Diane Adams's Blog

I wanted to take a few minutes to bring everyone up to date on where MM5 stands, as well as the direction the series will take in the next three books.

We were with Alex and Jared as they met, fell in love and became a devoted couple. We've seen the affect of their love one one another and those closest to them as the first half of the series focused on the beginning of their relationship.

Still to come is the second half of this incredible love story. The last half of the series will tell the story of a more mature couple. You'll meet our boys as men, grownup and facing the challenge of keeping love alive through the struggle of every day living and barely averted tragedy.

I never planned to spend a lot of time writing the years Alex was away at college. The main reason being that so many of the struggles would parallel what they suffered when Alex was away at high school. While I didn't anticipate the interest you, my lovely readers, would have in those years, I still feel my best plan is to stick with my original blueprint. However, I'm not completely insensitive (actually I'm a sucker as you guys should have figured out by now) and I have a compromise.

Every few weeks I'll post a free read focused on the years Alex spent at college and Jared stayed home building the foundation of their lives together. I've stretched my imagination to the limit and entitled the series of stories "Alex and Jared: The College Years" (how clever am I?) I hope you enjoy them.

I'm currently writing MM5 (my author shorthand for The Making of a Man Book 5) entitled A World of Our Own. Capturing the guys in their thirties is a different challenge for me, and at 31 and 36 you will see they are beyond the "happy ever after" beginning and ending of the first three books. Lest you worry too much, rest assured the books will continue to share a peek into the future for Alex and Jared and their love burns with the same passion and devotion at the ages of 51 and 56 as it did at 15 and 20.

I'll announce the release date for the fifth book as soon as I have it, I promise.

For now…please enjoy (a slightly late) Valentine Love story. I give you…Alex and Jared: The College Years.

What is one sexual act between two men we'll never see in one of your books?

For anyone who reads my books they know that my love scenes are less anatomically descriptive and more about the feelings and emotions and passion that the two men are feeling.

There are a couple of things that I just couldn't write. Anything on the normal *no* list for Silver, and then fisting… Nope… I wince at the thought…

Then, there is the one thing that I just cannot bring myself to write… rimming… I just can't do it…especially when the couple involved go on to kiss… Jeez, I find it hard to write my guys kissing with morning breath let alone…well y'know…

So the answer is most definitely: Rimming.

Jared didn't turn to look at Alex; he shifted the truck into a higher gear. The engine grumbled, working harder in four wheel drive. The heavy vehicle showed no sign of sliding on the slick surface. "Do you want to die?"

Alex's eyes slid closed. He rested his forehead on the passenger window and considered Jared's words. His face and hand ached, his skin burned from the cold and inside he felt as if someone had run him through a shredder. He wondered when just being alive started hurting so much. The darkness beckoned him to take refuge there, to buffer himself with the façade of not caring. Alex longed for that, endless dark, quiet, free from pain, and fear. He struggled to remember something, anything at all, worth the effort.

Pulling his hand out of his glove Alex fisted his hand around the small scrap of paper nestled in his palm. The fragile note crumpled in his grasp. He hadn't read it, didn't know what it said. It didn't matter.

"No." his whisper misted the glass.

"Okay."

And it was enough.

Randall Wiggins!! You are the winner!!! You win a free copy of A Broken Light, Beyond the Night Book 1 AND the chance to appear in the next book Make Me Believe. Congratulations!!! Please send me your email at diane.adams@virtualdelusions.com and I'll send your copy of the book. Once you've read it email me and we can discuss what sort of scene and character traits you'd like have in the story

There is a second winner.

Without my good friend Adam, A Broken Light would have never happened. Since he entered the contest he wins a role in the next book. However, he doesn't get to choose. He's at my mercy…it remains to be seen if congratulations are in order Mwahahahahaa!!

Thank you all for your interest and for participating in the contest! I hope you enjoy the second chapter of A Broken Light, I'm afraid if you want to know what happens to Elias and Jace…well you'll have to read the book for that

Who won? Click and see

Chapter 2

Jace opened the camper shell and tossed his pack into the back of the truck. Wade's truck. Jace's older brother hadn't cared much about material things. Fashion, electronic trends, had been beyond him. Jeans, a t-shirt, and boots had been his wardrobe. He liked high-end weapons and a dependable truck. He kept the former stashed in the back of the latter, discretely tucked away in a huge toolbox. Other hallmarks of their trade took up space in plain sight. The huge bags of salt and cans of gasoline might seem odd, but weren't illegal. Jace's beat up hiker's pack held his clothes, pretty much the same style choices as Wade. Jace wore his dark hoodie, aged and soft from so many washings, as his only concession to the chill in the air. For this trip, a parka lay in the back of the truck, tossed indifferently over his pack. He'd seen pictures of Minnesota while he researched the job, and judging from those images, his hoodie wouldn't stand up to the winters there.

Securing the hard shell over the back of the truck, Jace glanced towards the cabin. Six months since Wade's death. Nine since his parents were murdered. Not even a year total, Jace wondered if he'd still be alive when the first anniversary of death rolled around, or if he even wanted to be.

Jace's hand went to the small vial against his chest, hanging from a chain around his neck. A dog-tag, which read simply 'Wade' also hung from the chain, along with a gold heart locket he'd found in his mother's things. Jace held the tiny memorial to his brother tight. A few ashes in the vial and a lock of hair in the locket were all that remained of the man who'd been a vital part of Jace's life. He tucked the necklace inside his shirt and turned away from his last look at home. Jace had been 'little brother' his entire life, looking up to Wade, yearning to be as big and strong as his brother. It never happened. Jace stopped growing at six foot six,

inches short of Wade's six foot nine and no amount of gym time bulked him up to Wade's massive size. Jace didn't know if taking up hunting again would help him figure out who he was without Wade to measure himself against, but he didn't know where else to pick up the threads of his life. Still, he feared the hunt might end up as nothing more than a distraction from his pain, or worse, a lifelong quest for revenge. He'd cleared out every werewolf in a hundred mile radius since Wade's death. If he wanted to keep killing monsters, he had to get back on the road. Werewolves weren't the only people-killers out there.

"I know, Wade. If I give up, you're going to kick my ass. Good thing you aren't here, though, Minnesota in January. Geez, you'd never stop bitching about the cold." Jace ignored how wrong it felt to slip behind the wheel of the Ford '65 F-100. The vintage pickup had been Wade's pride and joy. Jace had rarely been allowed to drive it, and since Wade's death, Jace hadn't had the heart to take it out of the driveway. He used parents' old sedan to go for supplies once a month. Sitting behind the driver's seat of the truck, preparing to hit the road on a hunt without Wade, renewed Jace's awareness of his brother's absence. Pain clutched his heart so hard, for a second Jace couldn't breathe.

"Wade." Jace sat for a minute listening to the motor run before forcing himself back into action. "Let's go, Red, there are girls to save." Jace glanced into the rearview mirror. Catching his own gaze, he winced. His unusual aqua-green eyes, which once sparkled with laughter, were murky with sorrow and depression. Non-descript brown hair, in need of a cut, hung over his forehead, ears, and collar. Cutting short his self-exam, he focused on backing the care out of the driveway and onto the dirt road that ended in their yard. Jace flipped the radio on, letting the familiar sound of his favorite emo band distract him from dark memories as the dirt road turned to gravel, and shortly after, merged with pavement. Jace faced his first lone hunt with growing trepidation.

He and Wade hunted as a team. Going it alone meant Jace had to watch his own back, take care of the research and run the pool hustles that were their bread and

butter. Hunting usually consisted of expenses with no incoming revenue, but it had to be done or the supernatural would become impossible for the civilian populace to ignore. The resulting chaos would cost thousands of lives. He hoped his skills were up for it. Jace rebelled against the sort of scams most hunters resorted to as easily as breathing. Gambling was one of the most honest ways to supplement a nonexistent income. They were supposed to be heroes, not criminals.

Wade had made fun of him, nicknaming Jace 'the missionary', asking if he needed a Bible or a cape the most. Despite his teasing, instead of forcing the matter, Wade taught Jace how to win at pool and cards without cheating. Jace had been hustling pool with Wade for as long as he'd been tall enough to see over the edge of a table. The memory made Jace smile. They'd made a mint back then; guys never thought a couple of kids would beat them. Even after Jace grew up, taller than the average bear, they would sucker guys in with his baby face and then Wade would clean them out with his shark-like talent. Gambling would be riskier without someone at his back; he'd have to be careful not to win too much. It wouldn't do him much good if he couldn't keep what he pocketed.

Still lost in thought, Jace slowed the truck, pulling from pure habit into a parking lot where a couple of old fashioned gas pumps stood outside the low-slung ramshackle building, which was a bizarre merging of bar/restaurant/convenience store/gas station. A simple sign over the door read "Bud's". A bell jingled when he entered and, waving to the girl behind the counter, Jace moved through the well-lit convenience store in front and headed for the dimly shadowed rear of the building. A bar stood against one wall, with a few tables scattered over the scarred wooden floor, separating it from two pool tables located just beyond them. Lamps with green cone shades hung over the green topped tables, isolating them in islands of light. An older man looked up from wiping the bar, grinning at the sight of Jace.

"Well, look who crawled out of his hole. You want

a drink, boy?"

Jace managed a small smile and accepted the tall frosty mug of beer thrust into his hand. "Thanks, Bud. I'm headed out for a while. Keep an eye on the place?" He took a drink of the cold beer, with a deep sigh of appreciation. He wiped the foam off his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thanks that hit the spot."

Bud looked thoughtful; his deep set, dark eyes were surrounded by a multitude of wrinkles. His beard matched his white hair, but Jace couldn't remember Bud's hair ever being any other color so it didn't give any hint to the man's age. When asked, Bud just grinned. "Old enough," he'd say, "Old enough." A longtime

friend of the family, he often looked after the cabin during their absences.

He nodded. "Watch it like it's my own," he promised. "It's good to see you getting out. Let me feed you before you head down the road, I doubt you've been much

on grub up there alone." Bud acted as he spoke, without waiting for Jace to answer, pulling a pan of raw hamburger patties out of the fridge under the bar. He plopped a couple of them onto the flat grill on the back wall. A basket of fries went down into the vat.

Jace barked a short laugh. "I hope you don't think I can eat all that."

Bud looked at him, brow raised. "I'll pack a goodie bag for you. Go fill your truck. That monstrosity must suck down so much gas you'll have to stop at every station you see and pray between them." Laughing, Bud turned back to his grill.

Rolling his eyes, Jace headed for the front door, not about to turn down free fuel. Bud drove a Toyota hybrid, the old country man an unlikely source of conservation. He and Wade used to spar about cars constantly. Bud said he had enough headaches buying the gas to fill the monstrous tanks for the store, he didn't need to make the Arabs any richer driving a gas guzzler.

Jace ran a hand across the hood of Old Red as he filled her tank. Wade had believed in vehicles made of real metal. Jace closed his eyes, Wade's voice clear in his mind.

"Fiberglass might save you money, but steel will save your life. Remember that, little brother." Jace remembered. He remembered everything. The sound of a single gunshot echoed in his mind. His jaw tightened and Jace squared his shoulders. He left Old Red beside the pump to go back inside for the hamburgers, determined to do the only thing he could for Wade by living a life he didn't want. Hehesitated at the door to the store, his hand moving up to ghost over the shape of the necklace under his shirt. "Wade, you know, it's really not fair that I'm only allowed to kill one of us."

His expression as bleak as his heart, Jace went back into the store.

* * * *

Elias sat in his car staring at the snow, wondering what kind of idiot picked a job in midwinter Minnesota over one in the swamps of Florida. It had seemed a no

brainer. Girls with their heads cut off trumped mysterious lights floating around a swamp, but given the fact January had settled in colder than the North Pole, he obviously hadn't thought the situation through well enough. He should have googled more than bizarre news stories, stuff like temperatures, and the chances of actually seeing the sky…or the ground. Elias touched the control for the wipers and cleared the windshield of the layer of snow obscuring his vision.

The huge oak tree across the street bore a fresh, deep scar in its side. The weather hadn't prevented the impromptu memorial that seemed to spring up these days

anywhere something tragic happened. A young woman driving home from work had crashed her VW Beetle into the tree. Elias had read the story, researched the police files; all evidence indicated she never touched her brakes, just swerved, jumped the curb and plowed into the tree. The fact she'd been pinned to the seat by the steering column didn't surprise Elias. Breaking with tradition, the new model Beetles had their engines in the front. The engine of this particular one had ended up in the woman's lap. Horrible wrecks happened every day and none of them would have drawn him to this frozen place, but there were other details, one in particular that had lured him north. That small detail being the location of the driver's head.

In the passenger seat.

The windshield had splintered on impact, pictures showed it networked with cracks, the inside coated dark with blood, but still intact. With no flying glass or any sign of flying debris in the car—the how of the driver's severed head added up to the kind of puzzle Elias liked best. The current snowfall concealed the scarring of the yard between the road and the tree, making the exact point where she jumped the curb unidentifiable. Pictures, artificial flowers, and teddy bears decorated the snow bank at the bottom of the tree; protected somewhat by the bare branches they weren't completely buried. More pictures, flowers and notes had been pinned to the tree to the point they nearly obscured the fresh wound, turning the site of the deadly accident into a peaceful memorial.

Knowing he wouldn't learn anything sitting in the car, Elias pulled down the visor to open the mirror. Rich golden brown eyes gazed back at him, surrounded by thick dark lashes, they were the best feature in a perfect face. He also had strong cheekbones and a perfectly shaped, fulllipped mouth. Being not quite human came in handy, people trusted a pretty face faster than an unattractive one. Elias wore a few days growth of beard to keep from being too beautiful, but the rugged edge only added to his appeal. Running a hand through his two-tone hair, Elias perfected his slightly tousled look. The distinct blond and black coloring drew more attention than his pretty face, but hiding it took more effort than Elias wanted to put into it. It didn't matter, he could wear a bikini and dance the hula,

and even the grouchiest conservative would remember him with pleasure. The innate power of his incubus nature made sure of it.

Being able to get away with murder was just one of the benefits of being a soul sucking monster. Elias rolled his eyes at his inner emo. Convinced he wouldn't terrify the neighbors, he pulled on his gloves. The thin leather conformed to his fingers like they'd had been made forhim—which they had. The thick, hunter green sweater Elias wore over a black turtle neck didn't offer much protection against the wind when he got out of the car; he'd left his coat in the trunk. Elias didn't even have a place to stay yet, but he wanted to get some firsthand information before settling down for the night; he'd come straight to the makeshift

memorial as soon as he got to town. He didn't plan to hang around the North Pole any longer than he had to. Bum fuck Daffodil, Minnesota, stuck in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by a National Forest, didn't have a cell tower for a hundred miles. No signal, no 4G, wherever he stayed would have to have internet hardwired into it. Elias imagined being confined to research in the local library and shuddered.

Elias welcomed the warmth of his leather coat as it settled around him. Tailor made, it fit perfectly despite his diminutive five foot eight inch frame. His body, thanks once again to his inhuman nature, looked as perfect as his face, a pleasant V shape, wider at the shoulders and extremely narrow at the hips. The fit of his coat the furthest thing from his mind, Elias pushed a gas can towards the back of the trunk beside a fifty pound bag of rock salt, and opened the false panel set in the floor. He silently studied his array of weapons before grabbing a sawed off shotgun and sliding it into an interior pocket of his coat. Elias had designed and sewn the lining. He trusted a seamstress to do basic alterations, but he made all specialized changes himself. He slid his seventeen inch Bowie knife into the sheath at the back of his neck, where it hung invisible between his shoulder blades, and the smallest of his handguns into his shoulder holster. He had a pocketful of throwing stars and enough protective runes tattooed into his skin to save the planet. Elias did not like getting caught unprepared.

Slamming the trunk closed, he stood behind his charcoal gray car, surveying the neighborhood. Cast in false twilight by the storm clouds, the road remained quiet. Rectangles of light fell across the snow in front of houses giving a misleading impression of warmth to the ice. Satisfied nothing lurked around to blindside him, Elias pulled on his ski hat and shoved his hands into his pockets. Hunched against the wind, he crossed the street towards the tree, snow collecting on his shoulders. Annoyed, he shrugged it off; the next spell he put on the coat would include a built-in heater. He hated the cold.

The items making up the memorial didn't tell him anything. It was the usual stuff from people mourning, sentiments transforming an everyday girl into a saint.

Ready to give up, Elias started to turn away, but a picture pinned in the center of the naked wound in the tree caught his eye. Careful not to mar the photo, he removed the tack and examined the image. He recognized the girl, Janie, from news images—blonde, sassy, dressed in red—but the young man in the picture presented a mystery. No more than eighteen, dressed head to foot in black, with his arm draped around Janie's neck. Scrawled across the picture was a single word, "Sis". The way the pen had dug a groove into the photo and the sharp slant of the writing screamed the author's pain. No platitudes, just real honest

emotion, an agony as raw and open as the wound left in the flesh of the tree where the bark had ripped away.

With a place to begin in hand, Elias headed for the nearest house. Once he found out where to find Janie's brother, he could turn his attention to finding somewhere to stay while in town.

Elias was back in his car a mere fifteen minutes later. He tucked the picture into the elastic band around his visor, and tugged off his gloves. People being willing to talk freely to any guy with a badge made things a lot easier. The girl's brother, Terry, still lived in the apartment he'd shared with his sister. Apartment 4B, located in a small complex at the end of the road. Elias studied the brother and sister in the picture, so similar despite their opposite demeanors and choice in attire. The boy's loss would be equivalent to the joy captured in the image. It must suck to be him. Sure, the sister was dead, but the kid had to keep going, and Elias thought being the one left behind had to be the worst.

(Still time to enter the contest, details here: How to Win)

Chapter 1

Jace's memory of the event that changed his life ran in slow motion, but in reality everything happened quickly, and in the blink of an eye his world turned upside down. Experienced hunters of the supernatural, the Bennett brothers moved cautiously through the night. With the full moon hidden behind a thick bank of clouds, they were handicapped by the lack of light as they made their way through the tangled underbrush still wet from an earlier storm. Jace cursed when a branch Wade pushed out of the way sprang back, showering him with a fine spray of cold water. Frowning, Wade glanced over his shoulder, and motioned for Jace to be quiet.

In that split second of distraction, the creature they hunted stopped running and turned on them, surging out of the shadows; a thing born of the night howling with blind fury and anguish. Wade whirled around, but too late; the beast hit him low, taking the elder Bennett brother down with a growl of murderous intent. Rendered immobile by the unexpected appearance of the werewolf, Jace stared in shock, watching the pair tumble into the thick underbrush and out of sight.

He came back to his senses already in motion. "Wade! Goddammit." Jace tried to run in the direction they'd rolled under the plants, struggling through wet

foliage that tangled around his legs and slapped his face. Cursing, he couldn't get free of the undergrowth. It clutched at him, holding him back, keeping him from reaching Wade. The sounds of the fight became more intense just before a gunshot ricocheted through the night, followed by another. Heart pounding, Jace broke free of the underbrush and found Wade sitting spread-legged, a huge tree supporting his back, head slumped. At his feet, the werewolf, reverted to human form, lay dead on the ground.

Fierce relief surged through Jace as he rushed to drag the naked body into the dense brush surrounding the tiny clearing. With the body hidden, Jace turned back to face his brother. Wade didn't move, not even to lift his head. Pale moonlight broke through the cloud cover filtering through the tree branches. It played over Wade's white-blond hair but did little to illuminate his face. Jace couldn't make out Wade's expression, and a chill of premonition crawled along Jace's spine. Wade never sat around after a successful hunt. Pumped with adrenaline, he loved to relive the adventure, talking a mile a minute. He left it to Jace to remember the monster had once been human and somewhere a family had lost something irreplaceable. Father. Mother. Child. Jace felt killing someone, even when circumstances left no other choice, seemed little reason to celebrate. Jace understood Wade's need to distance himself from the human aspect of some of the nightmares they hunted, but this kill brought none of his usual post kill antics. Wade sat silent watching Jace from under the fall of silver bangs.

Jace's initial relief at finding the werewolf dead and Wade alive leeched away. "Wade?" He dropped to one knee at his brother's side, the damp of the leaves seeping through Jace's jeans chilled his skin. Wade didn't look up. In silence he turned over the arm lying on his lap to reveal torn leather and bloody shredded skin.

Bitten.

"Oh fuck, Wade. Oh fuck." Jace trembled, his heart racing in panic. "It's okay. It doesn't look bad. I'll get you back to the car and when we get home we can…" The feel of a gun being pressed into his hand quieted Jace's babbling. No. Jace's lips formed the word in silent protest. His frantic eyes met Wade's. The brothers locked gazes for a long moment.

"You know what to do." Wade's voice remained rock steady. His good hand gripped Jace's arm, hard. "I'd do it for you."

Blinded by tears that refused to retreat no matter how furiously he blinked, Jace nodded. The next cycle of the moon would transform Wade into a howling, murderous beast. Werewolf. Knowing there were things worse than death made pulling the trigger possible, but three months later the sound of the gunshot still echoed in Jace's mind. Shaken, Jace wiped a rough hand over his face, forcing himself back to the present. Three months later, the quagmire of memory still sucked him in for hours at a time, replaying those last moments as if reliving it could create a different outcome. Instead, inside the torture chamber of his own mind, Jace shot his brother.

Over and over again.

Jace stared at the bottle of liquor standing next to his empty glass. The contents had become his constant companion in the months since Wade's death. Now the

alcohol glowed amber in the last rays of the sun, an unfilled promise of forgetfulness in the warm depths. The headache came in a bright flash, sapping his strength. The signs of the onset of a vision were unmistakable. Jace slumped in the chair gripping his temples, attention focused on the bottle of whiskey. The

color of the alcohol enveloped him, filling him with warmth and a sense of coming home unlike anything he'd ever experienced. Jace's usual visions weren't so vague. He didn't always remember what he saw but they were visions, not sensory experiences. This time it felt more like he'd touched a pleasant person than a prediction of the future.

Not that Jace touched many people. As a touch empath, avoiding skin to skin contact had become a way of life for him. For the most part people were miserable and no one felt all warm and glowy. Left shaken and uneasy, Jace grabbed the bottle and went to pour its contents down the sink. If the alcohol gave him hallucinations it had to go. As the bottle emptied, Jace looked out the window over the sink; the full moon hung low in the night sky, reflecting round and bloated on the dark surface of the lake. He and Wade had grown up on the hundred acres clinging to the side of the mountain, the wilderness their training ground. Most hunters lived and worked alone. His family had been an anomaly.

Their parents loved each other and felt no hesitation about having children. Introduced from the crib to the ugly world of the supernatural, the five years between the brothers meant little to their parents in terms of training. Despite their parents' point of view, Wade had been consumed by a sense of responsibility from the first time he laid eyes on Jace and watched over him obsessively.

I'd do it for you.

Jace hadn't believed Wade. It would have been more like him to drag Jace home with plans to lock him in a cage every full moon despite their pact. Their nights had often been filled with discussions about what to do if the unthinkable happened. When the idea of a cage came up, they'd both rejected it as too risky and so the pact between them had been born. They promised to "do what had to be done" if one of them got infected by a werewolf, vampire or any other 'turn you into them' type monster. The agreement had turned out easier said than done. Only knowing that if left alive Wade would have found a way to end his own life kept Jace sane.

Growing up had been a series of adventures, but they'd been isolated by necessity. Homeschooled, home trained. Jace's social skills beyond the bounds of family

were practically non-existent, and he'd lost everyone in the last six months. First his parents to vampires and three months later, despite his promises to always stand between Jace and the world, Wade died too. Jace fought the feeling of despair whispering to his heart. The one telling him he had no reason to live. He focused on the one thing he had left. Killing monsters. He turned away from the window and went to get his gun.

* * * *

Elias stood over the open grave; the dirt-caked shovel at his feet silent testimony that he'd been the one to dig it up. The casket's lid lay in shattered pieces over the perfectly preserved body inside. The Egyptians with their mummies had nothing on modern science. Embalming and airtight caskets kept bodies looking fresh long past their expiration dates. Elias didn't know which he found more disturbing, moldering bones or what he uncovered in more recent graves. Pouring gasoline over the dead girl's brittle blonde hair, which was still carefully arranged around a face that appeared to be napping, Elias decided well-preserved was

worse. A lot worse.

The wind picked up behind him, shoving him towards the yawning pit. He planted his feet solidly in the earth and stood firm against the assault. A stormy beginning, but soon she'd manifest in an attempt to defend herself, the angry ghost of a young woman killed in an unfortunate accident. Instead of moving

peaceably into whatever lay ahead for ghosts, she lingered, growing more violent in her exhibitions of resentment over what had happened to her. Elias felt bad for the dead girl, but intended to protect the living. He held no delusions about the consequences to a spirit when he broke their final connection to the corporeal world. He didn't provide a transition for violent spirits; he put an end to them. The afterlife remained a mystery. No one knew what happened to spirits who moved on in a normal fashion.

Comparatively speaking, few dead people became ghosts. The very fact there were ghosts proved people had a spirit and so common sense dictated the ones not lingering around went somewhere. When a spirit didn't leave, move on or whatever, guys like Elias stepped in. The ghost finally appeared, hovering over the grave, her once beautiful face shadowed and contorted by fury. Long hair whipped around her head as she floated barefoot and bare armed over her body. The faded blue dress dotted with daisies, a copy of the one she'd been buried in, wafted around her lending an air of innocence belied by her countenance. "Wait!" She struggled visibly to control her expression, reaching towards him with her hands open, palms up, pleading. "You don't understand."

The memory of her two-year-old brother lying in the hospital, fighting for his life after a fall killed any compassion Elias may have felt. The baby gate had failed,

sending the child head over heels down the stairs. A horrible accident, except Elias knew it'd been no accident. His jaw firmed. Kindness had no place in hunting monsters and he didn't have the energy to waste on mercy for the dead.

"Too late." He rubbed the head of a match against his jeans and it flamed to life, a single flickering beacon in the darkness. The ghost's eyes fixed on it and she wailed. Her open pleading hands curled to claws, grasping for his throat. Elias dropped the match into the grave and stepped back from the rush of flame leaping for the sky and engulfing the form of the ghost. She howled. The fire couldn't harm her physically, but it would destroy what tied her to the earth. Cremation would solve a lot of his problems before they happened.

Elias knew he should hit the road. The cemetery stood in the middle of town, and he'd already stretched his luck attempting the burn. Remembering the small boy

fighting for his life in a sterile hospital bed, Elias sighed and crouched down, settling back on his heels. The tail of his black leather trench coat pooled around him. He couldn't leave until he made sure. The ghost made a theatrical exit, keening in the midst of the fire until it began to die down and she dissipated, floating away, indiscernible from the dark smoke. Elias opened himself to the energy released by the end of her existence. Closing his eyes, he absorbed it, feeling renewed strength flow through his body as the core of his life-force rejuvenated.

Incubus.

Being one of the monsters wasn't the best thing in the world, but Elias had come to terms with it. He'd come a long way from the terrified and panicked fifteen-year-old boy, finding himself alone in a room with the lover he'd inadvertently killed. The death had been ruled an unfortunate accident. When Elias insisted he'd caused it, that he'd sucked her soul out, he found himself in the best home for the mentally deranged his parents could afford. With expense of no consequence, the mental institution seemed more like a country club than a hospital, but it provided his worried parents reassurance he wouldn't try to kill himself when they weren't looking. Elias' second kill came not long after his doctors released him from the hospital. Getting out proved as easy as claiming he'd worked through his guilt and accepted the death of his girlfriend as an accident.

During his three years at the institution Elias had fallen in love with Dale Carson, one of his nurses. Still innocent of his true nature, Elias believed in Dale's

proclamations of undying love, unaware that as he grew up he became irresistible to the humans around him.

When Elias left the hospital, he moved in with Dale. They shared a month together before the lust between them flared so white-hot it slipped out of Elias' control, bringing his second sexual encounter to the same end as the first. With another sex partner dead under him, Elias knew where to lay the blame, even if he didn't understand why or how. Cleared of murder a second time due to lack of evidence, Elias refused to repeat his stay at the hospital. His parents, more understanding than he'd deserved, opened his trust fund to him, no questions asked, and he disappeared.

With a last look into the darkening grave, Elias shrugged off his memories. He couldn't change the past, but he had complete control over the present. He retrieved his shovel and the gas can. Another shrug settled his trench coat on his shoulders, the weight of the arsenal hidden within its folds made sure it hung close against his lean form. Time to move on.

Elias' stomach growled, reminding him he had other needs. Nothing a pizza and a six pack wouldn't cure, another night alone in an endless line of hotel rooms. In the ten years since his last human kill, Elias had grown accustomed to his isolation, preferred it.

When he was alone, no one died.

Only two more days my pretties! Comment to win!

Today's Random-Micro-Excerpt!

The sheriff turned his attention back to Jace. "Her body's frozen. Getting her out of there is going to be a bitch." The sheriff's head bowed, his eyes closed and

breathing deeply he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know her parents. Went to school with her dad. Hell of a job sometimes."

Jace stood silent beside the man, feeling more like an intruder than ever, but he sympathized. Hunting killers, human or not, was absolutely one hell of a job.

I got my copies of A Broken Light today! I'm so excited! I really can't wait for you guys to read this one. Since you can't read the book yet, let me give you another Random-micro-excerpt!

Don't forget to comment to win a pdf copy of A Broken Light and a chance to be written into the next book in the series Make Me Believe!!

And the excerpt…

Realizing chatting with his dead brother might not be high on the sane list, Jace frowned. He shrugged it off;for some reason he felt closer to Wade in Old Red than he had in months. Riding in Old Red chatting up Wade's ghost was better than being back at the cabin wallowing in selfpity and alcohol. The truck had been their home for most of their adult lives so it didn't surprise Jace that sitting in the cab he felt surrounded by his brother's presence.

Only five more days to the release of A Broken Light!

Here's today's mini-random excerpt. Don't forgot to comment for your chance to win a copy of A Broken Light AND a chance to appear in a scene of the next book Make Me Believe, Beyond the Night Book Two with the character of your choice!

Jace sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. The impression of a dark presence he'd gotten from his vision lingered, and Jace felt more aware than ever of the empty space at his back, the one Wade used to watch. Restarting the stalled truck, Jace carefully pulled back on the proper side of the road, heading towards town, determined to ignore the feeling of trepidation curling at the base of his spine.

To help celebrate the release of A Broken Light starting right now until the day of release (that's Sat Jan 21 btw) I'm going to post a random mini excerpt a day.

What's that?

It's where I open the manuscript, roll the scroll wheel, and then choose an excerpt from where it stops!

Fun right?

But wait! There's more! Stop by my blog and post a comment for a chance to win!

Win what??

Well, a copy of the book (of course) but also to win a "walk on" role in the next Beyond the Night book. Yep, you heard me right! The winner will have a minor role the next book and get to choose which character(s) they want to share a scene with (after they've had a chance to read it).

What are you waiting for, comment for your chance to win these great prizes! Oh, the excerpt right…I almost forgot that .

A Broken Light, Random Excerpt 1

Elias studied the brother and sister in the picture, so similar despite their opposite demeanors and choice in attire. The boy's loss would be equivalent to the joy captured in the image. It must suck to be him. Sure, the sister was dead, but the kid had to keep going, and Elias thought being the one left behind had to be the worst.