Guest Blogger ~ David Russell: Dreamtime Sensuality [Anthology]

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Blurb:

Many a dream can be realised with a little forethought. The characters in this quartet of stories are intelligent, sensitive and literary. They are also supremely voyeuristic and open-minded. Their intelligence is counterbalanced by inhibitions, which they can only lose by premeditated seduction scenarios, which relate intimately to their professional, creative and cultural lives. The great effort each couple puts into arranging a scenario seems to enhance the quality of the experience. A great source of inspiration for this and other works has been the novel The Girl Beneath the Lion by André Pieyre de Mandiargues.

Seductive Semaphore: Fashion Designer Bethesda and journalist Hector live opposite each other, with windows facing. They make initial contact through visible, provocative gestures. Soon afterwards, they get direct contact when Hector assists Bethesda with her folio. She invites him round to model for some of her fashion creations, and proceeds to seduce him. The seduction continues with a ritual visit to a sports centre, and then to a beach. They leave it open as to whether their relationship could ever become long-term.

The Heroine and the Author: Dreamer Hecate discovers she has a terminal illness. She wants to make the most of the time she has left by being celebrated in literature as a charismatic, legendary figure. She meets Ferdinand, a ghost writer, who is happy to undertake this massive project with her. In the process, She gets an idea of his physique through jogging and the fitness centre. Then there is a seduction scene inspired by the literary models of Sappho and Donne. Being ‘open-minded’, they make a pact for each one to go and have a sexual adventure – his hetero, hers lesbian. Their relationship is enhanced by this extra dimension.

Dreamtime Sensuality: Romona, highly literary and highly inhibited, goes to an exotic island location. She deeply desires a passionate encounter. At the Pension where she stays, she meets Stefano, who fulfils her requirements exactly. The proprietress of the Pension picks up on Romona’s shyness, and gives her reassurance, including some practice in the art of kissing. Romona orchestrates an elaborate beach seduction scenario, and they are both fulfilled. They never meet again, but their exchange of emails and text messages goes on indefinitely.

Dancing with Danger: Verona is a Scriptwriter and Gareth an archaeologist. They both have ‘retreats’ near the coast, and discover their common interests. Verona contrives a half-seduction on a deserted beach, wearing 18th century retro gear – related to their common interests. After some further encounters, they give each other a ‘dare’ to go and have a really risky encounter with someone really dodgy. Gareth finds a young woman on the run. Verona has a rapturous encounter with someone who gets hauled in by the police, suspected of terrorism. She uses her charm on the interrogating police officer to extricate herself. So Verona and Gareth both meet up again, to tell their respective tales.  

Excerpt:

Hecate read some verses of Sappho, which she felt totally appropriate to his slender grace, so nearly androgynous. She quoted a phrase demanding his fixed, concentrated stare into her eyes. The eye contact was clinched Hecate’s introduction was a quote from her. 

Ferdinand responded to the prompt; he knew what he had to do—gradually, at intervals, he removed his garments one by one as she breathily read the hypnotic, seductive phrases. 

His garments came off with ease and grace, he obviously had some long-repressed desire to do this. At last, he stood before her, beautiful, naked, and slender. Somehow, his spirit prevailed over his earlier reticence, he shed his shyness with his clothing. Since she saw him in trunks, Hecate anticipated this moment with such relish. If the pool had been empty when they were there, she would have taken them off there, or in the shower. Perhaps something could happen, or even be premeditated in the future, on a deserted beach, secluded amid the dunes.

She handed him a volume of the collected poems of John Donne. “Now, I think you know which one I want you to read me. Hmm…while we’ve been working together, I bet you’ve had some reveries of me undressing, you undressing me.”

“I have to admit that is so and I know which poem you mean, it’s Elegy Nineteen—To His Mistress Going to Bed.

“We really are on the same wavelength darling. I had learned of that poem as a young girl, with a desperate desire one day to enact it. Every word of it struck home as I disrobed alone, for years I yearned for that lovely partner to give me those instructions live.”

Ferdinand beamed, then quoted from near the end of the poem referring to the poet’s nakedness at the beginning of the action. Then he proceeded to read, with his lovely, hypnotic voice. 

He really made Hecate’s girdle feel like Saturn’s rings As she undid her sash and cast it down, she felt her abdomen was bathed in heavenly light, visible only to spiritual eyes. 

The request to remove her ‘breastplate’ gave her an etheric shudder. Taking off the brooch at the top of her dress felt like casting away a shield, affirming that strife and combat had been replaced by love.

 In response to the exhortation to unlace, she felt deliciously nervous as her fingers twitched on her zips and buttons. 

As the gown went off following the next command, Hecate felt she had emerged from a perennial cocoon, that she was the sun liberated from the constricting veils of night. 

As for a ‘coronet’, Hecate was only wearing a slide, but removing it certainly helped her locks flow freely.

 It was great to feel liberated from footwear; earlier on her high heels had felt so sexy. But now her stockinged feet tingled with electric desire.

 With her underwear, admittedly she found nylon, calico and silk sexier than linen, but the word, so sensually uttered, really relevant. (from The Heroine and the Author—Story 2)

Author Bio:

b. 1940. Resident in the UK. Writer of poetry, literary criticism, speculative fiction and romance. Main poetry collection Prickling Counterpoints (1998); poems published in online International Times. Main speculative works High Wired On (2002); Rock Bottom (2005). Translation of Spanish epic La Araucana, Amazon 2013. Romances: Self’s Blossom; Explorations; Further Explorations; Therapy Rapture; Darlene, An Ecstatic Rendezvous (all pub Extasy (Devine Destinies). Singer-songwriter/guitarist. Main CD albums: Bacteria Shrapnel and Kaleidoscope Concentrate. Many tracks on You Tube, under ‘Dave Russell’

Find David Here:

David Russell Novelist

Let's Play Catch Up On Blog Stories

Okay, well as you may or may not know last week I wrote the last episode of Sentinels Of Varvuse 1: When The Walls Come Tumbling Down. It was sad to see the story end, but I wanted to let you all know it isn't the last we'll see of them.

In January 2015 I will be starting Sentinels of Varnuse 2: Wind Walkers... where we'll follow Arron & Vayne on their search for Simian... though they aren't the main characters. that's still Raven Blue & Crimson Redhawk. We'll also see Crimson's brother... Nico and his mat Dominic.

You'll still have to forgive my grammar & punctuation because apparently I still suck at it... LOL... #2 will probably have the same cover as #1 I'll just change the headings and titles.

Guest Blogger ~ Selina Kray: Like Stars

LIKE STARS

Release date: November 14th

Released From MLRPress

BUY LINK

An Edwardian Christmas For All!

I’m Selina Kray, a first-time author whose new book, Like Stars, is out now from MLR Press and all fine eBook vendors. A huge thank you to N.J. for hosting me today!

My historical M/M romance, Like Stars, is set in the Edwardian era, so for a Christmas dinner scene, I had to do a bit of research. It was a time when the commercialization of Christmas really took hold, where the businesses that had been founded during the industrial revolution learned to monetize the holidays. Prince Albert and Charles Dickens’ enthusiasm for the holiday helped popularize it. Toys and decorations flooded the market like never before, but, curiously, the season’s biggest mascot had not yet found universal acclaim:

“Father Christmas had been a figure in English history since medieval times. He represents the Christmas spirit of goodwill, but he did not bring gifts. He came from Odin and wore a blue-hooded cloak and white beard, and had an evergreen wreath around his head. St Nicholas, the Christian saint, visited Dutch children on Christmas Eve and left toys and candy in their straw-filled clogs. If the children were bad a birch rod would be left instead of sweets. By Edwardian times, Father Christmas and St. Nicholas had merged together, and Father Christmas was pictured in a red suit and brought gifts to good children who hung up their stockings on Christmas Eve.” [Source Link]

For the upper classes, Christmas was yet another chance to flaunt their wealth, with lavish decorations, opulent gifts, and of course a feast fit for the King—if he happened to pop round for a visit. The usual nuts, fruits, cookies, and minced pies were prepared for nibbling, while Christmas dinner itself could sometimes be a 14-course affair, which might include oyster soup; vegetables in aspic; duck liver terrine; and a roast bird stuffed with apples, chestnuts, and pork. The piece de resistance was a flaming plum pudding, though some also served a Buche de Noel. With lots of fruitcake. In England, as everywhere, you can never have too many desserts.

The Edwardians were also known for playing games at Christmas, some family-friendly, some decidedly… not. One of the most famous is Snapdragon. Some brandy is poured into a large bowl, sprinkled with raisins, then set aflame. The aim of the game is to pick out the raisins without, say, lighting your cuff on fire. Nothing says Christmas like a second-degree burn!

In Like Stars, the Christmas festivities prove even more hazardous to one character’s well-being. A few months earlier, Nathaniel Thredgold returned to Ravensworth Hall to reclaim his place as heir to the estate and family fortune. Only problem is, he was supposed to have died in the war eight years earlier. Some members of his family believe his story, and some think he’s an imposter. His youngest brother Frederick falls squarely in the latter camp, and he decides Christmas dinner is the perfect place to prove Nathaniel a fraud once and for all. Even Nathaniel’s long-lost lover, Wesley Douglas, isn’t certain it’s really him. There’s only one sure way to prove his identity—reveal their boyhood affair—but that way leads to the gallows.

No matter how you’re celebrating this holiday season, I wish you a very merry one, indeed!

-Selina

BLURB:

What if your true love walked back into your life five years after his death?

Nathaniel Thredgold has finally returned from the war. Or has he? His lover, Wesley Douglas, isn’t sure. Wesley must put aside his engagement, his disbelief, and his anger to give his professional opinion. The truth about their relationship isn’t an option. But is this stranger really the Ravensworth heir and Wesley’s long-lost love? When your heart’s at stake, there’s no room for doubt.

Set in the Edwardian era, Like Stars is a tale of mysterious identities, scandalous family secrets, and lovers in a dangerous time.

EXCERPT:

Summer, 1907

Dr. Wesley Douglas' entire world unraveled and re-spun itself the instant he saw the hooded man looming in the doorway of the Raven's Claw Inn. It was not his custom to stare so openly, but neither was he accustomed to seeing a ghost with the face of his long-dead lover under the midday sun. Haggard as the grim reaper himself, his face half-concealed by the drape of his long black hood, this specter from his past stole down the side alley that led to the main road. The sight was so unexpected, so breath-stealing, that Wesley nearly plowed into an overhanging sign as he turned to follow him.

He shut his eyes for a second, indulging in a violent and hopefully unseen shiver. Cursing under his breath at his susceptibility, he steered his horse around the man, then veered into an about-face confrontation. Rallying his senses, Wesley looked again, staring flagrantly at the man's few discernible features, scrutinizing every visible curve and slope of his visage for confirmation of the dour-clothed stranger's identity. When a lone, dark eye flickered into view, Wesley's heart leapt in his chest.

His shock was such that he dropped his horse's reins. Bracer reared, his flailing hoofs threatening the sheep that clotted the street like blow-off tufts from a cotton field. If Wesley had not been suffering some form of spook-induced paralysis, he might have flown off his horse and chased the scoundrel down. He might have gripped him by his collar and spat in his face. He might have struck at him with little more than his long-kindling agony and a riding crop. As it was, he could only gawk at what must be a ghost.

If it were a commonplace occurrence to encounter Nathaniel Thredgold's ghost whilst traversing the small, shadowy lane between the dressmaker's and the inn, Wesley might have patronized the area more frequently. As it was, the herd of ornery sheep stationed themselves, with airs of glowering intimidation, before the butcher's shop, thus blocking all traffic, equine and otherwise, on the high street. This was not an uncommon occurrence in the picturesque yet somnambulant village of Haversham, a close-knit and somewhat cloistered community in the wilds of Derbyshire. Nestled a touch too snugly between two towering hills, village life flowed at the same pace as the current of the tranquil river that arced around it to the east.

With shaking hands, Wesley gripped Bracer's reins and heeled into his flanks, urging the horse to vault over several clusters of sheep, who baaed indignantly. Soon, he was galloping down the country roads at such velocity that wind blew through his hair, even on a stagnant midsummer day. It was only once they jumped the stone fence into the courtyard of his cottage home that he dared draw breath, dared let his shock overtake him, dared wonder what manner of mischief now stalked the path to Ravensworth Hall.

By the time he shucked his boots and crept through the side door, Wesley was a good way to composing himself. The unseasonable humidity, never welcome to one of his fair complexion, had made him so woozy that he had fallen victim to fanciful imaginings of the most pedantic and fruitless sort. What, after all, had he truly seen of the man? A veiled visage? A lurching step? A sallow cheek, its edges darkened by the drape of his hood? No scientist of merit could form a concrete notion, let alone a hypothesis, based on such scant evidence. Servant to logic and rational thought that he was, he could only conclude that, once again, his damnable emotions had colluded to deceive him, to make real what he very well knew could not be.

A dry, strangled cough from the parlor broke his reverie; he took a moment to further scold himself, then sought out the patient he had ordered home some three hours ago. Beatrice, alas, was exactly where he had left her, bundled up to her red, flaky nose on the divan, a bowl of steaming, cheese cloth-covered water cradled on her lap. With a sigh, Wesley dropped his saddle bag, then moved into her line of vision. Bea met his stern look with a defiant one, which would have been almost comical, given her puffy pallor, if his ride home had been without incident. With a huff of annoyance, he plucked a recently used thermometer from the side table and studied the mercury line. Dissatisfied, he gave it a violent shake, then plunged it back under her tongue before she could protest.

"I pray you've cancelled the remainder of my appointments?" Bea nodded, scowling. "Very well. Another hour's rest, and then I must insist upon escorting you home."

When she opened her mouth to protest, the thermometer fell out, rescued from a fiery bath by the cheese cloth. "I mean to spend the night on the ward, Wesley."

"You will not. Your mother and aunt are far more capable, not to mention eager to coddle you."

"More capable than a medical doctor?"

"At coddling, yes." He snatched up the thermometer and stuck it back in her mouth. "I might remind you that a doctor's office is supposed to be free of sickness, that we take a care not to infect further illness on our patients."

Unimpressed, Bea spat the thermometer out again.

"As I might remind you that Mother and Auntie would gladly concede the right to coddle me if it meant you showed sign of the devotion you oft proclaim, but, to their minds, regularly fail to demonstrate."

Wesley swallowed a grunt of irritation, then collapsed onto the far end of the divan, narrowly avoiding her toes. He considered this a moment, then glared in her direction. "Do I truly, or is this a ploy to evade their questions, nagging or otherwise?"

Bea frowned. "It is a ploy. But only because they have been so relentlessly inquisitive of late. You promised them a wedding."

"And I mean to deliver one. You know very well it has only been a year since I repaid the last of my father's debts. If we are to live comfortably, then the lavish wedding they expect will have to wait a while longer. A state of affairs that is not helped by your languishing in the patients' ward when ill."

Beatrice sighed, which brought on another hacking fit. Wesley sprang to his feet, fetching the cup of tea that cooled on the side table. A few sips calmed her throat. He rubbed soothing circles into her back; she straightened to accommodate him. He wished he could offer her his shoulder. It was of great comfort to him that they did care for each other, even if their impending marriage was one of the utmost convenience.

"It is just such a trial to endure them, even when well," she griped. "If I had known they meant to drape me from head to foot in ribbons and lace, then I would have agreed to flee to the continent and elope."

"You must allow them their fun, if only in the name of preserving the illusion of our romance. Though I can imagine the effort it requires when feeling poorly. Still, we cannot take advantage of their laxity in chaperoning us. That, too, discourages local nobles from calling on my services."

"Aye," Beatrice acknowledged, though she looked the more miserable for it.

His aggravation having fled with the rise of his sympathy, Wesley found himself more amenable than before to compromise.

"I shall fetch them here," he concluded, with a pet to her blanketed head, "so long as you swear to confine yourself to this parlor and the guest quarters for the better part of a week. That, I trust, will give us both ample opportunity to demonstrate our boundless affections, and I will bear some of the endless questions in your stead. Does that suit you?"

"Infinitely well," Beatrice smiled, her relief and exhaustion plain. She reached for a clean handkerchief then, using it as a barrier against infection, and clasped his hand.

Once again, Wesley found himself grateful for the friendship between them, one that not only permitted their strange, face-saving partnership, but was also of immense comfort to him in times of doubt and strife. Sensing her fatigue, he tucked her into the divan, then set about boiling more tea. Though he craved a moment's introspection, a private examination of the day's events would have to wait on meddling law-mothers and flu-waylaid fiancees.

Author Bio:

Selina Kray is the nom de plume of an author and English editor. Professionally, she has covered all the artsy-fartsy bases, having worked in a book store, at a cinema, in children’s television and in television distribution, up to her latest incarnation as a subtitle editor and grammar nerd (though she may have always been a grammar nerd). A self-proclaimed geek and pop culture junkie who sometimes manages to pry herself away from the review sites and gossip blogs to write fiction of her own, she is a voracious consumer of art with both a capital and a lowercase “A”.

Having long ago realized that she was the Salieri to the lit world’s Mozarts, she has embraced her love of erotica with intricate plots, complex characters, and lots of heart. Whether she has achieved this goal is for you, gentle readers, to decide. At present, she is hard at work on future novels at home in Montreal, Quebec, with her wee corgi serving as both foot-warmer and in-house critic.

Find Selina Here

Website ~ Selina Kray

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Guest Blogger G.P. Keith ~ Grendel

Scare This : Grendel
Buy Link
Blurb:

Ken's dog, Jake, is frightened of Halloween yard decorations, but when Ken tries to show him that the enormous face, partially emerged from a front lawn, is nothing to be scared of, he gets the fright of his life when the eyes open and gaze interestedly at him.

Ken, while walking his dog on Halloween night, discovers a half-buried face and unearths a fifteen foot troll in a neighbor's front yard. This is Grendel, who has come up from the underworld, he says, to look around. Entranced by the troll's magnificent physique and surprisingly gentle nature, Ken befriends him and takes him home. But the pair soon discovers they are at odds with the forces of law and order, and must fight not only for their relationship, but eventually for their very lives. During this struggle Ken discovers more about his own dark passions than he ever guessed existed.

About the story and its origins: The story is a MM romance in the horror/supernatural/humor genres.

I am a recent arrival in the field of MM romance writing, my principal literary field of interest being sci-fi and supernatural. Grendel is to date the longest work I have had published. I am working my way up to submitting a full-length novel, Grendel being just short of the 60,000 word novel category threshold (it's 43,000 words long).

I completed Grendel this past summer in what is for me record fashion—two months—principally while sitting on the backyard patio with our two dogs, under the sun umbrella, enjoying the mildly warm summer we had with a cold drink or hot coffee by my side, my laptop on my lap. That was pretty nice, but even nicer was how, for the first time, a story just seemed to write itself.

It was summoned into existence by a call for submissions by MLRPress, wanting stories on a Halloween theme. Thinking about story ideas, I remembered the experience I'd had several years ago while walking my dogs one evening around Halloween.

They were young dogs at the time, and tended to react when frightened by something. It was dark and quiet on the street, when suddenly they went nuts in response to something in someone's front yard. Peering into the shadows I received a shock of my own as I saw what looked like an enormous head partially emerged from the lawn. I remember it was quite effective, and I found the entire experience really entertaining.

So now I asked myself, what about if the head had been real? The story just kind of went from there: the main character and his dog trying to figure out what the thing was (it's just fake—no, wait, it isn't); being motivated to action; digging it up, and releasing the full person (a fifteen foot troll of tremendous, uh, proportions); befriending him, cleaning him off, taking him home, and finally dealing with the situation of having a fifteen foot troll living in the back yard of a quiet suburban bungalow (he's too big get in through the door).

The possibilities for sex (challenging), romance (again challenging), confrontation with social norms and the drama that would arise from that, just poured from my imagination. And when I'd finished it and my principal beta reader said he liked the story's humor and plot twists, I realized I had a story that could please readers other than myself (at least one, anyway), so I submitted it to MLR (my first submission to them) and was delighted when the offer to publish came back.

To me the story is a kind of homage to my first boyfriend, who was big and burly and really besotted with me. It's also an exploration of a fairy-tale horror figure (the bogey-man), transfigured into an erotic romance in which everything is turned upon its head. If the story is well-received I have an idea for a sequel all ready.

-G.P.Keith

Grendel by G.P. Keith… Published by MLR Press 2014 on 21 Nov 2014

Excerpt from chapter 1

It was dark and quiet when they left the house, the only sound being the rapid click-click of Jake’s nails on the sidewalk. Ken inhaled deeply and smiled. He loved the fall, with its fresh smells and the magical beauty of the shadowy houses with their leaf-covered lawns.

Several minutes into the walk a series of firecrackers went off in somebody’s backyard and Jake started and froze. But in the silence that followed this he soon resumed his interested trotting along the sidewalk. Seeing this, Ken began to hope that his little dog was starting to toughen up with regard to the horrors of Halloween.

After that, the walk was so peaceful and pleasant that they ended up going further than usual. Ken was still careful to cross the street whenever they approached a house that looked like it had yard decorations, though. By doing this, he ensured there were no incidents, and as they were approaching home Ken began to feel that walk had been a complete success. And they had gotten through another Halloween.

He was just congratulating himself on this, when Jake exploded in a fury of barks that caused Ken to jump several inches into the air. Groaning, Ken automatically pulled back on the leash as he peered forward into the darkness. He could just make out some kind of lawn decoration between two cedar bushes. Walking forward to get a better view, he recognized with a sudden frisson of horror, what appeared to be a large head partially emerged from the lawn.

When this reaction had passed, Ken sighed. It wasn’t the first “buried head” he’d seen. Two years ago had been his first—and it had given both him and Jake quite a fright. Last year there had been two of these things, and he avoided those houses ever since. And nowhere was another one! While he appreciated their effectiveness, he also knew that Jake nursed an abiding horror of them.

So, keeping a firm hold on the leash, Ken came up to where Jake was standing, legs spread sturdily, barking defiantly at the thing. The “head” was composed of four separate elements: a nose, two closed eyes, and a broad forehead between straw eyebrows and straw hair, all protruding from the grass.

Ken was struck by the realism of this “face.” Though it was smaller than the others he had seen, being only about three times the size of a human face, it was more convincing. Squatting down, he petted Jake reassuringly, and was pleased when this appeared to have an effect. Jake’s barks became intermittent. Maybe the little dog was getting inured to Halloween!

Thinking this, Ken decided to remain where he was a couple of minutes, so that Jake might finally come to dismiss the thing. It seemed a better plan than pulling him away and so leaving another traumatic Halloween memory in his canine mind.

As he continued to pet Jake, Ken looked the face over. It struck him as curious that the face wasn’t larger. While it was definitely creepy, it lacked the sense of something truly monstrous, which he thought was the point of this type of decoration.

And as he continued to ponder this, Jake’s barking became less and less. He seemed more curious than afraid now. Thinking that this might be the opportunity for him to learn about these things, Ken let the leash out.

“Go check it out, boy!”

Jake, however, wouldn’t move forward. And he continued to bark every few seconds.

Ken shook his head. He would have to demonstrate. He stood up and took a step toward the feature of the face that was closest—the nose—and looked back at his dog. Jake, after hesitating a second, crept up behind him.

“Brave dog!”

Ken took another step forward, and Jake, again, crept forward after him. Ken looked at the face again. From this close, he was even more impressed with the realism of the features. The eyebrows and hair, which had looked like straw from further away, now looked more like—well, coarse straw-colored hair. And the facial features, while caricatures of a human face, the closed eyes being too big for the nose, and the nose itself too pudgy, were very complete in their details, such as the eyelashes and the texture of the flesh, quite realistic in fact.

One more step and Ken was right next to the nose, which stuck up about eight inches from the grass. It was, he decided, probably made of Styrofoam, painted to look like flesh. He almost nudged it with his sneaker, but then decided it would impress Jake more if he touched it with his fingers. So he squatted down and, after making sure Jake was watching him, reached out to the tip of the nose.

That was when the eyes opened.

MLRPress Christmas Releases For December

Guest Blogger ~ Jess Buffett: Whyte's Dream [The Keepers 3]

The Keepers 3: Whyte's Dream

Blurb:

In book three of the Keepers: As the Sandman, Sam has spent millennia dedicating his existence to bringing hope to others.  His only chance for sight being found in reviewing the past or in dreams, which often leaves him the voice of reason within the Keepers.  After multiple attacks from an enemy, Sam reconciles with the fact his only chance to be with his mate safely is in the dream world or not at all. 

Whyte, the Tooth Fairy, has witnessed his twin and friends suffer through personal attacks after claiming their mates, and understands where his mate’s concern is coming from.  He just never realized accepting Sam’s terms would be so difficult. 

When the Keepers get closer to the ones responsible for all the harm they have faced, they realize the board has more players than they originally thought, and in order to come out on top, they may just have to make a deal with the devils.

Buy Links

AMAZON | ARE | KOBO 

Excerpt:

 “What did you just say?” Whyte seethed, the air around them shifting with how close they were, letting Sam know the younger man now faced him. 

He heard the catch in Whyte’s throat, and took advantage of whatever it was that had startled him.  “You heard me.  What the hell was that comment back there about?” 

Anger and confusion warred with each other as he spoke to the other Keeper.  While things had always been tense between them, neither of them fully acknowledged the bond they did—or at least could—share, Whyte had never been so blatantly disrespectful or confrontational toward him before.  The younger man had always seemed to favor the avoiding yet silently judging you from afar approach. 

“Seriously?” Sam fought not to wince at the shrill tone Whyte’s voice had taken.  The other man had never sounded like that.  “You know we’re mates, yet you do everything in your power to keep us apart.  It’s like every Keeper is cursed to have the same issues in their mating.  So do us both a favor and don’t act dumb.” 

Instead of arguing the point, Sam cocked his head to one side, playing back past events. 

While he may not be able to see in what was considered the present, Sam had the uncanny ability to see the past almost as if it were on a TV screen.  Pausing, fast forwarding to an extent, and always able to rewind.  At times Sam was even privy to the future.  Small glimpse that were more like teasers meant to leave you with more questions than answers.  A twisted anticipation.  

He could see in his mind every time he and Whyte came close to doing something about their bond, every time they had pulled back, hesitated.  Sam was guilty of shutting down, sure, but so was Whyte.  He didn’t understand how the other man was suddenly blaming all of it on him.  Sam had seen the fear before Whyte would withdraw, the haunted look that would settle in his eyes as he pulled away from the possibility of their bond becoming something else...more. 

Sam had seen similar responses in the other Keepers over the centuries as well, so he certainly wasn’t playing dumb, merely cautious. 

“And do you not find that suspicious in itself?  That so many grown, ancient men would have such debilitating self-consciousness when it comes to their mates?  So many obstacles standing in their way?” he asked curiously, because surely he hadn’t been the only one to notice. 

He could sense when the younger man jerked back, as if shocked and fought hard not to roll his eyes.

And here Sam thought he was the one with the visual impairment. 

There were times when he believed it a miracle any of them were able to achieve anything with their heads so far up their own arses. 

“I’ve seen glimpses of the future,” he admitted.  “There are matings.  Our matings.  But there is also death.  I feel as though the two are intertwined somehow, but I’ve never been able to make sense of it, so…” 

“So you kept away,” Whyte finished for him.  “How can you be sure?” 

“I’m not.  It’s also not a chance I’m willing to take.”  Sam sighed, stepping forward into Whyte’s personal space and raising a hand to cup Whyte’s cheek.  “There is more going on here than even I first thought, but never doubt I want you.  When I take you, you will be mine...but you will also be safe.  Those who have come close to mating have been attacked, no matter how benign it may have seemed, and now that they are attempting to claim each other, the attacks are getting more dangerous, the threats more serious.” 

“The bigger picture?” 

“Always the smart one.”  Sam gave a proud smile.  “Exactly.” 

“How very Obi Wan of you,” Whyte drawled. 

He gave the younger Keeper a one shoulder shrug.  “I was thinking more Yoda myself.” 

Whyte snorted.  “You may be hot, but you are nowhere near as cool as Yoda.” 

Sam pulled a wounded expression.  “Ouch, but maybe deserved.” 

“Well deserved.”  

They stood there, still and quiet for a moment, minutes ticking by.  Sam could feel Whyte relax at his presence, and at the knowledge that Sam wanted him after all.  It had never been a plan to hurt Whyte, but he had.  

“When?” Whyte suddenly asked. 

He didn’t need the question explained, he knew exactly what he was asking.  When could they be together? 

“Soon,” was the only response he could give Whyte, kissing him lightly. 

Whyte sighed.  “Soon.” 

Sam growled, sensing the need Whyte had for him and it took everything in his power not to lean forward, take, claim.  Only the knowledge his mate deserved more tenderness and safety, kept him in place.  “Till then, I’ll see you in your dreams."

Jack’s Claus

Sneak Peek

"Jack, watch out!"

"Fuck!" A mass of black, blue and bright red fell down a hill-side in a mass of tangled limbs and pained grunts. "Ouch!"

When they finally reached the bottom, Nicked blinked up at the sky for a moment, fighting to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him by the ground and multiple jabs from Jack’s flying limbs.

"Are you alright?" he asked when he was sure he could speak.

"I'll live." Slightly disoriented icy blue orbs met worried green ones. Pale, full lips stretched into a weak smile. "Sorry for using you as my landing mattress."

Nick rolled his eyes. "I don’t quite have the padding most people think, not sure how good a job I did."

Jack blushed, stuttering for an answer and looking anywhere but at Nick, all but jumping off of him when Nick cleared his throat.

"S-sorry," the younger Keeper murmured as he wiped the snow off of himself. Nick sighed as he stood up and looked around.

"Well, at least we didn't roll too far down," he murmured and brushed the snow off of his leather jacket.

Yes, it was red. He was Santa, of course it was red.

"Are you alright?" He looked at Jack, and suppressed the whine that wanted to break out when the younger man looked at him with a forced grin. Everything was forced with jack these days. While the two of them had been able to coexist in the same space in the past few months better than they had in the last few centuries, It hurt something deep down inside to see Jack almost a shell of who he used to be.

"Just a few bumps and bruises. Nothing I'm not used to already."

Nick frowned while Jack started to look around, trying to find a way up.

They had been out there for hours, searching for any sign of the Fates. From the moment Sam had discovered their hand in the attacks placed upon not just the Keepers, but also the Dark Lords, those three devious and spiteful goddesses had vanished. Recently word had come to them that the Fates had been spotted somewhere around the Altai Mountains, and Jack more than most had been determined to search the area for any evidence to support the claims and track them down.

"Maybe we should head back to the Pro Custodes and continue tomorrow," Nick suggested and Jack looked at him with a confused expression. His cheeks were rosy from the cold and his beautiful icicle-like eyes were glowing brightly. Every part of Nick was begging to just claim the younger man for himself.

But he couldn’t.

Not yet.

Nick had far too much to make up for where jack was concerned. He had failed the man who should be his mate more times than he could count. And the younger man had paid dearly for it.

"There's not much more ground to cover, and we still have some time before night falls," Jack countered.

Nick frowned. “Ja—”

"But if you think we should make our way back, then that's okay too!" Jack backtracked.

That was another thing.

Nick could clearly remember the fire in Jack's eyes when he would defy him, or any of them. He clearly remembered the strength and anger that glowed in Jack's eyes each and every time the two of them had faced off over one thing or another. Now though, that fire wasn't gone. It was still there, but it seemed Jack was suppressing it.

Jack had completely pulled in on himself since they had rescued him from being mind controlled by the Fates and Famine. He avoided conflict if he could, and started picking his words. Nick couldn't even imagine how hard it had to be for Jack to go against his nature.

He could see it in Jack's body language. He knew every single tick and move he made during the Keeper’s meetings before someone would ask his opinion. Nick could read him like an open book. Jack swallowed words and hesitated with everything.

Nick watched him pushing back annoyance and feigning acceptance each time he saw Jack biting into his bottom lip, wringing his hands together in his lap, shifting his weight from one foot to another. Jack wanted to speak up, but feared his presence would only cause trouble.

And Nick could feel Jack staring at him every time he thought no one was watching as though he wanted to ask for something, but the shadows in Jack’s eyes were stopping him from speaking up.

Nick saw it all.

The only thing he couldn't see was if Jack still had feelings for him or not. There was a time before everything went to hell and Nick let his mate down, when Nick would have been certain. So sure he stood a chance.

He remembered the casual yet comforting touches, the unspoken be careful when he left on his midnight run on Christmas eve, knowing Jack would work his hardest to keep the skies clear and safe for him.

The fact that Jack still did some of those things were what gave Nick hope that Jack did in fact have some feelings for him after all this time.

All he had to do was open his mate up to the possibility of them, of more.

Though that was proving to be difficult.

"Jack, it's cold and we've been at it for hours. I just don't want you to catch a cold." Nick saw it the moment Jack buried his clenched fists deep into the pockets of his jacket and sighed. "Say it."

Jack looked at him with a confused frown. "Say what?"

"I just know you had a smart-ass remark on the tip of your tongue," Nick drawled.

Instead of saying what Nick knew Jack wanted to say, the younger man bit into his lip and looked away from Nick. "Let's head back. We can continue tomorrow."

"Jack…"

"Nick," the younger Keeper interrupted him, looking over his shoulder at him. Nick frowned when he saw shadows that he couldn't name glowing in Jack' eyes. "You're right. Let's go."

Nick's frown deepened when Jack turned his back on him and started to climb the hill they rolled down from. He swore right then and there that he was going to do everything in his power to bring Jack out of his self-imposed hell, and maybe just in the end, be the kind of mate that Jack Frost deserved.

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