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.
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.
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.
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.
“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.
Two lives--One
destiny. When fate decides two people belong together, nothing can stand in its
way. Liam Kantry and Carlo Bruenelli find themselves caught up in the madness
of Christmas and taking care of a child as they discover the meaning of being
true heart-mates.
Liam Kantry wants to be with the man he has loved his whole life, yet
incessant gossip and innuendos have labelled him the pack whore--a point he has
never disputed. Now the rumours have come back to bite him in the arse.
Carlo Bruenelli is waiting for his heart-mate; he's one of the pack who
truly believes they really do exist. In his heart he wants it to be his best
friend, only problem is he knows Liam doesn't believe in heart-mates. What will
it take to change Liam's mind? And should he even try?
Christmas is drawing near, and between snowball fights and the inter-pack
gathering, Liam and Carlo find themselves caught up in the excitement and
obsessing over what their future holds. Especially when a small child forms a
bond with them. They learn there is more out there than they ever dreamt was
possible.
Can Liam and Carlo work around the newness of their own mating to protect
someone who needs it most?
CONTENT ADVISORY: This work is a significantly expanded (almost tripled
in length), re-edited re-release title.
EXCERPT:
Everyone had a fear, and Carlo's was probably no
different to anyone else's. His fear involved running into the love of his
life, Liam Kantry, and being ignored completely. Liam often starred in Carlo's
nightly dreams of who his heart-mate should look like, yet sadly Liam only ever
looked at him like an annoying, dorky, younger brother--a brother you didn't
want hanging around all the time. Usually, it was hard to avoid him since they
belonged to the same pack. Thoughts like these had been plaguing him for the
last month or so leading up to this special week.
The Moon Runner Pack had been chosen to host the
inter-pack meet-and-greet on their lands where guests from other packs would be
coming in hope of finding a mate. Most people didn't believe in heart-mates.
Carlo was truly one of the few in the pack who actually believed heart-mates
existed.Somewhere out
there's the perfect person looking for me.A tingle of
excitement surged through him at the mere possibility of it being true.I'm twenty-one. I'm finally old
enough to attend the party. Let's hope he's here and just as eager to meet me.
Wish it could be Liam, but wouldn't we have known by now if we were? Hopefully
Christmas Day I'll have pushed aside my crush on Liam Kantry and I'll know
whether or not my heart-mate is out there searching for me as well--that is, if
he even comes to the gathering. My luck, he won't even bother turning up.
Man, he hoped he was wrong and his heart-mate
existed in the here and now, waiting to meet him as well. Never once had he
doubted that his future mate would be a male. Fate wouldn't be so cruel to pair
him with a woman he could never really love. Being mated to a female wouldn't
be fair to either of them. If it came down to his mate being someone who wasn't
male, he'd simply explain everything to her and let her find someone else she
could be happy with. Carlo had even heard that this year there were packs
coming to attend from even farther afield than usual. This gathering also
became the time new alliances were made between packs, where packs could ask
another for help in any way. Bloodshed was frowned upon at these gatherings,
but sometimes it became unavoidable--or so he'd been told.
The alpha had asked him, because it was his first
time, to become involved this year by being seen at the meeting hall, not
hiding away from the pack like he usually did. Apparently all members of the
pack who had come of age and were eligible to attend were asked to help out. So
here he was now, wet as all get-go--because he'd only moments before slipped
and landed in a puddle as he tried to dodge a car on the street outside the
hall. Dripping wet, he grumbled as he walked through the falling snow toward
the last place he wanted to be--the pack town hall. Carlo hoped to avoid
everything until the starting ceremony itself, but Darian and the alpha had
nixed that thought early on. The plain truth was he didn't want to have to be
anywhere he'd have to bear witness to Liam flirting with other people. Carlo
was a coward, and he knew it. He wasn't disputing the fact at all. As he neared
the building, the noise coming from within sounded muted, but still loud in a
raucous kind of way.
Carlo waved to a couple leaving the crowded room as
he entered. He didn't know them, but he thought it would be a polite and
friendly gesture to the wolves who'd be arriving to stay with the Moon Runner
pack over the next few days. He didn't even complain much when Sally Anne
Meyers, the alpha's younger sister, made him strip out of his outer layers
before she allowed him to step foot inside the door.
She'd joked, "If you were smarter, you'd strip
in time to the music and make yourself a little money on the side." Her
laughter sounded light, and Carlo knew she wasn't being mean. Being twenty-one
herself, she probably also found herself being forced to be sociable. Unlike
him, Sally Anne actually liked being the centre of attention, especially if it
garnered the interest of a certain pack member. According to Marcus, the pack gossip,
Sally Anne had set her sights on Wade Michelson this year. She'd chosen him as
her mate and she'd do anything to get what she wanted.
"The only problem is they'd make me pay the
money back with interest once they saw me naked," he replied, snickering
before he handed her the wet clothes.
"Go sit by the fire and I'll call your mum to
bring you some dry clothes. We wouldn't want all your lovely bits and pieces to
fall off, now would we?"
What the fuck?Is she flirting with me?"Are you
trying to get my arse beat? If you keep that talk up, you'll make Wade crazy
jealous and he'll come after me."
"Hah! That big galoot wouldn't know which end
faced up if someone didn't tell him." There seemed to be no heat in her
words.
"I thought you were determined to be his
mate?" Carlo asked, curious as he saw the glint of something in her eye.
She waved him away. "He's mine. He just doesn't
know it yet. His days of sleeping around are over." She sniffed haughtily
then burst out laughing. "Go on. Go warm up and I'll get you some dry
clothes. I saw Liam in here earlier--not sure if he's still here though."
He gave her one last smile before he did as told.
"Thank you." He wasn't sure if he thanked her for calling his mum or
for letting him know Liam Kantry sat in the hall talking with friends.
The sounds of carols playing through the speakers,
combined with happy laughter ringing out were enough to get even the most
miserable person into the Christmas spirit. The interior walls had been
transformed from their usual drab wooden bareness to having an array of colours
splashed across them. The effect was kind of stunning. Whoever had decorated
this year had taste.
With all the festivities going on around him, Carlo
couldn't have stopped smiling even if he'd wanted to. He actually loved this
time of year--always had. The fact remained he loved everything about
Christmas, from the addictive aroma of the baked goods to the scent of the pine
trees filling the air, but most of all he loved the feeling of family and
everyone being together.
His love of everything Christmas started the year
his father gave him his very own sled. That year he'd met Liam Kantry for the
first time. He'd also met Liam's brothers Marcus and Theo. They'd taken turns
sharing his sled while riding down the hills out on the back of the pack lands.
The day seemed to rush by, none of them coming in until August Kantry, the
boys' father, had come looking for them. On the way home, he'd given them all a
lecture on what were safe and unsafe times to stay out playing when their
parents were sitting at home and waiting for them.
Christmas was just around the corner and his family
was getting ready to celebrate in style. His mother was known by many as a
baking fiend when it came to roasts, but no one in the pack came even close to
beating Mary Kantry when it came to baking Christmas goodies. She had become a
legend among the pack, especially for her Christmas bread. Hell, even just the
thought of it had Carlo's mouth watering. His thoughts came back to the present
when he heard an all too familiar voice.Oh great, so Liam really is still
here--yippee... not!
(2) I Completed NaNoWriMo... All of Adrian & Lockie, & half of Experimentals 2: Running Into Zero Tolerance.
(3) I have been sick since Wednesday (the heat is killing me)
(4) I sent the first 4 chapters of The Lines Of Marsden 3: You Make Me Die In Pieces and the next 4 Synopsis to Christie N at MLR for consideration for contract.
(5) Still waiting to hear back from Fireborn Publishing about The Diamond Rose 1: Gateway to Kalethia.
(6) I just sent Faith B-B at Totally Bound Publishing my writing schedule for 2015.
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