Pia Veleno's Blog: piaveleno.com, page 11

Transgender Free Read

As I posted another installment of my ongoing free serial, CRANK, I stopped and wondered if I should post another update for it here. I know several authors who write free fiction on their blogs, but I suspect because CRANK is on a separate blog, it’s not getting the notice it would if I simply dropped it here, between “normal” posts.

Anyway, the reason I thought to bring it up again, is because a secondary character, Ash, has finally come out as transgender. Well, not finally, he did earlier, but now he’s talking about it. There’s not a lot of transgender fiction out there. I wish there was more. I’m working on that. Not just with CRANK, but with my endless folder of potential story ideas.

In the meantime, if you’d like to catch up on CRANK, I try to post something new every Sunday. The blog can be found HERE, and there’s a Table of Contents in the sidebar if you’re new to the story and want to start at the beginning.

Lastly, on a separate note, the free book drawing mentioned in my Slash and Burn post will occur later this week, so there’s still time to enter. Just click the S&B link, and comment to enter.

Happy Sunday, dear Readers!

Ciao,

Pia

Blogging and a Book Giveaway

My turn at Slash & Burn was this past Sunday. We had a little trouble with an old trackback link causing browsers to give malware warnings, but that’s been deleted and the blog is readable again.

This month, I’m inquiring about your favorite blog features and giving away a copy of Hounded By Love.

Simply comment to enter HERE.

Do you “like” Amazon?

Today Rick R. Reed posted THIS on his blog. Basically, he’d heard from another author that if your Amazon author page gets more than forty “likes” it affects the sales algorithms.

He’s curious. I’m curious. So if you’ve read and enjoyed any of my books, please take two clicks to “like” my page. It’s really easy, and really quick.

Just click here:

http://www.amazon.com/Pia-Veleno/e/B00481ZNIQ/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1

And then click the little LIKE button on the top right side of the page. (It’s a tiny little button above the Customers Also Bought section.)

Rick’s author page can be found in his blog post linked above, and if you haven’t read and liked something by Mr. Reed yet, I strongly suggest you give him a try. I love his dark tales with deep storylines and, of course, interestingly flawed gay characters.

EDIT: As a good friend pointed out, and I agree, it’s much more likely that these clicks help Amazon tailor recommendations for the clicker than anything else. Okay, she said this with conviction while I, the lowly writer looking for validation, can still hope for a like or two when it’s all said and done. Yes, we are an insecure lot.

Pia Veleno

Review: Make You Sweat

Click HERE to read Jenre’s review of Make You Sweat on her blog, Well Read.

Big thanks to Dhympna for sending me the link, and to Jenre for the review.

On a side note, Jenre has a request for author feedback on blog tours. Click home from the review page to read “Post-poned” if you’re interested in helping her out.

Review: Hounded By Love

Visit Reviews By Jessewave for an in depth four-star review of Hounded By Love.

Link here: http://www.reviewsbyjessewave.com/2012/06/14/hounded-by-love/?wpmp_switcher=desktop

Larisssa hit on a couple of things I was intentionally going for, like the imperfect characters, and avoiding the insta-love that seems so popular lately. Can’t have it too easy now, can we? I like to make the boys work for it. And it’s great to see someone else does too.

~*~*~

In other news, I’m almost finished with a freebie for the GoodReads M/M Romance group. I hadn’t planned on participating in their latest round of photo prompts because it started when I was deep in edits for Hounded  but this picture had been abandoned, and I couldn’t resist the poor fellow. He was tied all tied up. Literally.

That’s enough teasing. I’ll post a link for you, dear Readers, when it’s done.

Ciao,

Pia

 

Best Seller on All Romance eBooks

Hounded By Love has a pretty silver star on ARe. That means it’s a best seller in its category. This is my first silver star, and I’m so excited. Thank you, dear Readers, and happy reading!

New Winner

Renee, AKA PaParanormalFan, please email me at piathewriter@gmail.com with your choice of format.

Everyone else, the GoodReads drawing is still open. Visit the thread HERE to enter.

Last Call

Barbara Elsborg, please email me at piathewriter@gmail.com with your preferred format for Hounded By Love. If I do not hear from Barbara by 6 p.m. ET tonight, I will draw a new name from the Hop Against Homophobia commenters. Stay tuned, dear Readers, you may still win.

Bestseller Excerpt

Thank you, dear Readers, for making Hounded By Love a bestseller at Loose Id for the past two weeks! For those of you who haven’t tried it yet, here’s an excerpt –

“Is that the Hound?”

Reed’s spine stiffened and his shoulders hunched as a woman’s high-pitched squeal ripped across the parking lot.

“Bas Korba? Oh my God! It is you! Isn’t it?” Each word spilled from her mouth louder and faster than the one before it. The shrill, excited shouting ended with another squeal as Reed peered across the narrow parking lot. A large man dressed in leather and sporting a feathery, faltering Mohawk grinned at the girl, who bounced on the balls of her feet in front of him. A vague sense of familiarity nagged at Reed’s mind as he studied the large, well-muscled man. He didn’t pay much attention to celebrities, not even local ones, so he shrugged off the thought as coincidence and nothing more.

“I love your music!” The girl clapped her hand over her mouth, falling stock-still. Her self-imposed silence lasted two seconds before she squealed again and dug in her pocket. She held up her phone. “Can I get a picture?”

Reed tightened his grip on the car door and held his breath. The man was beauty in motion. Maybe he should pay more attention to who was who around Jackson. The man she’d called the Hound threw an arm around his screaming fan and leaned close as she snapped a picture. After the photo, he shook his head at the girl, who pouted but pulled a pen and paper out of the pocket of her smock and handed them to him. The Hound turned his back to her, and to Reed, to use the store wall to write a note for the bouncing girl. Strong thighs connected to a bubble-shaped ass that immediately sent Reed’s blood plummeting toward his crotch. He was tall and broad through the chest and shoulders, with a rich Mediterranean complexion and a quirky, crooked smile that flashed at the girl’s enthusiasm when he turned around to hand her the paper he’d apparently signed for her.

A cool breeze tossed Reed’s hair into his eyes. He slammed the car door and stuffed his keys in his pocket. The man exuded pure sexuality, but between the bad-boy leather, the wild punk hair, and the flirting girl, he was the last man on earth Reed would pursue. Besides, with a nickname like the Hound, he had to be a dog, some kind of player. Reed smiled and shook his head. Guys like that were proud of such things. While Reed occasionally sought out one-night stands like celebrities were famous for, he preferred his discreet and quiet. This leather dog obviously liked being the center of attention, and currently that attention came in the focus of a woman—not a man. The girl had ceased her excited squeals but still looked like she’d explode if he flashed another one of those sexy, sultry smiles in her direction. The pheromones on that side of the lot were probably nauseating.

Reed braced himself against the wind as much as another anticipated outburst from the woman and hurried across the lot. He glanced at the man along the way, admiring the flow of his body, easily discernable under the leather. The Hound smiled and chatted politely with his fan, and as Reed passed them to enter the store, he looked over her shoulder and met Reed’s gaze.

With an ungraceful stutter in his step, Reed slowed, holding the man’s gaze for a long second before looking away to reach for the door to the store. “Wow,” Reed whispered to himself. If he had been in the market, he’d have wished for someone who would look at him like that. He entertained a brief fantasy inspired by that look. The Hound swung both ways, and Reed could be his other half. Yeah, right, Reed smirked inwardly, because the limelight to Reed was the opposite of moths to flame. He’d run away from the Hound just as quickly as he’d let him star in a brief daytime fantasy. Quiet was a good thing, and screaming women were…too much.

As he hurried through the aisles, selecting groceries from a mental list, Reed brushed away thoughts of the man in the parking lot. The charm he’d poured over the girl made his interest in her obvious. Reed was man enough to admit he’d probably exaggerated the meaning in the way the Hound looked at him. It had been a while since he’d slipped away from his cozy, peaceful home to seek out some physical companionship. He’d thought he’d long ago given up crushing on straight men, but maybe his lack of release had inspired that old bad habit to return. From the girl to the punked-out look to the basking in all that loud, overdone attention, the Hound couldn’t be further away from Reed’s preferences in men. Reed loved his place up on the mountain above town where the only disruptions were the birds in the morning and the crickets at night. Fangirlsscreeching his name—or a boyfriend’s name—would never do.

Like he could handle a boyfriend anyway.

Maybe a one-night stand?

Stop! He did not look at you like that.

By the time he reached the checkout counter, Reed had managed to forget about the scene in the parking lot and the resulting fantasy. In stilted sentences, he maintained a casual conversation with the owner, Hannah, as she rang up his purchases. While he answered her politely, he also did his best to avoid leaving an opening for another question. It had become a game now. Every time he stopped at her store, Reed tried to avoid a real conversation while Hannah plugged away at him with questions and comments as if they were old friends. Sometimes he’d barely say more than yes, no, or thank you, and other times, like today, he’d give in and share a tidbit or two about his week. He never could corner her into silence before she bade him a good day and a great week with receipt and groceries in hand.

Reed ducked out the door and into the cool, crisp breeze of the parking lot. He dashed between a car and a motorcycle and nearly tripped over a small tricolor beagle sitting beside the back wheel of the bike. She leaped up, not to get out of his way but to wag her tail at him. She whined and wiggled as if Reed were her best friend in the world, while her tail whipped back and forth so fiercely it appeared to brush her sides with its blur of motion. Her big brown ears flapped with her excited hound-dog dancing. Reed glanced around but saw no one except the sexy man chatting up the beaming, excited woman—just where he’d left them. His nickname might be dog related, but he sure didn’t look like a dog person.

With a shrug, Reed squatted and set his grocery bag behind him to scratch behind the dog’s ears. She put her paws on his knee and stretched her neck up to sniff him. Her warm tongue rasped over his chin as quick as a snake strike, but when he pulled away, she sat back and cocked her head to the side, studying him with deep, dark eyes.

“It’s all right,” he said. “Just no licking.”

As if she understood, she stood and wiggled, her tail flying back and forth at double speed, happy with the negotiations.

“You’re lonely, huh? Don’t I know that feeling.” He rubbed her back from neck to tail. When she shoved her muzzle into his hand, he scratched under her jaw. She flopped over on her side and lifted a leg, begging for a belly rub, which Reed happily provided.

“She doesn’t usually like strangers.”

Reed would normally jump if someone sneaked up behind him, but the beagle had lulled him into that content, relaxed state that only dogs could provide. He glanced over his shoulder, intent on making a friendly comment in return, but lost his voice when his gaze hit leather knee-high boots and then traveled upward over thick leather-encased thighs to an impressive leather-cupped package. Reed gulped and licked his lips. He tore his gaze off the man’s crotch and looked up into chestnut eyes lined with smudges of black.

Just like the dog. The beagle’s eyes looked lined too, thanks to her well-bred coloring. Though on the dog, they looked soulful, and on the man… Reed swallowed hard. Maybe an extroverted bad boy wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Daisy,” the sexy hound said, nodding at the dog by means of introduction. “She’d much rather sniff out lingering evidence of everyone who’s been in this lot in the past week than greet someone actually standing before her.” He shook his head, and his dark hair flopped around his face. Reed wondered if the Mohawk was meant to be falling down like that, because if it was, it was definitely working for him. The sides weren’t shaved but trimmed short and messy. Did that define a Mohawk nowadays? Reed admitted he didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. Two thin blue streaks raced through the longest part of the Hound’s floppy hairstyle. Reed hadn’t noticed the extra-unnatural color from across the lot. He could picture all that teased black and blue hair falling around his face like a veil as the man leaned over to kiss him. If only.

“You must have a dog spirit,” the Hound said with a friendly smile.

“Huh?” Reed blinked and corralled his thoughts as he rose to his feet. Most men couldn’t strike him dumb, but the Hound looked even better close up than he had across the parking lot. And strangely familiar, again, but Reed couldn’t quite place him. Reed had to consciously struggle not to touch him, not to lick his lips as his gaze traced the line of—What’d she scream? Bass?—Bass’s jaw. Though Reed stood now, the Hound still towered over him by a good five inches, but three of those had to be the boots. He’d never seen a man in platform boots before, but the Hound pulled it off while still looking masculine and tough. Daisy whined and leaned heavily against Reed’s leg, reminding him to breathe and answer the hot man standing in front of him.

“I don’t know about that,” Reed said, “but I nearly tripped over her. She seemed to like the attention.” He paused, silently trying to avoid the dirty thoughts racing through his mind. He’d love to pin the man down and have his way with him all night long. “She’s a nice dog.” He winced as he said it, his lack of social skills offending even him. He had no intention of actually trying to pick the man up, but for once it’d be nice to be able to talk to an attractive man without sounding like the introverted office mule he was.

“She gets plenty of attention. Don’t you, Daisy, you spoiled pooch.” Up close Reed noticed the shift in the man’s smile. It was brighter than the expression he’d worn for the girl. He obviously cherished the beagle. She, in turn, pranced in place as she whined at him and then spun in a circle, tangling her leash around her front leg.

“Oh, Daisy, for such a smart girl, you never could figure that out.” The Hound crouched down and untangled the dog’s leg and then gave her a hardy rubdown that had her wiggling to keep up.

Drinking in one more long look at the man for later use, Reed shuffled back a step, picked up his groceries, and quietly headed for his car.

* * * *

Bas scratched the beagle’s belly, back, ears, and every other spot she loved. The stranger had floored him with the most exquisite eyes he’d ever seen. Windows to the soul, they said, and now Bas was certain of that. He looked tortured and peaceful, nervous and eager, beautiful and fractured, all wrapped in those eyes that reminded Bas of thunderheads. He also didn’t seem to recognize Bas at all. Bas recognized him, and it felt weird—not only to miss the recognition of his band, but this guy, a total blank, apparently hadn’t remembered the look they’d exchanged while he’d been chatting up Nicole at her office last week. Bas shook his head and gave Daisy one more hardy pat before looking up, intent on taking Mairin’s advice.

The man was gone. What the fuck? Bas froze and looked around. Daisy flipped her feet underneath her and then lifted her head to lick his chin. Normally she’d draw his attention with that maneuver, but Bas spotted the stranger across the lot, climbing into a beige compact in dire need of a good wash and wax.

“Hey!” Bas called. He stood and took two steps but stopped short when the car flew backward out of the parking space. Bas called out again and walked closer. The man either didn’t hear him or ignored him completely as he shifted the car into drive and sped away.

Daisy barked repeatedly, unusual for her, pulling his attention back to his beloved pet. “Yeah, girl, I know. Weird.”

“Weird doesn’t begin to describe him.”

Bas turned and plastered his greeting-the-fans smile back on his face for the girl who’d already trapped him in the parking lot once today. He loved his fans, he really did, but this one didn’t know when enough was enough. He’d signed her notebook and her employee smock, but only because she started by asking him to sign her ass. He’d been considering her for a quickie in the storerooms until he spotted Daisy charming the skittish man with alluring gray eyes. Still, if she knew the sexy guy with the canine spirit, Bas would do more than sign an old, stained apron.

“You know him?” he asked.

She nodded. Her gaze raked his body with the movement, but he’d long since grown accustomed to the leers from men and women alike.

“Who is he?”

“Oh, I don’t know his name, but he lives up on Liberty Ridge, I think. He keeps to himself. He talked to your dog more than he’s ever talked to me.”

She rolled her eyes, but Bas refused to reciprocate. She was pretty, but the stranger was drop-everything-and-strip-naked hot. Bas frowned in the direction the car had gone. He knew where Liberty Ridge was, but he’d never explored that part of Jackson Village. The houses, he’d heard, were miles apart once you passed the unofficial northern line marked by Gary’s Auto Repair and the Old Times Diner.

“Thanks,” Bas said. He turned his back to her and untangled Daisy’s leash from her legs and his bike. With tender care, he lifted the dog into a milk crate strapped to the back of his bike and then threw his leg over the seat, hitting the ignition.

The girl said something else, but he shrugged and shook his head, unable to hear her over the roar of the engine. He waved and smiled at her before easing the bike out of the space and angling it toward the exit and Liberty Ridge.

© Pia Veleno, May 2012

All Rights Reserved

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Guest Blog: Falling into a Mud Puddle by S.A. Garcia

Dear Readers, please give a warm welcome to fellow Silver Publishing author, S.A. Garcia. She’s come to visit and share the intimate details of how the idea for An Elf for All Centuries was born.

~*~

I remember that in my original submission letter, I tried to sum up “An Elf for All Centuries” in a succinct, intelligent manner. Man, back then I thought I failed like a bad stock. I guess I didn’t, because here I am celebrating the novel’s release.

Why write a book about a supermodel elf being kidnapped back in time in order to save his world?

Pop quiz: am I a huge Lord of the Rings fan? Answer: Damned straight I am. Actually, I’m not straight, but you get the drift. I am one of those teens who read LotR back in the early 1970’s because Robert Plant referenced LotR in his lyrics. Remember Robert Plant and Led Zeppelin? Sexy, raw rock and roll sans auto-tuning? Yeah, way back when. Back then the sincere concept of brave heroes and mysterious elves satisfied my virgin mind.

Flash forward to the movies. What annoyed me the most about the LotR movies? Too many decorative men wearing too many clothes. I think the most flesh we saw was when Aragorn rolled up his sleeves a few times to reveal sinewy forearms. No one stripped down to wash up, no one undressed for sleep, no one said, “Gee, it’s warm today, maybe I’ll unlace my tunic a tad.” The scene where Legolas appeared in the tight light blue tunic when greeting Frodo seemed positively pornographic.

On the other hand, I did enjoy Liv Tyler’s hubba-hubba outfits. Her low-cut outfits told me that they aimed the movie at geek guys. Guess what, dudes? This old lady offered her thanks. At least someone showed off flesh.

After seeing the movies, I had a dream. Honest, I had a dream about some unusual creature, he beautiful, of course, falling to the earth and landing in a mud puddle in what looked like a Yorkshire moor. He fell splat on his hands and knees but sustained no injury. The creature, he clad in this gorgeous light linen suit, pitched a serious fit, stood, and stalked away toward buildings in the distance.

The weird imagery stuck with me. I wrote it down, ah yes, I always write down those peculiar dream sprouts. Sometimes the sprouts grow into real novels. I have many sprouts I visit to water lest they languish from lack of attention. I pet them and promise them that their time will come soon. Good thing they don’t understand the concept of time. Their concept of soon is vague.

The mud dream, LotR, mmm, everything percolated together, swirled like swamp gas. How did the lovely creature in the suit… shazam!

Irritant. The creature in the suit supplied the irritant. He needed to act irritating. Echoes of Lestat from the The Vampire Lestat teased me. My character needed to be… fuck yeah… a supermodel. A self-centered, brash, “it’s all about me” supermodel. Someone like Zoolander, only nurturing far more coherent brain cells and an even bigger personality. This annoyance came from the future but he, and here came the huge “AHA”, needed to save the world, drum roll please, in the past. He lived in a really fucked-up future which needed adjustment from the past to survive.

Imagine, a self-centered, supermodel ELF needed to go back in time to save the world. Yeah, right, like the supermodel elf, and here I really gilded the lily and made him a bratty prince, would willingly go back and save the world.

The prince needed a sexy carrot to entice him. The perfect elf prince enjoyed plenty of wet dreams. What if the supermodel traveled back to save the fantasy elf who often ravaged him during vigorous nocturnal fuck fests?

This seemed like a great plan until I thought wait, come on, the problem remained. No matter what enticed him, would such a brat travel back willingly? Damn, I knew that no matter what emotional ploy I used, the supermodel would refuse to leave his safe penthouse. I thought, “Hell, when in doubt, resort to magic. Bring on the cliché wizard to kidnap the supermodel elf prince back to the past.”

Bingo, I had my big start. That is what I needed. I released the parking brake, let the story fly and watched the strange dream sprout grow into a novel with all the unexpected twists and turns.

What a marvelous feeling!

The result? I give you supermodel elf Prince Fabion, brat extraordinaire. Here is a little teaser from “An Elf for All Centuries.”

BLURB:

Elven super model Prince Fabion’s day is perfect until wizard Matradorian kidnaps him from his penthouse. Surprise, Fabion is a spiritual match for elf king Henda’s dead lover. Only he can save the dying Henda. The problem is Fabion lives in the thirty-ninth century. Henda lives in the nineteenth.

When he lands in the nineteenth century, Fabion controls himself from punching Matradorian, saves Henda and falls in instant lust with his romantic fantasy. After all, this is a romantic comedy.

When Fabion realizes his polluted, on the verge of ruin thirty-ninth century is gone, the super model pitches the temper tantrum of any century until he realizes sexy Henda accepts him as his true lover. Being the virile, handsome Henda’s lover fills Fabion’s emotional gap. Despite the lack of facials and hot water, the former super model adapts to living in the backwards century.

Soon Fabion learns the nineteenth century is more dangerous than his vanished thirty-ninth century. Who wants to kill him now? And why?

EXCERPT:

The supermodel reached the Sequoia’s warded doors. Tough-looking guards nodded his way. The fawning security chief opened the doors inserted into the tree’s giant base.

Before he entered, Fabion stopped and glanced to the right. Wait, who lurked over there? How had he slipped past security?

An ancient oldster, clad in a peacock feather-coated top hat and a tattered, blue robe, slumped against the Sequoia’s rough, far edge. Upon spying Fabion, he stood straight. His excited stare speared into Fabion’s flesh. Fabion sensed the invasion pass through his clothing and examine him down to the bone. How did the old wart create the strange violation?

Fuck, the insane wizard everyone was talking about now stalked him.

He owned no time for magical nonsense. Fabion pointed in command. “Guards, secure that suspicious, old cretin!”

The five aggressive guards followed Fabion’s gesture. Huh? No way! The scruffy dude had vanished!

A tall, blond hulk respectfully glanced toward Fabion. “Prince Fabion? Sorry, there’s no one there.”

Right, like duh, butthead. Did the blond lunkhead suppress a snicker? Asshole. “Wow, my eyes must play tricks on me.”

Like fuck! Fabion possessed sharp elven vision. The old bastard had stood right over there. The weirdo had even managed to make eye contact with Fabion. Super-duper creepy.

Fabion stared in further suspicion. Nothing. He sighed and entered the tree’s unnaturally enhanced pine-scented interior. No matter, the sweet air instantly calmed him down. At least the designers had left the rough wooden interior alone. How rare.

Another forlorn jab hit Fabion’s mind. What the fuck was wrong with him today? He needed to feel fabulous, not introspective. Fabion turned to the tall, human security head and amped up his smile wattage.

“Kyle, make sure no old wizards sneak in here. One lurked out front and I swear the skanky asshole shot me the evil eye. Too weird, right?” Fabion shook his head. “When Hestran arrives, send him right up. No need to buzz me.”

The handsome human winked in acknowledgement. “Will do, Prince Fabion. How did your meeting go?”

There, someone cared about him. Fabion preened in giddy delight. “Mmm, Kyle, consider my rent paid for eternity. Worry not, the fabulous bonuses for the many kicky extras you supply me still flow your way.”

Winking coyly, Fabion trailed his long fingers down Kyle’s cheek. He loved slumming with the muscular human. The security administrator’s bloodline traced back to an ancient, trusted royal human family sworn to support the elves. Too bad the Walmon goons had declared human dynasties illegal. Arrogant power-hogs.

“The news makes my day, Prince Fabion.” Kyle ducked away from the security camera and wetly kissed Fabion’s soft palm.

Fabion smacked Kyle’s firm cheek. “Stop it, you naughty boy. Hey, you’re off tomorrow and I’m not busy.” Fabion playfully winked again and licked his lips.

He adored how Kyle almost drooled in aching delight. “What time should I arrive, my prince?”

“Come up around four. Bring take-out from that clever dwarf fusion café. Their barbecued electric eel and fried kiwi combo platter is faboo. We can enjoy a picnic out on my balcony, well, if the pollution isn’t deadly. No matter what, at least we’ll enjoy each other.”

“I can’t wait, fair one!” Kyle bowed in respect.

“Keep hot for me, sweetie.”

His secret human squeeze deserved one last radiant smile. Fabion strolled to his private elevator and punched in his access code. He smiled at himself in the gleaming mirrors. What a delightful view. Nothing in squalid Pinar matched the pristine sight. He always wore light colors to offset his emerald eyes and waist-length, coppery tresses. This tailored suit displayed his masculine assets in a subtle yet impressive fashion. No wonder everyone adored him.

Fine, fuck, almost everyone. Stop!

The doors opened into the snug security foyer. Cameras monitored his movements. Another access code opened stern steel doors. Fabion stepped up to his custom, hand-carved double doors depicting him as a benevolent savior. As he murmured soft runes, Fabion’s fingers touched key spots in the beautiful display. They were located at his nipples, cock, and lips. Yum. Elven magic supplied more security than keys and locks, although when drunk, Fabion owned a dragon of a time entering his own penthouse. Slurring during a strict, elven rune chant messed up the works. He hated calling his building rune master, but the problem occurred more often than Fabion cared to admit. Rune Master Sarde had made a fortune off befuddled Fabion’s house calls.

The thick doors swung in. His mobile phone sang Hestran’s tune. Now what? Hestran probably needed advice on a purchase. His fingers plucked out his phone from his vest. Fabion entered his penthouse. His finger aimed for the answer button.

Instead of answering his phone, Fabion shrieked in total alarm. The phone fell to the expensive carpet.

Fabion turned to escape. The heavy doors mysteriously slammed shut. What the fuck? He launched his body at the doors. His hands grasped the silver boar’s head doorknobs and yanked backward. No effect. Cursing intensely, he slammed his handcrafted leather heels against the doors and pulled back in enraged elven might. Nothing happened. Come on, his superior physical effort should have ripped the knobs free from the wood.

Fabion muttered his security runes again. He touched the proper places on this side.

Nothing. Nada. Null. Impossible!

Fabion did not need this radical nonsense. Time to kick wizard ass in a lethal manner. He seldom released his elven strength but when he did, if he was sober, he understood how to inflict nasty damage. Abnormal strength and pristine looks were Fabion’s only special elven assets. He hated violence but hated violation even more.

His feet slammed back to the carpet. Fabion whirled, raised his taut fists toward the old geek standing before him and bellowed in fury. “Listen, you filthy old bastard, get the fuck out of my penthouse right now! I don’t understand how you slithered in here, but you need to slither out! I have more crucial things to do than endure your shit!”

The grubby dude performed an elaborate, arcane gesture. His staff bobbed. Fabion froze. What? Gaag! He couldn’t move, speak, or even blink! As Fabion helplessly watched, the winkled old dude performed a triumphant little dance. His feathery top hat bobbed atop his long, white hair. No points for grace.

“That I am able to smite thee tells me that ye are truly the one!”

Huh? Smite thee? Geesh. Struggling mightily, Fabion almost broke free from his freeze. To his annoyance, the old one flicked his fingers again.

The wrinkly dude stopped dancing and cleared his throat. His epic frown reminded Fabion of a frustrated prune. “Right. Sorry, I need to sink back into your odious speech patterns. Dude, I have conquered thee—wait, let me make this clear for you.” He hesitated one more time. “Bud, I can freeze your pretty royal ass, which means you are the true Prince Fabion. Do my words compute? Do you savvy my sizzlin’ stunt?”

Who had slipped him the hallucinogens? The frozen Fabion stared in pure amazement. His fractured temper soared into the polluted sky. This old asshole deserved an extra large helping of elven ass kicking with a side of manic stomping. He deserved to be tossed off the balcony into the Dumpster.

“Right, you can’t talk.” The old git twirled his right hand in an intricate pattern. “Pal, now you can talk. Let me warn you, if you raise your voice again, a choking spell will knock you out. Are we clear on the new house rules? I will let you talk, but no caterwauling. High-pitched elven hysteria hurts my poor, old ears.” He waved his tall, gnarled staff toward the astonished Fabion.

Fabion snarled in prime annoyance. “What the fuck do you babble about? My prize-winning voice is not high-pitched. I record my own commercials and win awards!”

Instead of looking impressed, old prune puss shook his head. “Fabion, if I release you, do you swear upon your elven soul, or what passes for an elven soul in this wretched century, not to jump me?”

Fabion rolled his eyes. “Yuck, do you think that I want to grope your grubby dick? Dude, so not true! I’d rather kick your wrinkled ass. Besides, what the fuck are you going to do to me? Keep me frozen and pork my tight ass?”

A vastly insulted look crossed the old man’s features. “Listen, mouthy, I don’t like your attitude. I’d best keep you restrained. Fabion, although you are a sweet hottie, I am not here to jump your bones. Please listen to me. I have wandered across this fucking filthy, crowded city looking for the chosen one. I need to find the royal elf who is a bitchin’ soul match for Fabion Leonia, son of Tonasdian, who died in the year 1803. Tag, pal, you’re him.”

Thanks for reading and thanks to Pia for letting me ramble on her territory.

Who wrote this nonsense? That’s me, S.A. Garcia!

Thirty years ago, I started writing m/m romance. My writing remained a secret lest my friends thought me a freak. Writing about men inserting tab A into slot B didn’t seem the norm for a female teenager. Reading Gordon Merrick, John Rechy and Larry Kramer helped me fill in informational gaps. Yes, I read those books only in my bedroom.

As the years progressed and I discovered my sexual path, I still wrote m/m romance, although the stories progressed from lurking in notebooks to hiding on the computer.

Now I am glad I kept the writing faith. Six published novellas and novels later, my life is a fun quandary of too many stories hindered by slow typing skills. I accept the silly challenge.

~*~

More info about S.A. Garcia

Buy Link: An Elf for All Centuries

Website: S.A. Garcia’s World of Words

Facebook: Sandra Ann Garcia

Twitter: @SAGarcia_Writer

Blog: http://oscarsbruisedpetals.blogspot.com/