’t gotten in my way.”

“Dude, what the hell? I just wanted to invite you to a munch at Angus’.” Casey said. “Look, I know shit has been tough for you lately but why all the hostility?”

“Now isn’t the time or the place to get into it.”

“Fine, I can respect that, just know it had better come soon.”

Riggs just grumbled beneath his breath as he stroked Shanny’s hair. All of his focus on the man in his arms.

“I see how you look at him,” Casey said. “I have no intention of getting in that way if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“It’s not, but thanks,” Riggs growled, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of knowing that there had been some concerns regarding just that particular issue.

“Good, ‘cause I mean it. I’ve got my eye on someone else and I wish you all the best. Despite the circumstances he looks like he was made to be in your embrace.”

“How very poetic of you,” Riggs muttered. “Now would you kindly drop it.”

“Consider it dropped.”

They hit a pothole and the anguished cry Shanny let out made his heart ache.

“Can you not hit every bump in the street,” Riggs snapped

“I’m doing the best I can, here,” Casey growled. “It’s not my fault the city city can’t be bothered to repair their streets.”

“Gonna fill it with your corpse if you nail another hole like that,” Riggs declared.

“Under the circumstances, I’m gonna let that slide, but if you ever threaten me again, we will have issues. Just tend to your boy and let me get us there.”

“He’s not…” Riggs began, only to catch a glimpse of Casey in the rear view, looking fierce and pissed off.

“Don’t bother feeding me that line of bullshit,” Casey said. “It might not be official, but he is in every way that counts.”

Riggs looked down at the man clinging to him and wished he could take all his pain away.

“Goddamnit, how far are we from the hospital,” Riggs hissed.

“Less than two minutes,” Casey said as he took a somewhat sharp left to beat a light, drawing another cry from Shanny.

“Casey…” Riggs warned.

“Look, it’s right there,” Casey said, the lights at the end of the street showing that they were practically there. Another hard bounce, another heartbreaking whimper, and then they were pulling up at the ER.

“We’re here,” Riggs said, gently hugging Shanny while Casey rushed to get the door open and help Riggs guide Shanny out.

“It hurts so much,” Shanny sobbed as they got him inside.

“I gotta move the car,” Casey said.

“You don’t have to stay,” Riggs insisted.

“No, but I want to.”

Thoughtful Thursday: Looking back on an old writing prompt

 

Years before I thought about seeking a publisher for one of my novels, I took part in every writing workshop I could find. One of my favorites was to pick an unusual color name and write a poem featuring it. The word for this one was Cerulean. I loved the feel of it rolling off my tongue. I've always wanted to use it in a title but the closest I've come so far has been Love in Shimmering Chartreuse. I love that word, Chartreuse, and the color too, cool and tropical, I makes me think of the jungle, but also lime jello mojitos. 

Koda is an artist, a bit of a recluse, and not well-versed in social situations. Shy and a bit reserved, he sees an opportunity to break away from routine, and his trailer park home, when he spies a poster advertising a trial hosted by a college psychology department.

Titled A Social Experiment, the project pairs total strangers up to live together for a year either in groups of two or three. During that time, they are to record their experiences while performing a series of tasks outlined in the trial plan. It seemed simple enough until Koda found himself overwhelmed on moving-in day, leading him to get off on the wrong foot with new housemate Kenji.

All of his life, Kenji excelled at Tae Kwon Do, competing from a young age and quickly moving up in the ranks. His hard work and rigorous daily routine earned him accolades in regional and national-level competitions. As a second-degree black belt, he’d hoped to earn the opportunity to try out for the US Olympic team, only to have an accident cost him his chance at competing, as well as his left arm. Now, three years after his accident, he’s made a new life for himself, and while he still harbors bitterness over the loss of his dream, he’s hoping this experiment will be just the thing he needs to help him take that last leap back to living independently.

It’s a rocky road, gelling with one another, and dealing with each’s insecurities and triggers, but as each day ticks past, one question remains: where will they go when the experiment comes to an end?

Love in Shimmering Chartreuse can be found here.

Cerulean lemons? “Cerulean lemons!”

What in the smoky green hell is going on here this morning? “Jack? Jack! Jack where are you?!”

“Here sire, right here.”

“What’s going on in this castle!”

“Well sire, you see, the Wizard…”

“I knew it! I knew letting that crazy old mage in here was a bad idea! Now the fruit basket has wings and my marble staircase is covered in mold and the chef is a bee with three heads! Where is that Wizard now?”

“Well…sire, you see…that’s the problem.”

“I don’t want to hear about your problems, I’ve got enough problems of my own! Now where’s the blasted Wizard?! Wizard! Wizard!”

Ribbit

“Oh no! Is that…”

“Yes sire, the Wizard.”

“But…but…he’s a toad.”

“Yes, sire, I know.”

 “We have to do something.”

“Yes sire.”

“But what?”

“Sire I have but one suggestion.”

“What Jack?”

“Toad stew.”  

WIP Wednesday: Lost Lord of a Dead Sea

 

Coming 2024

“You’ve got to be quiet," Breton hissed “we’re going to get caught and as always father will blame me.”

“It’s my idea,” his twin brother, Dylan, replied stubbornly.

“It’s almost always your idea,” Breton said, “but you’re his favorite so no one ever blames you.”

“Father has no favorites, he loves us both equally. You would see that if you would cease butting heads with him at every turn,” Dylan shot back as he skulked along the edge of a tall ridge of coral.

Fifty feet above them, dangling precariously over the edge of the crumbling rocky shelf, was the battered remains of an old wooden ship, half rolled on its side and sunk deep in the muck and mud after several generations on the ocean floor. Barnacles covered almost every inch of it and coral stretched across its bow, giving it a spooky air of being alive and yet not.

Fish teemed in and out of the gaps between the boards while a large eel snaked through a huge fissure. Skidding to a halt to avoid crashing into his brother, Breton watched as Dylan’s eyes widened, Adam’s apple bobbing as they caught sight of the haunting scene. The hue of his brother’s scales shifted from vivid plum to pale lilac, his motions cautious and tense.

“Come on,” Breton grumbled. “You wanted to do this so let’s get it over with so we can get back home before our tutors realize that we’re missing.”

“Maybe we should forget about going inside. Hasn’t Father warned us repeatedly about the dangers of being trapped in a shipwreck? He’ll be furious with us if he finds out and didn’t Old Niviss say that something large made its home here?”   

“It can’t be that large. Look at the bow of the ship. It isn’t very spacious. I think Old Niviss just exaggerated the size like he exaggerates every other story he tells. Come on, don’t be a coward. I think Father would like that even less than a son who always argues with him.”

It almost brought a smile to Breton’s face to see Dylan’s eyes narrowing as he propelled himself forward with a powerful flick of his tail, cutting through the water as they raced towards the ship. They reached the ledge and thrust themselves a bit higher, peering through the murky sea to get a full glimpse of the wreck.

Breton gasped as he floated beside his brother, balancing himself in the current by his tail.

“Small huh?” Dylan chided, diving down to skim over the top of the ship. Breton followed reluctantly now, his bravado fading the closer they got. It truly was an ancient vessel. The fine craftsmanship of old was still evident despite the silt, kelp, barnacles, and seaweed. The ship had broken apart on its descent, though the largest of the gasps seemed to have occurred after it came to rest on the ocean’s floor. It was into that gap that Dylan swam, mindful to keep his body away from the jagged boards.

Trailing behind his twin, Breton kicked himself for chiding his brother into coming up here. He should have listened when Dylan first suggested they turn around and go home. Now, every shadow seemed more ominous, every fish that flitted past left him paranoid and on edge. Feeling a prickle of unease, Breton turned, glancing about frantically, but all he could make out was seaweed dancing in the tide.

“All right, we’ve seen it, we should go,” Breton commented, bobbing near the hole they’d just entered through.

“Now who’s being a coward?” Dylan taunted, taking off again, his red and silver tail flashing through the gloom as he propelled himself deeper into the ship, leaving Breton with little choice but to follow.

Half-buried in the sand at the bottom of the vessel they found cannons and an old saber, chipped and green, peeking out from between the battered casks. Breton ran his fingers over the crushed shells and silt, encountering something solid and rocklike. Pulling back on it revealed a rusted chain, rising slowly from the silt. He followed it around the side of the ship and when he pulled, it revealed a skeletal foot, and the ankle bone the chain was attached to.

Breton dropped it as if it had scalded him and backed away with a frantic flick of his tail.

“Why would humans leave someone chained to a ship to die?” he asked his brother.

“Maybe they were unable to save themselves, let alone their captives,” Dylan replied, shrugging. “Besides, they’re humans, who knows the reason for anything they do? You’ve seen them when they send their metal whales down here. They’re always searching for something they can steal or destroy.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Breton urged, turning and seeking the hole they’d entered through. The dark places and thick growth made for a jumbled web of wood and vegetation, disorienting him in the sediment their tails kicked up.

“Sure you don’t want to stay and search for treasure?” Dylan teased him as he fell into place beside his brother. A wave of relief flooded Breton at not having to chase behind him any longer. With each passing moment, his uneasiness grew, until it became something oppressive that had him flinching at every sound.

Dylan paused and contemplated his brother. “Father would be pleased if we were to find something of value from the surface world, wouldn’t he?”

“By Poseidon’s beard can we just go…?” Breton exclaimed, even as his brother turned in the opposite direction to explore deeper into the ship.

They hadn’t gone but a few feet when the current around them changed. There was an intense press of water against their sides as if something had disrupted the flow into the room. Glancing around, neither could make out anything but sand, sea grass, and a migrating group of crabs scuttling across the floor.

Then it came again, a rush of water, a flash of silver, this time from the other side. The pair stopped moving and bobbed, feeling the pressure coming from every direction. They were being circled.

It was Breton who caught sight of the dark shape off to the left and turned his panicked eyes toward his brother.

“Swim!” he hissed, already beginning to propel himself away as fast as his tail could carry him.

“What is it?” Dylan asked, whirling to follow his brother.

There was a roar that drowned out all other sounds, including Breton’s answer. The panicked twins swam back up unfamiliar corridors, desperately searching for a way out with a large shark hot on their tails. They swam together, then broke apart, hoping to confuse it. Breton’s gills struggled to keep producing oxygen as they flared open and closed. He wasn’t sure if the shark was following him, but he was too scared to slow down and look. Wood dug along his back in jagged lines. The knowledge that blood in the water would only further enrage the creature, propelled him to swim harder, zigging and zagging until he popped through a hole in the side of the ship barely big enough to squeeze through. Only then did he stop and take a moment to look around him.