Kaje Harper's Blog, page 42
February 10, 2012
Life Lessons 1.8 and other good stuff
The Mac and Tony Valentine's short story is now available for download on the new website of a couple of friends of mine, Lauraadrianna and Laddie. I hope you enjoy
Getting It Right - Life Lessons 1.8
. The story gives you a brief look back at Mac before Breaking Cover, trying to figure out where Tony fits into his closeted life, and Tony trying to help him see the right answer. As a bonus there are also Valentine stories from T.J. Klune about Bear and Otter!!! And from Amy Lane about Chris and Xander!!!!!!! Go forth and enjoy. I can't wait to finish this blog post and get a look at those.
I'm also blogging as Kira Harp today on YA author Jo Ramsey's website about my top ten picks in YA fiction. Come and disagree with my choices :)
In further news, my Valentine's short story
is now available on MLR's website, with its nice new cover.
Sometimes I love Fridays.
I'm also blogging as Kira Harp today on YA author Jo Ramsey's website about my top ten picks in YA fiction. Come and disagree with my choices :)
In further news, my Valentine's short story
is now available on MLR's website, with its nice new cover.Sometimes I love Fridays.
February 8, 2012
Upcoming Stories
This has been a good month for my writing so far. I thought I'd mention a few things that are coming soon.
On Feb 10th MLR is releasing their Valentine's line of stories. Mine is called Possibilities
And I'm so happy they muted the cover background for me when I requested it. (The original pink was a bit bright.)
Also on the tenth I'll have a free short Valentine's story about Mac and Tony posted on the website of a couple of friends. I'll put the link up here on the day. The story is called Getting It Right - Life Lessons 1.8
I had to go back to last Valentine's for this story, back when Mac was still in the closet and Tony was trying to be hopeful. The next Life Lessons book runs from November to December, so a new Valentine's story would be a spoiler for that book. Hopefully you won't mind a step back in time (although when I was done writing Getting It Right I realized just how glad I was that Mac has come a long way from there.)
And that's my other bit of good news. MLR sent me a contract for Home Work - Life Lessons 3. Give me 2-3 months for editing and polishing and I hope to have this third Mac and Tony novel available.
I have the cover for Unexpected Demands - for those who haven't seen it here it is (and I love this one!)
No release date yet, but it should be the end of this month.
With Rebuilding Year releasing in less than 4 weeks, I'm looking forward to a great spring.
On Feb 10th MLR is releasing their Valentine's line of stories. Mine is called Possibilities
And I'm so happy they muted the cover background for me when I requested it. (The original pink was a bit bright.)
Also on the tenth I'll have a free short Valentine's story about Mac and Tony posted on the website of a couple of friends. I'll put the link up here on the day. The story is called Getting It Right - Life Lessons 1.8
I had to go back to last Valentine's for this story, back when Mac was still in the closet and Tony was trying to be hopeful. The next Life Lessons book runs from November to December, so a new Valentine's story would be a spoiler for that book. Hopefully you won't mind a step back in time (although when I was done writing Getting It Right I realized just how glad I was that Mac has come a long way from there.)
And that's my other bit of good news. MLR sent me a contract for Home Work - Life Lessons 3. Give me 2-3 months for editing and polishing and I hope to have this third Mac and Tony novel available.
I have the cover for Unexpected Demands - for those who haven't seen it here it is (and I love this one!)
No release date yet, but it should be the end of this month.
With Rebuilding Year releasing in less than 4 weeks, I'm looking forward to a great spring.
January 31, 2012
A Couple of Nice Opportunities
February is starting out on a good note for me, with two really cool chances to have my work more widely seen.
My first book, Lies and Consequences, is a February Book of the Month over on the adult M/M Romance group.
And as Kira Harp, I'm Author of the Month for February on the YA LGBT Books group.
Lies and Consequences was my solo, don't know anything, just want to get the book out to be read, self-publication endeavor. I first submitted an outline of Lies and Consequences to MLR Press (who had accepted Life Lessons.) I asked them about this story because the DADT repeal was underway, and I thought it would be good to get this book out while it was still timely. DADT is important to the plot.
MLR rejected it unless I wanted to make major changes to the plot, to make it less over-the-top. If you read the book, (which is free on Smashwords by the way,) you'll see why MLR read a synopsis and took a pass. One of my favorite reviews of the book says "Okay so they had everything but a walk through post apocalyptic California but hey it's fiction..." I read the synopsis, after I wrote it, and about choked too. I don't outline, so the total plot had sort of snuck up on me.
Well, I was deep in editing Life Lessons at the time, with Breaking Cover on deck. I didn't really want to take the time to do a big revision on L&C. Besides which, I had a sneaking affection for my OTT plot. So I decided to take a crack at self-publishing it.
I figured I'd put it out for free, just so the effort of writing it wouldn't be wasted. That way if people didn't like it they weren't losing anything but a little time. I was completely new at the game, wasn't on Goodreads yet, didn't know anyone I wanted to show that story to. So it had no beta readers at all. I had no clue if it was any good.
I proofed it and made a cover, and loaded it on Smashwords. And looked at the resulting messed up formatting. And loaded it again. And stripped it down to a text document, and reformatted it, and loaded it again. And realized that that had taken all the italics out of it (and I love italics!) And put them all back in by hand and loaded it again...
Now, Smashwords doesn't have a preview option, so every time you load a version it goes live. And for some reason that was a very busy time on the site. Each new version was in a cue with a hundred other titles and would take 2 hours to reload. I was sitting there each time, watching people download the bad version as the new one sat in the cue. It was exciting that they were interested in my book, and very frustrating that I couldn't yell through the screen, "Wait just a bit, and get the version with the italics back in it!!!" Somewhere out there dozens of people have Lies and Consequences without the italics.
But eventually I decided it was close enough to leave alone. And I got a nice 4-star review early on that did a lot for my confidence as a writer. And lots of people downloaded it, although many probably never read it since grabbing freebies is easier than finding the time to read them. But some did read it. When Life Lessons came out, I think having a few people who already knew my name helped launch that book.
Now the M/M Romance group has decided to put it up as a book of the month. Which is so cool! I hope people have fun with it, and find the good, the bad, the inept and the interesting in my book to discuss. It still seems surprising to me to be here. This book was the start of it all, just ten months ago.
.
The second nice exposure I'll have is with the YA LGBT group. It will give my recent foray into Young Adult stories a boost. The group will read The Benefit of Ductwork. I'm not sure what being Author of the month entails, but if you're interested in YA stories, come on over starting tomorrow and check it out. I'll be over there figuring it out all month.
Thanks, everyone, for the opportunities.
My first book, Lies and Consequences, is a February Book of the Month over on the adult M/M Romance group.
And as Kira Harp, I'm Author of the Month for February on the YA LGBT Books group.
Lies and Consequences was my solo, don't know anything, just want to get the book out to be read, self-publication endeavor. I first submitted an outline of Lies and Consequences to MLR Press (who had accepted Life Lessons.) I asked them about this story because the DADT repeal was underway, and I thought it would be good to get this book out while it was still timely. DADT is important to the plot.
MLR rejected it unless I wanted to make major changes to the plot, to make it less over-the-top. If you read the book, (which is free on Smashwords by the way,) you'll see why MLR read a synopsis and took a pass. One of my favorite reviews of the book says "Okay so they had everything but a walk through post apocalyptic California but hey it's fiction..." I read the synopsis, after I wrote it, and about choked too. I don't outline, so the total plot had sort of snuck up on me.
Well, I was deep in editing Life Lessons at the time, with Breaking Cover on deck. I didn't really want to take the time to do a big revision on L&C. Besides which, I had a sneaking affection for my OTT plot. So I decided to take a crack at self-publishing it.
I figured I'd put it out for free, just so the effort of writing it wouldn't be wasted. That way if people didn't like it they weren't losing anything but a little time. I was completely new at the game, wasn't on Goodreads yet, didn't know anyone I wanted to show that story to. So it had no beta readers at all. I had no clue if it was any good.
I proofed it and made a cover, and loaded it on Smashwords. And looked at the resulting messed up formatting. And loaded it again. And stripped it down to a text document, and reformatted it, and loaded it again. And realized that that had taken all the italics out of it (and I love italics!) And put them all back in by hand and loaded it again...
Now, Smashwords doesn't have a preview option, so every time you load a version it goes live. And for some reason that was a very busy time on the site. Each new version was in a cue with a hundred other titles and would take 2 hours to reload. I was sitting there each time, watching people download the bad version as the new one sat in the cue. It was exciting that they were interested in my book, and very frustrating that I couldn't yell through the screen, "Wait just a bit, and get the version with the italics back in it!!!" Somewhere out there dozens of people have Lies and Consequences without the italics.
But eventually I decided it was close enough to leave alone. And I got a nice 4-star review early on that did a lot for my confidence as a writer. And lots of people downloaded it, although many probably never read it since grabbing freebies is easier than finding the time to read them. But some did read it. When Life Lessons came out, I think having a few people who already knew my name helped launch that book.
Now the M/M Romance group has decided to put it up as a book of the month. Which is so cool! I hope people have fun with it, and find the good, the bad, the inept and the interesting in my book to discuss. It still seems surprising to me to be here. This book was the start of it all, just ten months ago.
.
The second nice exposure I'll have is with the YA LGBT group. It will give my recent foray into Young Adult stories a boost. The group will read The Benefit of Ductwork. I'm not sure what being Author of the month entails, but if you're interested in YA stories, come on over starting tomorrow and check it out. I'll be over there figuring it out all month.
Thanks, everyone, for the opportunities.
January 17, 2012
Unacceptable Risk 1.1 - Interlude
04-13-13 Edited to add - I will be releasing an expanded version of this free short story very soon, so while you can go ahead and read this, the better one will be available after April 14th.
I've been doing edits on the next Hidden Wolves book, Unexpected Demands. And although the time frame between the two books is very short, I still thought there was a little window in there for another look at Simon and Paul. So here's a snippet of the two guys, in the breathing space between the end of Risk and the beginning of Demands. I hope you enjoy it.
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Unacceptable Risk 1.1 – Interlude
Copyright Kaje Harper 2012
Simon's breath caught and he closed his eyes. Bright lights seemed to be going off in his head. The disorientation wasn't helped by a rap of hard knuckles on his temple.
His eyes popped open and he stared down at the man under him. “What the hell was that for?" He tried to sound upset, working to hide the deep delight humming through him.
Clearly he didn't manage, because Paul glared up at him. “You were looking smug.”
Simon couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. “I made you scream. In a good way.”
“Yeah.” Paul's beautiful mouth curved in an answering smile, until he rubbed the grin away with the tips of his fingers. Simon noted with satisfaction that his lover's hand was shaking slightly. And he didn't have to wonder about why. The warm intimacy of their mate bond made it obvious that the tremors were from sensory overload of the best kind. Paul reached up to pull Simon down for a kiss and then shoved him back. “Now get off me; you weigh a ton.”
Obediently, Simon braced himself on his arms and moved sideways. Paul gave a tiny moan as they separated. His eyelashes fluttered half closed over his gorgeous eyes. Simon thought that was about the sexiest sight he had ever seen. He kissed Paul's throat before reaching for tissues and attending to the less romantic parts of cleaning up.
By the time they were wiped and clean, and wrapped up together under the blankets, Paul seemed a little restless. Simon sighed internally. The day had felt long, and coaxing Paul to bed before dinner had been as far as his evening planning had gone. He would have loved just a few minutes of blissed-out sleep, before the next thing that would come along and jolt him back to alertness. But he didn't say so. Anyway, staying awake for Paul wasn't really a hardship. “What's bugging you?”
“Not bugging.” Paul rolled on his side to look at Simon. “I was just wondering, what would you say to a pair of kittens?”
“'Hi, snack food?' Ouch!” He made the effort to sound injured by the kick to his shin.
“Be serious.”
“Maybe that was serious. Okay, not really. Although if it was bunnies...” Maybe better not to go there. “You mean like pets? For us?”
“Yeah.”
“I'd say it was a bad idea. Remember how the clinic cats felt about me?”
“But you were wolfed up then. It makes sense that they would be nervous.”
“Paul, animals in general don't like us. Even in human form we sometimes make them nervous. Maybe something about our scent. I heard that the way wolf packs managed to have horses to ride in the past was by taking the foals away from their dams at birth and hand-raising them. Then they would accept the wolves as normal, and so would their foals later on. Same thing for farm dogs and cows; we had to breed lines that were used to wolves. We never kept cats much. It used to be a problem actually; some wolves really provoked a reaction from other animals, especially if they got angry in human form. I heard there were a few accusations of witchcraft back when. It looks odd if you get mad at a guy while talking to him and his horse immediately freaks out and throws the guy on his head.”
Paul was listening closely, with that air of rapt attention he often got when Simon explained wolf life. Simon couldn't help leaning in to kiss the little crease between Paul's tawny eyebrows. Paul laughed, but pulled back slightly. “So if we got the kittens at birth it might be okay?”
“Wouldn't that be cruel, taking them away from their mother?”
“Not in this case.” Paul cuddled in a little, with an unselfconscious motion that Simon treasured. Who would have thought Paul would be this at ease in his bed so fast? He figured the mate bond must be helping things, his own joy at Paul's touch relaxing Paul in turn.
“At the clinic yesterday,” Paul said, “A girl brought in her cat. She was worried it had a tumor or something, because its belly had become big really fast. But it was just pregnant. One night's adventure when it snuck outside was clearly enough. Anyway, I took an x-ray, just to show her because she was still worried, and there were eleven kittens in there. I've never seen a litter that big and I doubt the mom can nurse eleven. So some will have to be fostered anyway. And I was thinking we might take a couple. I could keep them at the clinic in the daytime. The staff would love to bottle-feed babies. And with you having this house and both of us around more we would have time for pets. We are both going to be around here together from now on, right?”
Simon wasn't sure if that was a real question or a distraction from the kitten thing. But he always took Paul seriously on this topic. “Absolutely. Now and forever. Cross my heart.” He swept his finger over his chest dramatically. Okay, he took it as seriously as he was able to.
Paul snorted. “So. Kittens, yes?”
Simon sighed. “Sugar, I want you to have whatever makes you happy but...” How to say that there was still likely to be trouble coming? That he didn't want to hand any more hostages to fortune, small creatures that Paul might love. If they owned kittens, what were the odds that at some point a hostile wolf might not grab one and use it to lure Paul into danger? Although... Simon sighed again. You could lure Paul into danger by threatening to harm a stray alley cat. It was probably a moot point. “When do we have to decide?”
“They're not due for about three weeks yet. Barely visible on the x-ray. The mom is going to look like a basketball before they're born.”
“Give me a little time. Let me think about it.” Simon tried to lighten things up. “After all, litter boxes in the bathroom, cat hair on my pillow... I don't know.”
“It's okay. I'll clean the litter boxes, Mom. I swear.”
“Damned straight you will.” Shit. That sounded like giving in and he was still convinced this was a bad idea. He needed to practice saying no to Paul. He needed to try even once saying no to Paul.
Although kissing Paul was a hell of a lot easier. He decided to practice that for a while. Paul slid a hand into Simon's hair and kissed back enthusiastically. When they broke for breath, they stayed face to face, looking at each other. Slowly, Simon watched the light in Paul's golden eyes fade and darken.
Paul ran a finger over Simon's temple into his hair, over new unblemished skin. The graze from Cory's bullet had healed and even the scar had faded in Simon's last shift. “I love the way you heal. I love knowing you'll be okay if you get hurt.” His hand continued to stroke slowly over Simon's face.
Simon sighed, kissed the wandering fingers, and pulled his human mate in tightly against him. If only Paul could heal like that. Simon would worry a hell of a lot less. But it was Paul whose thoughts were trailing down into darkness now, in a way that Simon had felt before. “What, babe?”
“Huh?”
“You're thinking too much again, and it's making you sad. Want to share?”
“Nothing new. And I'm still trying to decide if it's nice or creepy that you can tell what I'm thinking.”
“Feeling, not thinking.” Simon brushed his lips over Paul's soft hair. A few stray blond strands tickled his cheek. “And I'd prefer that you decide it's nice. We'll both be happier.”
“Mm.” Under Simon's encircling arms, Paul's muscles slowly moved from post-sex laxness to stiff and tense.
“So what are you thinking about that makes you feel bad?”
“Three guesses.”
Simon didn't need the extra two. In the days since the werewolves' disastrous meeting and the splitting of the packs, they had talked a lot. He knew Paul's hot buttons, and the flavors of his emotions. This much sadness was easy to figure out. “Cory.”
“Yeah. I still struggle with that. Maybe he could have healed too, gotten well again mentally, if he'd had the time. But the pack didn't give him that time. If you could just tell me that was all Karl's fault, I'd be okay. But you won't.”
“I can't.”
“If that's pack policy, then I really want out. Not away from you but out of the pack.”
Simon took a careful breath. Paul had hinted at this before but not come out and said it. “Are you asking me to choose between you and the pack?”
“No!” Then Paul hesitated. “Maybe. I hadn't thought about it like that. I guess I figured if it was safe to leave, you would. If you didn't have to worry about Karl coming after you, then why would you want to stay? They rejected you first. It's not like you had even one friend good enough to take your side when you needed it.”
Simon winced, but said, “Aaron took my side.”
“Aaron. I guess so, but he had kind of ulterior motives. He wanted to be Alpha, and now he is. Would he make you stay in the pack if you wanted to go?”
“Maybe not. But I don't want to leave.” How to say this so a human could understand it? “It's more than just the pack being family. You're my family. But the pack is my people. They're the only ones who really know what I am from the inside out. They're blood. And it would be hard for me to be alone. It would be hard for any werewolf.”
“I thought Aaron said he's done it, wandered alone for years without a pack.”
Aaron had been incredibly busy in the last three days, but he had spared some time to spend with Paul. And shared more of his past than Simon would have expected. “Yeah, he did. But Aaron's unusual. Don't judge the rest of us by Aaron. Going lone wolf... It's not natural. If we decide to travel, or work abroad, or join the military – well that's not an option any more with DNA sampling. But if wolves move away from our pack for any reason, we do it in groups, or at least a pair. One of your own to watch your back and remind you of home. Right now there's this place in my head where the pack exists. I can feel them, especially my Alpha. It would be lonely and empty in my head without them.”
“So if it came down to it, you would choose the pack?”
“God, no.” Simon tightened his arms around his mate, and wrapped one leg up over Paul's hip. “I choose you, first and forever. But I'd prefer not to have to choose.”
“They kill kids.” Paul's whisper was hoarse. “If we stay with the pack, I'm part of that. How can I be part of that? How can human mates ever accept the rules of the pack?”
“Because all of the choices are shitty. Because we're not yet safe, and safety trumps everything else.”
“It shouldn't. What was that quote? 'Those who give up liberty for security will eventually find they have neither.'”
Simon gritted his teeth and searched for an explanation that would make sense to Paul. He'd thought that bonding his mate, linking him to the pack, would be the hard part. It was turning out to be the least of his challenges.
“A hundred years ago we wouldn't have had this problem. Well, a hundred and fifty anyway. Back then, if you were crazy and human, you were locked away somewhere for life. And if you were really lucky, you could hope to not be abused and treated like an animal. We wolves could consider our ways merciful by comparison. And back then sodomy was still punishable by death, even in places as civilized as England.”
“So a hundred years ago, we humans were just as brutal as you wolves. But we've made progress and you haven't?”
Simon really, really hated the “you” and “we” parts of this conversation. “It's not that exactly. Well, sort of. Humans still manage some pretty stunning brutality. But I guess when we wolves start justifying ourselves by mentioning Nazis, then we are saying we're not the norm any more. The packs are now out there on the fringe with the worst humans. But the thing that puts us out there isn't that we're more bloodthirsty than humans. It's the threat of discovery.”
“You justify everything that way.”
“Not justify. Explain.”
“Would it be so bad, to be outed to the human world?”
“Maybe not. I hope not, because like Aaron says, it's probably going to happen. But humans don't have a reputation for treating outsiders well. Especially if we have something humans want. We all have nightmares of our whole species disappearing into some government black box, never to be seen again. To be dissected for our differences, or brainwashed and blackmailed into spying for them. Or bred forcibly to make an army of wolves they would control.”
“Hate to say it, Simon, but in the modern warfare era, you guys are probably not that big of an asset.”
“Maybe not.” Simon sighed. “But I'm sure the military would find a use for us. In the mountains of Afghanistan or acting like feral dogs spying around the cities of China. Something. And they sure as hell would be interested in the healing and some of the communications.”
“So maybe you all need to come out at once. More people than they could ever hide or suppress. On TV maybe.” Paul's eyes lit with amusement. “Imagine on all the talk shows, a bunch of wolves shifting in front of the viewers' eyes. Or on the news networks. Something that could never be taken back.”
Simon shook his head. “Then two days later you can imagine the radio talk-shows ranting about the threat of werewolves as God-knows what. Disease carriers, because everyone knows it's contagious by a bite. Saboteurs, terrorists, aliens, a threat to Mom, apple pie and the American way. And crying for quarantines and visible ID tags and who knows, maybe concentration camps, muzzles. It would be a circus.”
“Worth getting through it, surely, to join the human race in the open.”
“Maybe. Depending on how much support we get, and whether we could be made to look like a handy excuse for the national debt.” Simon turned a little so he could see Paul's face better in the dim of the room. “It's not my call anyway and thank God for that. It depends on the Alphas. If Aaron forbade it, not one of the pack would back me up if I tried. If Aaron commanded it, every man would be on camera stripping naked.”
Simon felt Paul's distaste. “That's wrong too, for one man to have that kind of power.”
“You humans give the President of the United States a nuclear holocaust button, and no oversight if he decides to push it. No society is perfect or safe from abuse. We've survived this long by being rigid and ruthless in our obedience and concealment. It's hard to break free from that.”
Paul's hand moved on Simon's thigh, almost unconsciously tracing the site of other now-healed scars. The gesture was absently fond, but Simon felt a tingling warmth build in its wake. Simon pressed in closer. Maybe Paul could be distracted. But his serious lover's mind was locked in problem-solving mode.
“Still, that doesn't make the violence right. We can't just do nothing. I can't do nothing. I'm part of this now, and it has to change.” His rubbing fingers tightened into a fist. “I wish... Damn, I wish I had the guts to stand up in front of the pack and say so. If you won't leave the pack then... Humans got better because people within the society protested and agitated and fought to make it better. Maybe eventually, when I get up the fucking nerve, that's going to be my role.”
Simon winced and closed his eyes, imagining his Paul standing up at a pack meeting and speaking out for civil rights for the mentally impaired. At least Aaron would do him the courtesy of listening but the odds were it would not go well.
He was distracted by the ping of a text message on his phone. If he'd been alone he would have checked it, but this was one more thing he hadn't properly shared yet.
“Don't you need to get that?” Paul asked.
Simon was about to brush it off, and then hesitated. Because there was just the slight flavor of exclusion behind Paul's words, and maybe it was time to stop dodging this topic too.
“Shift change,” he said.
Paul's eyes narrowed. “Shifts of what?”
“Aaron has someone out there watching for us at night. He lets me know who.”
“Every night? And you didn't tell me? Are they, like, watching us, right now?”
“No, sugar, no. They're watching out for us. Looking for strangers, guys from the other packs, threats. They can't see or feel anything that happens in here. Pack sense isn't that clear between random members.” And thank God for that, because even though every member of Aaron's pack had knowingly chosen Paul in choosing Aaron, Simon bet none of them wanted to know the details. He tried a small smile. “I can't even tell who's out there watching for trouble right now, unless they get hurt enough for me to notice. Aaron messages me the shifts. Or you could run out and whack them with a frying pan and then I'd know.”
The humor was an epic fail. Paul said, “Was this your idea?”
“Aaron's.”
“So it's not over. He thinks you're still in danger.”
“Maybe. He's being careful. It's early days yet, and even some of Joshua's pack really don't like us.”
Paul sighed tiredly. “And that's why you haven't been sleeping. Because you think trouble is still coming.”
“I think it might. But I trust Aaron to keep us safe.” Mostly. If it could be done. The not-sleeping thing wasn't lack of confidence, exactly.
“I wish I did. I like Aaron but I don't really know him well enough to trust him with your life.”
“You will.” Simon mentally touched the solid presence that was Aaron. “We're his now, his pack. He'll defend you against the world if need be, I can feel it.” And if Simon knew there was a chance everything Aaron could do wouldn't be enough, they would deal with the crisis when it came. No need for both of them to be constantly wound up. He took a deep breath and tried to project calm and faith through the mate bond.
Paul nodded, but his eyes were still shadowed. “What do you think is coming? Or who?”
Enough serious stuff. Simon grinned and slid a little down Paul's body. “Oh, babe,” he breathed, “Right now I know exactly who's coming.” And he let Paul feel the heat rising in him as he bent his head to prove his point.
Paul's hand fisted in his hair. Simon arched his neck at the pull and looked reluctantly away from the delectable sight in front of him to meet Paul's irritated gaze. He wanted to get Paul all hot and bothered and then suck him into unconsciousness, not debate this further. He grabbed for a topic to distract Paul from pack politics and to his horror heard himself say, “Given any more thought to calling your mother?”
“Shit.” Paul shoved him back roughly and slid over in the bed.
Simon pounded his forehead silently on the mattress. Dumb, dumb, dumb! With a capital D. Like thinking about his mother would put the man in the mood for sex.
Simon rolled on his back and watched as Paul stood up and began hunting around for his clothes. “I'm sorry.”
Paul just gave him a glare and yanked on a pair of boxers.
Simon sighed internally and then got out of bed and moved close to his irritated mate. The waves of annoyance coming from Paul made touching him seem like a bad idea. “I'm an idiot.” One thing pack politics taught you was that there was a time to roll over, bare your throat, and get the beating over with. “A moron. Totally without sense or consideration. I was trying to change the subject. I shouldn't have brought it up. It's totally none of my business.”
Paul glanced at him. “That's the only thing you've said that I disagree with. If I get the pack, then you get a share of my mother.”
Except you won't share. Simon still knew little more than Paul had told him on their mating night. “It was still a dumb move. Like distracting someone from a bad tooth by hitting their broken toe with a hammer.”
Paul snorted, and the look he gave Simon was closer to exasperated humor. “Nice analogy. My mother is not a broken toe.”
“Something painful anyway.” Tentatively Simon reached a hand to Paul's arm. The mate bond gave that little surge that they got from touching. And yeah, under the annoyance was the flavor of old pain. Simon moved slowly closer. “We should do something fun right now. Go out to eat maybe. That's Damian out there. I have no problem with running him around a bit.”
Paul's fingers paused on his shirt buttons, and then resumed their task. “I think you owe it to me to cook.”
“How do you figure? I just did all the work.”
“Foot in mouth penalty.”
“Okay. You really don't want to go out?”
“I really don't. I want to eat here and not have to worry. I can just listen to you gripe about how much weight I need to put on. It's irritating in a completely different way.”
“I can do that.” Simon thought Paul really was still too thin. Between work and worry and refusing to slow down, those ten pounds Simon had vowed to put on the man were slow in coming.
They finished dressing and made their way down to the kitchen. Simon pulled open the refrigerator door and inspected the contents. He needed to shop. Aaron had decided Simon was better off not going to his job at the workshop until Joshua's wolves calmed down a bit. Simon figured that meant he'd be back at work around 2015. But he hadn't told Paul that he spent most of his unemployed hours hanging around outside the clinic, keeping watch. Okay, all of them. Really, he should relax enough to go buy a few groceries. Maybe he could find a pack brother who would take an hour to watch Paul.
“We need to shop,” Paul said over his shoulder.
“True. We should do it together.” Great idea, that would be safer. “We can hold up cucumbers in the produce section and make suggestive gestures at each other with them.”
“Oh, right. I knew there was a reason I didn't want to shop together.”
Before Simon had a chance to extract his other foot from his mouth, there was a knock on the kitchen door. His response was pure reflex. Shove Paul into a safe corner away from the door. Put your bulk in front of him. Probe toward the door with every sense to decide if this was a strange werewolf on the step. And then stand down sheepishly when you realize it's just Andy. Because an out-pack assassin would be so likely to knock first.
Simon pictured himself pounding his paranoid head on something harder than a mattress. It took a minute to realize that Paul was staring at him with fear in his eyes.
“No, it's okay. False alarm. It's Andy.”
“Your friend Andy?”
“Yes, of course.” Except there was no “of course” for Paul. Because a human couldn't hear Andy's breathing, recognize his scent, know by pack sense that the man outside was a friend.
Paul's stance eased. “Jesus, you are jumpy. And it's getting worse. Are you going to let the man in?”
Simon took two long strides and pulled open the door. “Damn it, Andy, is there something wrong with ringing the front doorbell like a normal person?”
“I could hear you two back here. Anyway, Damian's out front.”
“If coming around back means he didn't notice you, he is so damned fired.”
“Nah, of course he noticed. But this way he didn't get in my face. The guy is letting this promotion from Pack Seventeenth to Sixth go to his head.”
“He's not a bigger fish, it's a smaller pond.”
“You rank him. You can tell him that.” Andy tilted his head quizzically. “You gonna let me in?”
“Sure.” Simon realized he had his body wedged into the opening of the door. It took a surprising effort to step back and pull the door wide for Andy to enter. This was Andy, dammit. Anyone less like a threat was hard to picture.
Andy stepped past him, pulling off his gloves. He gave Paul a lopsided smile. “Hi. We've met formally at that pack thing, but I figured it was time to get to know the guy who is going to have to put up with this lunatic for a lifetime.”
“Oh, that's nice,” Simon growled, only half joking. “Trying to put my mate off me.”
“That's the point of bondmates, isn't it? That it can't be done?” Then Andy apparently saw a hint of truth behind Simon's mock anger and sobered. “You guys are really bonded, aren't you?”
Simon rubbed his forehead tiredly. Even Andy was doubting the wrong part of this. “Yes, Andy, we are, and just like getting married, the wedding isn't the end of the process. We don't need you questioning our bond.”
“Should I go?”
“No,” Paul said clearly. “Just because Simon is a dick and jumping at shadows, doesn't mean you should put up with that. I for one would like to meet someone from the pack who doesn't have the urge to make me disappear and get their old lives back.”
To his credit, Andy looked appalled. “Someone said that?”
“Not exactly. But it stands to reason. The pack has no incentive to like me and you would all breathe easier with me gone.”
Simon reached out a hand toward him. “Paul...”
Andy shook his head firmly. “Aaron would smack down anyone who said that. Maybe even anyone who thought it too loud; the guy is scary good.” He unzipped his parka and pulled it off. “Paul, you're pack. Unless you break a law beyond repair, you're ours now. Just like Megan. Well, she's a lot cuter.”
Simon could feel Paul relax a bit and he silently blessed Andy. “Sorry, Andy. I'm touchy these days. You want a coffee?”
“I wouldn't say no.”
Making coffee was good. Measuring grounds with the intense aroma filling his nose, the sound of water coming to a boil, the sweetness of the cocoa powder in his own mug, and behind it the murmur of voices as Andy and Paul made tentative small talk. It was all basic stuff – where did you grow up and do you have any brothers and do you like hockey? How about those Gophers? Simon heard Paul chuckle, and reached for his homemade cookies. If Andy was entertaining Paul, he could bribe the man to stay longer. It was never hard to convince Andy to eat. And then Paul might eat some too. To hell with no sweets before dinner. Any calories were good calories.
By the time the coffee was gone, Paul was acting almost normal and he'd eaten two cookies. Andy had six, but Simon didn't begrudge them. Andy reached for a seventh and then pulled his hand back.
“Go for it,” Simon said. “I can bake more.”
“Is that what you're doing these days? Being the happy househusband?”
“No,” Paul said. “He's hanging around me, patrolling the clinic, being all intense and broody.”
Simon stared at him. “You knew that?”
“Simon, I can tell where you are if I pay attention.” Paul sighed. “In an odd way, I'm glad you have a reason for staying so close. I was beginning to wonder if being bonded was another word for being joined at the hip.”
“You could have asked me, babe.”
“Would you have told me?”
Andy looked back and forth between them. “What am I not getting?”
“Simon thinks we are still going to have trouble. Like real teeth-in-your-throat kind of trouble.”
“What does Aaron say?” Andy asked immediately.
Paul smiled slightly. “He really is your Alpha, isn't he. I don't know. He hasn't mentioned it to me, beyond vague suggestions to be careful for a while. But he apparently set up this patrol thing Damian is doing. For damned sure I'm going to ask him next time I see him. Insist that he levels with me.”
“You're just going to insist. To the Alpha. Our Alpha.”
“Maybe not,” Paul admitted. “When he's not here I think about the conversations we've had and he seems like just another calm, smart, decisive kind of guy. But when he's sitting there across from me somehow it's different.”
“Oh, yeah.” Andy stood and reached for his jacket. “Well, I'll let Aaron worry about it, and you two can get back to... what you were doing.” He grinned at them. “'Night Simon, Paul. You know where to find me.”
When Simon turned back to Paul after closing and locking the door, his mate's face was flushed.
“He knew what we were doing? Or was that just a guess, because we're, like, newly bonded.”
“Um. He could probably smell it.” Truth. He was aiming to be truthful with Paul, always. Annoying how often he was tempted to shade things a bit to downplay the weirdness of being Pack. But it wouldn't be a service to Paul in the end. “You remember how careful I was about clean-up, before. It's hard not to notice that scent.”
“Ah.”
“Does it bother you, that he can tell? I mean, even a human could have guessed, like you said. Because this is like being newly-wed.”
Paul's face was still pink, but the shine in his eyes changed slightly. “Is it?”
“Oh yes.” Simon moved closer. “The beginning of everything. When you can't get enough of your husband's smell and his taste and the touch of his hands.”
Paul didn't take a step forward, but he did hold still as Simon slid his arms around Paul's waist.
“Husband. We're not married.”
“We can be.” Simon kissed his neck, where the muscles were still a little tight. “As soon or as late as you like. Tell me what you want.” He kissed the sharp angle of Paul's jaw, the bridge of his straight nose, the smooth skin of his temple. Paul's eyes burned gold, darkening as his breath sped up. “Tell me what you'd like. Shall I call you mate? Lover? What would please you?”
Paul put a hand on Simon's cheek and turned him in for a real kiss. Simon dropped his mate bond open as wide as it would go, feeling the brush of lips on lips, the smooth slide of tongues, doubled and redoubled. Paul pulled back a little and looked at him. “Call me Paul. And you know damned well what I like.”
Yeah. Simon tightened his arms, pulling them together. He figured he was becoming pretty expert at figuring that out. And way more than willing to give it further study. Tomorrow was another day. Carpe noctem. Seize the night.
###
I've been doing edits on the next Hidden Wolves book, Unexpected Demands. And although the time frame between the two books is very short, I still thought there was a little window in there for another look at Simon and Paul. So here's a snippet of the two guys, in the breathing space between the end of Risk and the beginning of Demands. I hope you enjoy it.
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Unacceptable Risk 1.1 – Interlude
Copyright Kaje Harper 2012
Simon's breath caught and he closed his eyes. Bright lights seemed to be going off in his head. The disorientation wasn't helped by a rap of hard knuckles on his temple.
His eyes popped open and he stared down at the man under him. “What the hell was that for?" He tried to sound upset, working to hide the deep delight humming through him.
Clearly he didn't manage, because Paul glared up at him. “You were looking smug.”
Simon couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. “I made you scream. In a good way.”
“Yeah.” Paul's beautiful mouth curved in an answering smile, until he rubbed the grin away with the tips of his fingers. Simon noted with satisfaction that his lover's hand was shaking slightly. And he didn't have to wonder about why. The warm intimacy of their mate bond made it obvious that the tremors were from sensory overload of the best kind. Paul reached up to pull Simon down for a kiss and then shoved him back. “Now get off me; you weigh a ton.”
Obediently, Simon braced himself on his arms and moved sideways. Paul gave a tiny moan as they separated. His eyelashes fluttered half closed over his gorgeous eyes. Simon thought that was about the sexiest sight he had ever seen. He kissed Paul's throat before reaching for tissues and attending to the less romantic parts of cleaning up.
By the time they were wiped and clean, and wrapped up together under the blankets, Paul seemed a little restless. Simon sighed internally. The day had felt long, and coaxing Paul to bed before dinner had been as far as his evening planning had gone. He would have loved just a few minutes of blissed-out sleep, before the next thing that would come along and jolt him back to alertness. But he didn't say so. Anyway, staying awake for Paul wasn't really a hardship. “What's bugging you?”
“Not bugging.” Paul rolled on his side to look at Simon. “I was just wondering, what would you say to a pair of kittens?”
“'Hi, snack food?' Ouch!” He made the effort to sound injured by the kick to his shin.
“Be serious.”
“Maybe that was serious. Okay, not really. Although if it was bunnies...” Maybe better not to go there. “You mean like pets? For us?”
“Yeah.”
“I'd say it was a bad idea. Remember how the clinic cats felt about me?”
“But you were wolfed up then. It makes sense that they would be nervous.”
“Paul, animals in general don't like us. Even in human form we sometimes make them nervous. Maybe something about our scent. I heard that the way wolf packs managed to have horses to ride in the past was by taking the foals away from their dams at birth and hand-raising them. Then they would accept the wolves as normal, and so would their foals later on. Same thing for farm dogs and cows; we had to breed lines that were used to wolves. We never kept cats much. It used to be a problem actually; some wolves really provoked a reaction from other animals, especially if they got angry in human form. I heard there were a few accusations of witchcraft back when. It looks odd if you get mad at a guy while talking to him and his horse immediately freaks out and throws the guy on his head.”
Paul was listening closely, with that air of rapt attention he often got when Simon explained wolf life. Simon couldn't help leaning in to kiss the little crease between Paul's tawny eyebrows. Paul laughed, but pulled back slightly. “So if we got the kittens at birth it might be okay?”
“Wouldn't that be cruel, taking them away from their mother?”
“Not in this case.” Paul cuddled in a little, with an unselfconscious motion that Simon treasured. Who would have thought Paul would be this at ease in his bed so fast? He figured the mate bond must be helping things, his own joy at Paul's touch relaxing Paul in turn.
“At the clinic yesterday,” Paul said, “A girl brought in her cat. She was worried it had a tumor or something, because its belly had become big really fast. But it was just pregnant. One night's adventure when it snuck outside was clearly enough. Anyway, I took an x-ray, just to show her because she was still worried, and there were eleven kittens in there. I've never seen a litter that big and I doubt the mom can nurse eleven. So some will have to be fostered anyway. And I was thinking we might take a couple. I could keep them at the clinic in the daytime. The staff would love to bottle-feed babies. And with you having this house and both of us around more we would have time for pets. We are both going to be around here together from now on, right?”
Simon wasn't sure if that was a real question or a distraction from the kitten thing. But he always took Paul seriously on this topic. “Absolutely. Now and forever. Cross my heart.” He swept his finger over his chest dramatically. Okay, he took it as seriously as he was able to.
Paul snorted. “So. Kittens, yes?”
Simon sighed. “Sugar, I want you to have whatever makes you happy but...” How to say that there was still likely to be trouble coming? That he didn't want to hand any more hostages to fortune, small creatures that Paul might love. If they owned kittens, what were the odds that at some point a hostile wolf might not grab one and use it to lure Paul into danger? Although... Simon sighed again. You could lure Paul into danger by threatening to harm a stray alley cat. It was probably a moot point. “When do we have to decide?”
“They're not due for about three weeks yet. Barely visible on the x-ray. The mom is going to look like a basketball before they're born.”
“Give me a little time. Let me think about it.” Simon tried to lighten things up. “After all, litter boxes in the bathroom, cat hair on my pillow... I don't know.”
“It's okay. I'll clean the litter boxes, Mom. I swear.”
“Damned straight you will.” Shit. That sounded like giving in and he was still convinced this was a bad idea. He needed to practice saying no to Paul. He needed to try even once saying no to Paul.
Although kissing Paul was a hell of a lot easier. He decided to practice that for a while. Paul slid a hand into Simon's hair and kissed back enthusiastically. When they broke for breath, they stayed face to face, looking at each other. Slowly, Simon watched the light in Paul's golden eyes fade and darken.
Paul ran a finger over Simon's temple into his hair, over new unblemished skin. The graze from Cory's bullet had healed and even the scar had faded in Simon's last shift. “I love the way you heal. I love knowing you'll be okay if you get hurt.” His hand continued to stroke slowly over Simon's face.
Simon sighed, kissed the wandering fingers, and pulled his human mate in tightly against him. If only Paul could heal like that. Simon would worry a hell of a lot less. But it was Paul whose thoughts were trailing down into darkness now, in a way that Simon had felt before. “What, babe?”
“Huh?”
“You're thinking too much again, and it's making you sad. Want to share?”
“Nothing new. And I'm still trying to decide if it's nice or creepy that you can tell what I'm thinking.”
“Feeling, not thinking.” Simon brushed his lips over Paul's soft hair. A few stray blond strands tickled his cheek. “And I'd prefer that you decide it's nice. We'll both be happier.”
“Mm.” Under Simon's encircling arms, Paul's muscles slowly moved from post-sex laxness to stiff and tense.
“So what are you thinking about that makes you feel bad?”
“Three guesses.”
Simon didn't need the extra two. In the days since the werewolves' disastrous meeting and the splitting of the packs, they had talked a lot. He knew Paul's hot buttons, and the flavors of his emotions. This much sadness was easy to figure out. “Cory.”
“Yeah. I still struggle with that. Maybe he could have healed too, gotten well again mentally, if he'd had the time. But the pack didn't give him that time. If you could just tell me that was all Karl's fault, I'd be okay. But you won't.”
“I can't.”
“If that's pack policy, then I really want out. Not away from you but out of the pack.”
Simon took a careful breath. Paul had hinted at this before but not come out and said it. “Are you asking me to choose between you and the pack?”
“No!” Then Paul hesitated. “Maybe. I hadn't thought about it like that. I guess I figured if it was safe to leave, you would. If you didn't have to worry about Karl coming after you, then why would you want to stay? They rejected you first. It's not like you had even one friend good enough to take your side when you needed it.”
Simon winced, but said, “Aaron took my side.”
“Aaron. I guess so, but he had kind of ulterior motives. He wanted to be Alpha, and now he is. Would he make you stay in the pack if you wanted to go?”
“Maybe not. But I don't want to leave.” How to say this so a human could understand it? “It's more than just the pack being family. You're my family. But the pack is my people. They're the only ones who really know what I am from the inside out. They're blood. And it would be hard for me to be alone. It would be hard for any werewolf.”
“I thought Aaron said he's done it, wandered alone for years without a pack.”
Aaron had been incredibly busy in the last three days, but he had spared some time to spend with Paul. And shared more of his past than Simon would have expected. “Yeah, he did. But Aaron's unusual. Don't judge the rest of us by Aaron. Going lone wolf... It's not natural. If we decide to travel, or work abroad, or join the military – well that's not an option any more with DNA sampling. But if wolves move away from our pack for any reason, we do it in groups, or at least a pair. One of your own to watch your back and remind you of home. Right now there's this place in my head where the pack exists. I can feel them, especially my Alpha. It would be lonely and empty in my head without them.”
“So if it came down to it, you would choose the pack?”
“God, no.” Simon tightened his arms around his mate, and wrapped one leg up over Paul's hip. “I choose you, first and forever. But I'd prefer not to have to choose.”
“They kill kids.” Paul's whisper was hoarse. “If we stay with the pack, I'm part of that. How can I be part of that? How can human mates ever accept the rules of the pack?”
“Because all of the choices are shitty. Because we're not yet safe, and safety trumps everything else.”
“It shouldn't. What was that quote? 'Those who give up liberty for security will eventually find they have neither.'”
Simon gritted his teeth and searched for an explanation that would make sense to Paul. He'd thought that bonding his mate, linking him to the pack, would be the hard part. It was turning out to be the least of his challenges.
“A hundred years ago we wouldn't have had this problem. Well, a hundred and fifty anyway. Back then, if you were crazy and human, you were locked away somewhere for life. And if you were really lucky, you could hope to not be abused and treated like an animal. We wolves could consider our ways merciful by comparison. And back then sodomy was still punishable by death, even in places as civilized as England.”
“So a hundred years ago, we humans were just as brutal as you wolves. But we've made progress and you haven't?”
Simon really, really hated the “you” and “we” parts of this conversation. “It's not that exactly. Well, sort of. Humans still manage some pretty stunning brutality. But I guess when we wolves start justifying ourselves by mentioning Nazis, then we are saying we're not the norm any more. The packs are now out there on the fringe with the worst humans. But the thing that puts us out there isn't that we're more bloodthirsty than humans. It's the threat of discovery.”
“You justify everything that way.”
“Not justify. Explain.”
“Would it be so bad, to be outed to the human world?”
“Maybe not. I hope not, because like Aaron says, it's probably going to happen. But humans don't have a reputation for treating outsiders well. Especially if we have something humans want. We all have nightmares of our whole species disappearing into some government black box, never to be seen again. To be dissected for our differences, or brainwashed and blackmailed into spying for them. Or bred forcibly to make an army of wolves they would control.”
“Hate to say it, Simon, but in the modern warfare era, you guys are probably not that big of an asset.”
“Maybe not.” Simon sighed. “But I'm sure the military would find a use for us. In the mountains of Afghanistan or acting like feral dogs spying around the cities of China. Something. And they sure as hell would be interested in the healing and some of the communications.”
“So maybe you all need to come out at once. More people than they could ever hide or suppress. On TV maybe.” Paul's eyes lit with amusement. “Imagine on all the talk shows, a bunch of wolves shifting in front of the viewers' eyes. Or on the news networks. Something that could never be taken back.”
Simon shook his head. “Then two days later you can imagine the radio talk-shows ranting about the threat of werewolves as God-knows what. Disease carriers, because everyone knows it's contagious by a bite. Saboteurs, terrorists, aliens, a threat to Mom, apple pie and the American way. And crying for quarantines and visible ID tags and who knows, maybe concentration camps, muzzles. It would be a circus.”
“Worth getting through it, surely, to join the human race in the open.”
“Maybe. Depending on how much support we get, and whether we could be made to look like a handy excuse for the national debt.” Simon turned a little so he could see Paul's face better in the dim of the room. “It's not my call anyway and thank God for that. It depends on the Alphas. If Aaron forbade it, not one of the pack would back me up if I tried. If Aaron commanded it, every man would be on camera stripping naked.”
Simon felt Paul's distaste. “That's wrong too, for one man to have that kind of power.”
“You humans give the President of the United States a nuclear holocaust button, and no oversight if he decides to push it. No society is perfect or safe from abuse. We've survived this long by being rigid and ruthless in our obedience and concealment. It's hard to break free from that.”
Paul's hand moved on Simon's thigh, almost unconsciously tracing the site of other now-healed scars. The gesture was absently fond, but Simon felt a tingling warmth build in its wake. Simon pressed in closer. Maybe Paul could be distracted. But his serious lover's mind was locked in problem-solving mode.
“Still, that doesn't make the violence right. We can't just do nothing. I can't do nothing. I'm part of this now, and it has to change.” His rubbing fingers tightened into a fist. “I wish... Damn, I wish I had the guts to stand up in front of the pack and say so. If you won't leave the pack then... Humans got better because people within the society protested and agitated and fought to make it better. Maybe eventually, when I get up the fucking nerve, that's going to be my role.”
Simon winced and closed his eyes, imagining his Paul standing up at a pack meeting and speaking out for civil rights for the mentally impaired. At least Aaron would do him the courtesy of listening but the odds were it would not go well.
He was distracted by the ping of a text message on his phone. If he'd been alone he would have checked it, but this was one more thing he hadn't properly shared yet.
“Don't you need to get that?” Paul asked.
Simon was about to brush it off, and then hesitated. Because there was just the slight flavor of exclusion behind Paul's words, and maybe it was time to stop dodging this topic too.
“Shift change,” he said.
Paul's eyes narrowed. “Shifts of what?”
“Aaron has someone out there watching for us at night. He lets me know who.”
“Every night? And you didn't tell me? Are they, like, watching us, right now?”
“No, sugar, no. They're watching out for us. Looking for strangers, guys from the other packs, threats. They can't see or feel anything that happens in here. Pack sense isn't that clear between random members.” And thank God for that, because even though every member of Aaron's pack had knowingly chosen Paul in choosing Aaron, Simon bet none of them wanted to know the details. He tried a small smile. “I can't even tell who's out there watching for trouble right now, unless they get hurt enough for me to notice. Aaron messages me the shifts. Or you could run out and whack them with a frying pan and then I'd know.”
The humor was an epic fail. Paul said, “Was this your idea?”
“Aaron's.”
“So it's not over. He thinks you're still in danger.”
“Maybe. He's being careful. It's early days yet, and even some of Joshua's pack really don't like us.”
Paul sighed tiredly. “And that's why you haven't been sleeping. Because you think trouble is still coming.”
“I think it might. But I trust Aaron to keep us safe.” Mostly. If it could be done. The not-sleeping thing wasn't lack of confidence, exactly.
“I wish I did. I like Aaron but I don't really know him well enough to trust him with your life.”
“You will.” Simon mentally touched the solid presence that was Aaron. “We're his now, his pack. He'll defend you against the world if need be, I can feel it.” And if Simon knew there was a chance everything Aaron could do wouldn't be enough, they would deal with the crisis when it came. No need for both of them to be constantly wound up. He took a deep breath and tried to project calm and faith through the mate bond.
Paul nodded, but his eyes were still shadowed. “What do you think is coming? Or who?”
Enough serious stuff. Simon grinned and slid a little down Paul's body. “Oh, babe,” he breathed, “Right now I know exactly who's coming.” And he let Paul feel the heat rising in him as he bent his head to prove his point.
Paul's hand fisted in his hair. Simon arched his neck at the pull and looked reluctantly away from the delectable sight in front of him to meet Paul's irritated gaze. He wanted to get Paul all hot and bothered and then suck him into unconsciousness, not debate this further. He grabbed for a topic to distract Paul from pack politics and to his horror heard himself say, “Given any more thought to calling your mother?”
“Shit.” Paul shoved him back roughly and slid over in the bed.
Simon pounded his forehead silently on the mattress. Dumb, dumb, dumb! With a capital D. Like thinking about his mother would put the man in the mood for sex.
Simon rolled on his back and watched as Paul stood up and began hunting around for his clothes. “I'm sorry.”
Paul just gave him a glare and yanked on a pair of boxers.
Simon sighed internally and then got out of bed and moved close to his irritated mate. The waves of annoyance coming from Paul made touching him seem like a bad idea. “I'm an idiot.” One thing pack politics taught you was that there was a time to roll over, bare your throat, and get the beating over with. “A moron. Totally without sense or consideration. I was trying to change the subject. I shouldn't have brought it up. It's totally none of my business.”
Paul glanced at him. “That's the only thing you've said that I disagree with. If I get the pack, then you get a share of my mother.”
Except you won't share. Simon still knew little more than Paul had told him on their mating night. “It was still a dumb move. Like distracting someone from a bad tooth by hitting their broken toe with a hammer.”
Paul snorted, and the look he gave Simon was closer to exasperated humor. “Nice analogy. My mother is not a broken toe.”
“Something painful anyway.” Tentatively Simon reached a hand to Paul's arm. The mate bond gave that little surge that they got from touching. And yeah, under the annoyance was the flavor of old pain. Simon moved slowly closer. “We should do something fun right now. Go out to eat maybe. That's Damian out there. I have no problem with running him around a bit.”
Paul's fingers paused on his shirt buttons, and then resumed their task. “I think you owe it to me to cook.”
“How do you figure? I just did all the work.”
“Foot in mouth penalty.”
“Okay. You really don't want to go out?”
“I really don't. I want to eat here and not have to worry. I can just listen to you gripe about how much weight I need to put on. It's irritating in a completely different way.”
“I can do that.” Simon thought Paul really was still too thin. Between work and worry and refusing to slow down, those ten pounds Simon had vowed to put on the man were slow in coming.
They finished dressing and made their way down to the kitchen. Simon pulled open the refrigerator door and inspected the contents. He needed to shop. Aaron had decided Simon was better off not going to his job at the workshop until Joshua's wolves calmed down a bit. Simon figured that meant he'd be back at work around 2015. But he hadn't told Paul that he spent most of his unemployed hours hanging around outside the clinic, keeping watch. Okay, all of them. Really, he should relax enough to go buy a few groceries. Maybe he could find a pack brother who would take an hour to watch Paul.
“We need to shop,” Paul said over his shoulder.
“True. We should do it together.” Great idea, that would be safer. “We can hold up cucumbers in the produce section and make suggestive gestures at each other with them.”
“Oh, right. I knew there was a reason I didn't want to shop together.”
Before Simon had a chance to extract his other foot from his mouth, there was a knock on the kitchen door. His response was pure reflex. Shove Paul into a safe corner away from the door. Put your bulk in front of him. Probe toward the door with every sense to decide if this was a strange werewolf on the step. And then stand down sheepishly when you realize it's just Andy. Because an out-pack assassin would be so likely to knock first.
Simon pictured himself pounding his paranoid head on something harder than a mattress. It took a minute to realize that Paul was staring at him with fear in his eyes.
“No, it's okay. False alarm. It's Andy.”
“Your friend Andy?”
“Yes, of course.” Except there was no “of course” for Paul. Because a human couldn't hear Andy's breathing, recognize his scent, know by pack sense that the man outside was a friend.
Paul's stance eased. “Jesus, you are jumpy. And it's getting worse. Are you going to let the man in?”
Simon took two long strides and pulled open the door. “Damn it, Andy, is there something wrong with ringing the front doorbell like a normal person?”
“I could hear you two back here. Anyway, Damian's out front.”
“If coming around back means he didn't notice you, he is so damned fired.”
“Nah, of course he noticed. But this way he didn't get in my face. The guy is letting this promotion from Pack Seventeenth to Sixth go to his head.”
“He's not a bigger fish, it's a smaller pond.”
“You rank him. You can tell him that.” Andy tilted his head quizzically. “You gonna let me in?”
“Sure.” Simon realized he had his body wedged into the opening of the door. It took a surprising effort to step back and pull the door wide for Andy to enter. This was Andy, dammit. Anyone less like a threat was hard to picture.
Andy stepped past him, pulling off his gloves. He gave Paul a lopsided smile. “Hi. We've met formally at that pack thing, but I figured it was time to get to know the guy who is going to have to put up with this lunatic for a lifetime.”
“Oh, that's nice,” Simon growled, only half joking. “Trying to put my mate off me.”
“That's the point of bondmates, isn't it? That it can't be done?” Then Andy apparently saw a hint of truth behind Simon's mock anger and sobered. “You guys are really bonded, aren't you?”
Simon rubbed his forehead tiredly. Even Andy was doubting the wrong part of this. “Yes, Andy, we are, and just like getting married, the wedding isn't the end of the process. We don't need you questioning our bond.”
“Should I go?”
“No,” Paul said clearly. “Just because Simon is a dick and jumping at shadows, doesn't mean you should put up with that. I for one would like to meet someone from the pack who doesn't have the urge to make me disappear and get their old lives back.”
To his credit, Andy looked appalled. “Someone said that?”
“Not exactly. But it stands to reason. The pack has no incentive to like me and you would all breathe easier with me gone.”
Simon reached out a hand toward him. “Paul...”
Andy shook his head firmly. “Aaron would smack down anyone who said that. Maybe even anyone who thought it too loud; the guy is scary good.” He unzipped his parka and pulled it off. “Paul, you're pack. Unless you break a law beyond repair, you're ours now. Just like Megan. Well, she's a lot cuter.”
Simon could feel Paul relax a bit and he silently blessed Andy. “Sorry, Andy. I'm touchy these days. You want a coffee?”
“I wouldn't say no.”
Making coffee was good. Measuring grounds with the intense aroma filling his nose, the sound of water coming to a boil, the sweetness of the cocoa powder in his own mug, and behind it the murmur of voices as Andy and Paul made tentative small talk. It was all basic stuff – where did you grow up and do you have any brothers and do you like hockey? How about those Gophers? Simon heard Paul chuckle, and reached for his homemade cookies. If Andy was entertaining Paul, he could bribe the man to stay longer. It was never hard to convince Andy to eat. And then Paul might eat some too. To hell with no sweets before dinner. Any calories were good calories.
By the time the coffee was gone, Paul was acting almost normal and he'd eaten two cookies. Andy had six, but Simon didn't begrudge them. Andy reached for a seventh and then pulled his hand back.
“Go for it,” Simon said. “I can bake more.”
“Is that what you're doing these days? Being the happy househusband?”
“No,” Paul said. “He's hanging around me, patrolling the clinic, being all intense and broody.”
Simon stared at him. “You knew that?”
“Simon, I can tell where you are if I pay attention.” Paul sighed. “In an odd way, I'm glad you have a reason for staying so close. I was beginning to wonder if being bonded was another word for being joined at the hip.”
“You could have asked me, babe.”
“Would you have told me?”
Andy looked back and forth between them. “What am I not getting?”
“Simon thinks we are still going to have trouble. Like real teeth-in-your-throat kind of trouble.”
“What does Aaron say?” Andy asked immediately.
Paul smiled slightly. “He really is your Alpha, isn't he. I don't know. He hasn't mentioned it to me, beyond vague suggestions to be careful for a while. But he apparently set up this patrol thing Damian is doing. For damned sure I'm going to ask him next time I see him. Insist that he levels with me.”
“You're just going to insist. To the Alpha. Our Alpha.”
“Maybe not,” Paul admitted. “When he's not here I think about the conversations we've had and he seems like just another calm, smart, decisive kind of guy. But when he's sitting there across from me somehow it's different.”
“Oh, yeah.” Andy stood and reached for his jacket. “Well, I'll let Aaron worry about it, and you two can get back to... what you were doing.” He grinned at them. “'Night Simon, Paul. You know where to find me.”
When Simon turned back to Paul after closing and locking the door, his mate's face was flushed.
“He knew what we were doing? Or was that just a guess, because we're, like, newly bonded.”
“Um. He could probably smell it.” Truth. He was aiming to be truthful with Paul, always. Annoying how often he was tempted to shade things a bit to downplay the weirdness of being Pack. But it wouldn't be a service to Paul in the end. “You remember how careful I was about clean-up, before. It's hard not to notice that scent.”
“Ah.”
“Does it bother you, that he can tell? I mean, even a human could have guessed, like you said. Because this is like being newly-wed.”
Paul's face was still pink, but the shine in his eyes changed slightly. “Is it?”
“Oh yes.” Simon moved closer. “The beginning of everything. When you can't get enough of your husband's smell and his taste and the touch of his hands.”
Paul didn't take a step forward, but he did hold still as Simon slid his arms around Paul's waist.
“Husband. We're not married.”
“We can be.” Simon kissed his neck, where the muscles were still a little tight. “As soon or as late as you like. Tell me what you want.” He kissed the sharp angle of Paul's jaw, the bridge of his straight nose, the smooth skin of his temple. Paul's eyes burned gold, darkening as his breath sped up. “Tell me what you'd like. Shall I call you mate? Lover? What would please you?”
Paul put a hand on Simon's cheek and turned him in for a real kiss. Simon dropped his mate bond open as wide as it would go, feeling the brush of lips on lips, the smooth slide of tongues, doubled and redoubled. Paul pulled back a little and looked at him. “Call me Paul. And you know damned well what I like.”
Yeah. Simon tightened his arms, pulling them together. He figured he was becoming pretty expert at figuring that out. And way more than willing to give it further study. Tomorrow was another day. Carpe noctem. Seize the night.
###
January 12, 2012
The Rebuilding Year - another look
My Samhain novel, The Rebuilding Year, now has a cover and is up on the publisher's website. I thought I would give you a chance to see the lovely atmospheric look they achieved for my book. Then below here I have posted the excerpt that Samhain has up on their website. (This is the same one that was on Kathleen Hayes' blog in December.) I know this book is still a month and a half away from release, but I got the final files and I'm excited about this one. And I have another excerpt or two I might post between then and now. Hope you like this.
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**Warning** This excerpt is from several chapters into the book. Some people like that. Some don't. If you hate reading ahead, look at the pretty picture and then stop there.
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The Rebuilding Year
Copyright 2012 Kaje Harper
excerpt#2
Ryan glanced up as John came into the kitchen. “Just the man I was looking for. Can you pick that pumpkin up off the floor for me? I put it down, and now I can’t bend and lift it properly. I’m afraid I’ll drop it.”
“Sure.” John grabbed the big pumpkin by its fat stem, and then with a grunt, bent to put his other hand under it. He heaved the thing up onto the counter. “God, how much does this monstrosity weigh? No wonder you couldn’t lift it.”
“Isn’t it great?” Ryan’s eyes were sparkling. “Biggest one they had. I about killed myself getting it home.”
“I’ll bet. So why the giant squash?”
“It’s Halloween,” Ryan said, as if that should be obvious. “I’m going to carve it.”
“I don’t usually make a big deal out of Halloween.” Not when the kids aren’t here.
John remembered past Halloweens. Torey had always wanted the most random costumes, like a cell phone or a milkshake. Somehow he’d become the costume designer. The milkshake had been his masterpiece, topped with inflated white-balloon bubbles flowing over the side, and a giant flex-pipe straw. He’d let the kids trick-or-treat longer that year, for the ego boost of having people admire the costume. Marcus had always wanted to be something dark and spooky. Purchased costumes were fine for Mark. He didn’t have that obsession with being unique.
The kids had still been trick-or-treating the last year they’d all lived together. Now they were probably too old. At least Mark would be. And it would be different in LA anyway. No crisp leaves, no chill air forcing parents to argue about wearing a jacket over that skimpy costume, no scent of burning leaves. Probably the kids went to some fancy party now, with Hollywood special effects. He’d bet they looked back on their younger days as corny and boring.
“Well, I like Halloween,” Ryan said firmly. “And I’m going to carve this pumpkin, and the other one too if you don’t want to.”
“Other one?”
“Yeah. I bought one yesterday. But then I saw this, and it was just so awesome, I had to have it. So I figured you might do the other one. But if you don’t want to, I’ll do them both. If you promise not to laugh at my efforts, mister artist man.”
“I won’t laugh.” John eyed the kitchen knife Ryan was brandishing. “Although I also don’t want to have to drive you to the emergency room. Is that what you’re going to use as a carving tool?”
“It’s sharp enough.” Ryan punched the blade into the thick orange flesh and began to saw around the top.
John winced. “Hang on. I think I have a better knife, and a small saw blade. Let me get them.”
He hurried out to the studio and dug through his tools for something appropriate. A couple of short, strong blades and a saw-edged knife or two looked right. When he got back to the kitchen, Ryan had mangled the top off the big pumpkin and was slicing the seeds from the bottom of the stem into a bowl.
“Here. Try these.” John put the better tools on the counter and took the big knife out of Ryan’s fingers. “Jesus. To think you might be a surgeon one day.”
“Probably not,” Ryan said cheerfully. “Too much standing involved. Can you get a metal spoon out of the drawer?”
John passed it over and stood, hovering, as Ryan began scooping handfuls of slimy pumpkin guts out of the shell.
He really should go do some work. There were things that needed his attention. Or he could put some time in on the carved cane he was working on. It was going to be good. Not five-hundred-dollars good. For that money, he figured he’d be making Ryan a series of canes. But this one was coming out fun. Although if he was going to carve something… “Where’s the other pumpkin? At least I can fetch it for you.”
“By the back door.”
John trailed through the house and stepped out onto the back porch. The warmth of the late-October Sunday turned the yard to gold and green. No jackets needed for trick-or-treating this year. The sun was getting low, but it would be a couple of hours before the little mendicants came out.
The pumpkin was sitting against the siding beside the door, and it was no runt either. John grunted as he hefted it up and lugged it back to the kitchen. “You had this one, and you needed more?” He slid it onto the counter a couple of feet down from Ryan’s.
Ryan stepped back and compared the two for a moment. “Well, that one’s not shabby. But this one is fucking fantastic.” He dug back into the slime.
“So what are you making?”
“Making?”
“Yeah. On the pumpkin. What are you carving?”
“A face.” Ryan made an exaggerated grimace at him. “That’s why they’re jack-o-lanterns, because they have a face.”
“I liked to do other stuff,” John told him. “One year, I made a pumpkin with cats all over it, in front of a full moon.”
Ryan glanced at him. “You would. I’m making a face. If I’m lucky, the teeth won’t fall out from being cut through too far, and it will have the right number of eyebrows.”
“And what about this one?” John laid a proprietary hand on the big pumpkin he’d set down.
“Another face. My best pumpkins have cool faces. My worst pumpkins have kind of screwed-up faces.”
“You don’t want two the same, though. Maybe I could…I guess I could do something with this one, so we wouldn’t have two the same.”
“If you like,” Ryan grunted, hauling slimy strings from the bowels of his squash.
John looked at the tall round shape, considering. Bats, perhaps. He’d had a design he didn’t use once, for bats hanging in front of the opening of a cavern, and then flying off, silhouetted against a moon. Like the cats, but even better. Considering, he hauled out another bowl. He’d need to scoop it out first. It would give him some planning time.
He lost track, working with the firm orange shell. It was much easier to carve than wood, but you had to be careful about strength. He made the last bat’s wing a bit wider. It overlapped the rim of the moon, providing the free-flying shape with its anchor point. Too narrow and the bat would just break off. He should have scraped the wall of the pumpkin down thinner, but he had been impatient.
Then John shuddered and yelped as something cold and slimy went down the neck of his shirt. He jumped back, digging the pumpkin guts out of the back of his hair. Ryan was eyeing him from a safe distance.
“What the hell was that for?”
“Fairness. Take a look. Your pumpkin. My pumpkin. I figured a little slime down the shirt was required to balance the equation.”
John glanced at the two pumpkins. Okay, so his had a cluster of slit-eyed bats with taloned wings hanging from stalactites, while two more soared off across the moon. Ryan’s had…a nose, two eyes, fangs, and was that one eyebrow, all the way across?
John snorted involuntarily. “Um, it’s very nice.”
“Right.”
“Halloweeny.”
“Do tell.”
“I think it will take more than pumpkin guts to even the score.”
Ryan laughed. “You think?”
John’s bowl was still on the counter. John was between Ryan and the door. His fingers slid to the bowl as he was speaking. “Really we should save the pumpkin seeds and roast them or something.”
“Except the ones in your hair.”
“And the ones in yours.” It was only one long step, really, and the handful of slime made a satisfying squish on Ryan’s head.
Ryan blinked, and brushed a seed off his nose. “You know this means war.”
“Just don’t hurt the pumpkins. They’re non-combatants.”
It turned out that there was enough goo in two pumpkins to liberally coat two men, a counter, a table and half a kitchen floor. John had Ryan pinned on the floor, with a final handful of guts held suspended over his face, before Ryan cried uncle. John was laughing almost too hard to get off him.
“God, that’s disgusting,” he said, trying to dig a seed out of his ear.
“But fun.” Ryan lay back on the floor, grinning. “My brothers and I used to do that all the time, once the pumpkins were carved. That’s one of the reasons to have the biggest pumpkin, you know. More ammunition.”
“Your mother was a saint.”
“She made us wash the kitchen after.”
“And your clothes?”
“My mother was a saint.” Ryan laughed and sat up. “Your pumpkin is freaking fantastic. It will be embarrassed to be seen with mine.”
“I like yours. The spirit of Halloween at its purest.” John stood and pulled his beslimed shirt away from his chest. “I need to shower and change before the kids start ringing the doorbell.”
“Wait!” Ryan held up a hand for a lift off the floor. “I get to go first. I’ll be fast. Promise.”
John clasped his warm, gooey hand and hauled the man upright. They stood chest to chest, smelling of pumpkin and sweat. Ryan wavered, and John shifted his hand to the man’s arm. I hope I wasn’t too rough on his leg. He looked at Ryan’s black hair, falling forward over those emerald eyes. There were seeds in it. John found himself reaching to pick the bits out of Ryan’s bangs. “I could promise to be quick,” he said. His voice was hoarse, for some reason.
“I wouldn’t believe you. You’re not one for a quickie.” Ryan choked. “All right, not the way I meant that to come out. You take longer in the shower than anyone I know. I have no knowledge of…other things.”
John let go of Ryan’s arm as if it burned him. Because the words, the closeness, were reminding him how long it had been since he’d had sex of any kind. Too long, if wrestling on the floor with a guy could make him hard. Damn, he needed that shower.
“Okay, you first,” he said. “I’ll start cleanup here. But you will do your share.”
“Yes, Mother.” Ryan left the kitchen, limping a little more than usual, and headed up the stairs. From the sound of the footsteps, he went into the bathroom without pausing in his own room. He’d be coming out of the bathroom draped in just a towel, skin damp from the shower. As he had sometimes done before. John knew how Ryan’s chest and arms would look, sparse dark curls over hard muscle, rounded biceps and strong forearms, flat lean stomach. John shook his head hard to get rid of the image of a half-naked man upstairs.
###
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**Warning** This excerpt is from several chapters into the book. Some people like that. Some don't. If you hate reading ahead, look at the pretty picture and then stop there.
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The Rebuilding Year
Copyright 2012 Kaje Harper
excerpt#2
Ryan glanced up as John came into the kitchen. “Just the man I was looking for. Can you pick that pumpkin up off the floor for me? I put it down, and now I can’t bend and lift it properly. I’m afraid I’ll drop it.”
“Sure.” John grabbed the big pumpkin by its fat stem, and then with a grunt, bent to put his other hand under it. He heaved the thing up onto the counter. “God, how much does this monstrosity weigh? No wonder you couldn’t lift it.”
“Isn’t it great?” Ryan’s eyes were sparkling. “Biggest one they had. I about killed myself getting it home.”
“I’ll bet. So why the giant squash?”
“It’s Halloween,” Ryan said, as if that should be obvious. “I’m going to carve it.”
“I don’t usually make a big deal out of Halloween.” Not when the kids aren’t here.
John remembered past Halloweens. Torey had always wanted the most random costumes, like a cell phone or a milkshake. Somehow he’d become the costume designer. The milkshake had been his masterpiece, topped with inflated white-balloon bubbles flowing over the side, and a giant flex-pipe straw. He’d let the kids trick-or-treat longer that year, for the ego boost of having people admire the costume. Marcus had always wanted to be something dark and spooky. Purchased costumes were fine for Mark. He didn’t have that obsession with being unique.
The kids had still been trick-or-treating the last year they’d all lived together. Now they were probably too old. At least Mark would be. And it would be different in LA anyway. No crisp leaves, no chill air forcing parents to argue about wearing a jacket over that skimpy costume, no scent of burning leaves. Probably the kids went to some fancy party now, with Hollywood special effects. He’d bet they looked back on their younger days as corny and boring.
“Well, I like Halloween,” Ryan said firmly. “And I’m going to carve this pumpkin, and the other one too if you don’t want to.”
“Other one?”
“Yeah. I bought one yesterday. But then I saw this, and it was just so awesome, I had to have it. So I figured you might do the other one. But if you don’t want to, I’ll do them both. If you promise not to laugh at my efforts, mister artist man.”
“I won’t laugh.” John eyed the kitchen knife Ryan was brandishing. “Although I also don’t want to have to drive you to the emergency room. Is that what you’re going to use as a carving tool?”
“It’s sharp enough.” Ryan punched the blade into the thick orange flesh and began to saw around the top.
John winced. “Hang on. I think I have a better knife, and a small saw blade. Let me get them.”
He hurried out to the studio and dug through his tools for something appropriate. A couple of short, strong blades and a saw-edged knife or two looked right. When he got back to the kitchen, Ryan had mangled the top off the big pumpkin and was slicing the seeds from the bottom of the stem into a bowl.
“Here. Try these.” John put the better tools on the counter and took the big knife out of Ryan’s fingers. “Jesus. To think you might be a surgeon one day.”
“Probably not,” Ryan said cheerfully. “Too much standing involved. Can you get a metal spoon out of the drawer?”
John passed it over and stood, hovering, as Ryan began scooping handfuls of slimy pumpkin guts out of the shell.
He really should go do some work. There were things that needed his attention. Or he could put some time in on the carved cane he was working on. It was going to be good. Not five-hundred-dollars good. For that money, he figured he’d be making Ryan a series of canes. But this one was coming out fun. Although if he was going to carve something… “Where’s the other pumpkin? At least I can fetch it for you.”
“By the back door.”
John trailed through the house and stepped out onto the back porch. The warmth of the late-October Sunday turned the yard to gold and green. No jackets needed for trick-or-treating this year. The sun was getting low, but it would be a couple of hours before the little mendicants came out.
The pumpkin was sitting against the siding beside the door, and it was no runt either. John grunted as he hefted it up and lugged it back to the kitchen. “You had this one, and you needed more?” He slid it onto the counter a couple of feet down from Ryan’s.
Ryan stepped back and compared the two for a moment. “Well, that one’s not shabby. But this one is fucking fantastic.” He dug back into the slime.
“So what are you making?”
“Making?”
“Yeah. On the pumpkin. What are you carving?”
“A face.” Ryan made an exaggerated grimace at him. “That’s why they’re jack-o-lanterns, because they have a face.”
“I liked to do other stuff,” John told him. “One year, I made a pumpkin with cats all over it, in front of a full moon.”
Ryan glanced at him. “You would. I’m making a face. If I’m lucky, the teeth won’t fall out from being cut through too far, and it will have the right number of eyebrows.”
“And what about this one?” John laid a proprietary hand on the big pumpkin he’d set down.
“Another face. My best pumpkins have cool faces. My worst pumpkins have kind of screwed-up faces.”
“You don’t want two the same, though. Maybe I could…I guess I could do something with this one, so we wouldn’t have two the same.”
“If you like,” Ryan grunted, hauling slimy strings from the bowels of his squash.
John looked at the tall round shape, considering. Bats, perhaps. He’d had a design he didn’t use once, for bats hanging in front of the opening of a cavern, and then flying off, silhouetted against a moon. Like the cats, but even better. Considering, he hauled out another bowl. He’d need to scoop it out first. It would give him some planning time.
He lost track, working with the firm orange shell. It was much easier to carve than wood, but you had to be careful about strength. He made the last bat’s wing a bit wider. It overlapped the rim of the moon, providing the free-flying shape with its anchor point. Too narrow and the bat would just break off. He should have scraped the wall of the pumpkin down thinner, but he had been impatient.
Then John shuddered and yelped as something cold and slimy went down the neck of his shirt. He jumped back, digging the pumpkin guts out of the back of his hair. Ryan was eyeing him from a safe distance.
“What the hell was that for?”
“Fairness. Take a look. Your pumpkin. My pumpkin. I figured a little slime down the shirt was required to balance the equation.”
John glanced at the two pumpkins. Okay, so his had a cluster of slit-eyed bats with taloned wings hanging from stalactites, while two more soared off across the moon. Ryan’s had…a nose, two eyes, fangs, and was that one eyebrow, all the way across?
John snorted involuntarily. “Um, it’s very nice.”
“Right.”
“Halloweeny.”
“Do tell.”
“I think it will take more than pumpkin guts to even the score.”
Ryan laughed. “You think?”
John’s bowl was still on the counter. John was between Ryan and the door. His fingers slid to the bowl as he was speaking. “Really we should save the pumpkin seeds and roast them or something.”
“Except the ones in your hair.”
“And the ones in yours.” It was only one long step, really, and the handful of slime made a satisfying squish on Ryan’s head.
Ryan blinked, and brushed a seed off his nose. “You know this means war.”
“Just don’t hurt the pumpkins. They’re non-combatants.”
It turned out that there was enough goo in two pumpkins to liberally coat two men, a counter, a table and half a kitchen floor. John had Ryan pinned on the floor, with a final handful of guts held suspended over his face, before Ryan cried uncle. John was laughing almost too hard to get off him.
“God, that’s disgusting,” he said, trying to dig a seed out of his ear.
“But fun.” Ryan lay back on the floor, grinning. “My brothers and I used to do that all the time, once the pumpkins were carved. That’s one of the reasons to have the biggest pumpkin, you know. More ammunition.”
“Your mother was a saint.”
“She made us wash the kitchen after.”
“And your clothes?”
“My mother was a saint.” Ryan laughed and sat up. “Your pumpkin is freaking fantastic. It will be embarrassed to be seen with mine.”
“I like yours. The spirit of Halloween at its purest.” John stood and pulled his beslimed shirt away from his chest. “I need to shower and change before the kids start ringing the doorbell.”
“Wait!” Ryan held up a hand for a lift off the floor. “I get to go first. I’ll be fast. Promise.”
John clasped his warm, gooey hand and hauled the man upright. They stood chest to chest, smelling of pumpkin and sweat. Ryan wavered, and John shifted his hand to the man’s arm. I hope I wasn’t too rough on his leg. He looked at Ryan’s black hair, falling forward over those emerald eyes. There were seeds in it. John found himself reaching to pick the bits out of Ryan’s bangs. “I could promise to be quick,” he said. His voice was hoarse, for some reason.
“I wouldn’t believe you. You’re not one for a quickie.” Ryan choked. “All right, not the way I meant that to come out. You take longer in the shower than anyone I know. I have no knowledge of…other things.”
John let go of Ryan’s arm as if it burned him. Because the words, the closeness, were reminding him how long it had been since he’d had sex of any kind. Too long, if wrestling on the floor with a guy could make him hard. Damn, he needed that shower.
“Okay, you first,” he said. “I’ll start cleanup here. But you will do your share.”
“Yes, Mother.” Ryan left the kitchen, limping a little more than usual, and headed up the stairs. From the sound of the footsteps, he went into the bathroom without pausing in his own room. He’d be coming out of the bathroom draped in just a towel, skin damp from the shower. As he had sometimes done before. John knew how Ryan’s chest and arms would look, sparse dark curls over hard muscle, rounded biceps and strong forearms, flat lean stomach. John shook his head hard to get rid of the image of a half-naked man upstairs.
###
January 8, 2012
Fun Stuff and Thank-you
A couple of really fun things that I have to tell you about:
First, the Goodreads M/M Romance group announced the winners in their Member Choice Awards last night. My stories had been nominated a mind-boggling 15 times (out of 41 categories) and I am truly grateful to everyone who put one of my books on those lists. There were so many great books out this year, it was fun to be placed among them.
And then I actually won some awards:
First Place in Short Story 25 pages or 15K words or less (book) for Like the Taste of Summer !
Third Place in Best Debut Book for Life Lessons behind Hot Head by Damon Suede and Bear Otter and the Kid by TJ Klune
Third Place in Mystery/Whodunit (genre) for Breaking Cover behind Come Unto These Yellow Sands by the amazing Josh Lanyon and All She Wrote also by Josh Lanyon
Third Place in Coming Out (theme) also for Breaking Cover behind Bear Otter and the Kid by TJ Klune and The Locker Room by Amy Lane
I am stunned by the company I am keeping and grateful for all the votes and recognition. But the other great part was I realized that I could cheer for most of the winners knowing that I had chatted with them, or shared commentary on Goodreads. These were people I actually knew, some even GR friends, getting recognized for their work. It was very cool, and made me appreciate the community that Goodreads, for all our ups and downs, has fostered between authors and readers. The announcement chat was a blast (and I actually followed it - not having ten conversations going at once helped. I don't usually type fast enough for chat, especially since I have to look at the keys *blushes* - yes even after a million words plus in all those books I've written.) It was a great evening.
Enormous congratulations to all the other winners, and to the nominees. Being selected for recognition by our readers is the best feeling there is.
The other fun thing is that I've agreed to do a blog-radio interview. In my Kira Harp persona, I'm going to be on Dellani's Tea Time, with author Jo Ramsey and editor Ralph Gallagher, promoting the Helping Hands line of Young Adult GLBTQ books from Featherweight Press. The link to the show is : http://www.blogtalkradio.com/rrradio/... . It will be live at 4 PM (East.) Monday Jan 9th, but available for playback anytime after that. So if you're curious whether I use as many big words in person, or sound Minnesotan despite my Canadian roots, check it out. Proceeds from the Helping Hands stories go to great LGBT Charities, and the stories themselves will add to the GLBTQ literature available to young adults. I'm excited to be part of this project, and grateful to Dellani for giving us this promotional opportunity.
First, the Goodreads M/M Romance group announced the winners in their Member Choice Awards last night. My stories had been nominated a mind-boggling 15 times (out of 41 categories) and I am truly grateful to everyone who put one of my books on those lists. There were so many great books out this year, it was fun to be placed among them.
And then I actually won some awards:
First Place in Short Story 25 pages or 15K words or less (book) for Like the Taste of Summer !
Third Place in Best Debut Book for Life Lessons behind Hot Head by Damon Suede and Bear Otter and the Kid by TJ Klune
Third Place in Mystery/Whodunit (genre) for Breaking Cover behind Come Unto These Yellow Sands by the amazing Josh Lanyon and All She Wrote also by Josh Lanyon
Third Place in Coming Out (theme) also for Breaking Cover behind Bear Otter and the Kid by TJ Klune and The Locker Room by Amy Lane
I am stunned by the company I am keeping and grateful for all the votes and recognition. But the other great part was I realized that I could cheer for most of the winners knowing that I had chatted with them, or shared commentary on Goodreads. These were people I actually knew, some even GR friends, getting recognized for their work. It was very cool, and made me appreciate the community that Goodreads, for all our ups and downs, has fostered between authors and readers. The announcement chat was a blast (and I actually followed it - not having ten conversations going at once helped. I don't usually type fast enough for chat, especially since I have to look at the keys *blushes* - yes even after a million words plus in all those books I've written.) It was a great evening.
Enormous congratulations to all the other winners, and to the nominees. Being selected for recognition by our readers is the best feeling there is.
The other fun thing is that I've agreed to do a blog-radio interview. In my Kira Harp persona, I'm going to be on Dellani's Tea Time, with author Jo Ramsey and editor Ralph Gallagher, promoting the Helping Hands line of Young Adult GLBTQ books from Featherweight Press. The link to the show is : http://www.blogtalkradio.com/rrradio/... . It will be live at 4 PM (East.) Monday Jan 9th, but available for playback anytime after that. So if you're curious whether I use as many big words in person, or sound Minnesotan despite my Canadian roots, check it out. Proceeds from the Helping Hands stories go to great LGBT Charities, and the stories themselves will add to the GLBTQ literature available to young adults. I'm excited to be part of this project, and grateful to Dellani for giving us this promotional opportunity.
January 5, 2012
Second Kira Harp story: The Benefit of Ductwork
The second of my Young Adult stories under the pen name Kira Harp is now available at Featherweight Press.
This story, The Benefit of Ductwork, was inspired by a request in the Goodreads GSA group. The reader wanted a story about a straight kid growing up with gay parents. A story where everyone is doing their best, but that doesn't make it simple. Ductwork is the result, and the proceeds from this book will go to Lambda Legal. Lambda Legal fights for the rights of GLBTQ and HIV positive individuals in all kinds of arenas, including defending the right of gay and lesbian individuals and couples to foster and adopt children. I hope some of you will enjoy this story.
This is the blurb:
Andy was six when he was adopted by the men he calls Dad and Pops. At seventeen, he has almost escaped his early years and found security in his dads' loving home. But his neglected early childhood taught Andy that nothing good can be his forever. When his parents decide to foster Kyle, a young gay teenager in need of a place to stay, Andy can't help wondering if he's going to lose his dads to the new kid.
Author and Editor royalties from this book will go to Lambda Legal.
Being able to contribute to this line of Helping Hands stories, and having my YA work published, has been very rewarding for me this week.
This story, The Benefit of Ductwork, was inspired by a request in the Goodreads GSA group. The reader wanted a story about a straight kid growing up with gay parents. A story where everyone is doing their best, but that doesn't make it simple. Ductwork is the result, and the proceeds from this book will go to Lambda Legal. Lambda Legal fights for the rights of GLBTQ and HIV positive individuals in all kinds of arenas, including defending the right of gay and lesbian individuals and couples to foster and adopt children. I hope some of you will enjoy this story.
This is the blurb:
Andy was six when he was adopted by the men he calls Dad and Pops. At seventeen, he has almost escaped his early years and found security in his dads' loving home. But his neglected early childhood taught Andy that nothing good can be his forever. When his parents decide to foster Kyle, a young gay teenager in need of a place to stay, Andy can't help wondering if he's going to lose his dads to the new kid.
Author and Editor royalties from this book will go to Lambda Legal.
Being able to contribute to this line of Helping Hands stories, and having my YA work published, has been very rewarding for me this week.
January 2, 2012
the Kira Harp story Intervention is available
The Young Adult short story Intervention that I had posted in the YA group for a couple of months has been released from Featherweight Press on January 1st. This book is listed under my YA pen name, Kira Harp. (Which means I need to set up a new author page and all the other fun - this writing stuff is cool sometimes :)
Anyway, I don't usually sell a story that once was free, but this has had editing, a cover, and all the profits will go to charity. Not just my share, but the editor royalties and the publisher profits will go to the Trevor Project. This is the author note from the book:
When I was told Intervention had been accepted for
the Helping Hands line of stories, I was allowed to
decide which charity would receive the proceeds from
this story. There are lots of great charities out there, but
for this story there could be only one choice: The Trevor
Project.
The Trevor Project is the leading national organization
providing crisis intervention and suicide prevention
services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and
questioning (LGBTQ) youth. For those kids who reach
that breaking point, and don’t have a brother like Jory
to pull them back from the edge, The Trevor Project
provides a nationwide, 24/7 crisis intervention lifeline,
as well as other supportive services. You can find them
at http://www.thetrevorproject.org/ and call them at The
Trevor Lifeline 1-866-4-U-TREVOR (which is 1-866-488-
7386)
When we lose even one kid to pain and despair, it is a
tragedy which diminishes us all. I’m honored if my story
can help in any way. Thank you for buying, reading,
and contributing. And if you are that kid, looking for
reasons not to give up, call them. The number is there.
It’s free. It’s safe and confidential. They will connect you
to a community of people who believe in your worth and
will support you. Call them. Tell them Jory sent you.
There will be five initial stories in the Helping Hands line released one a day this week. Look for stories from Authors Karen Lee, Jo Ramsey and Samantha Jenkins, and then my second story - The Benefit of Ductwork. Some great writing, and very worthy charities chosen. Other stories will continue to come out throughout the year. I'm delighted to be part of this project.
Anyway, I don't usually sell a story that once was free, but this has had editing, a cover, and all the profits will go to charity. Not just my share, but the editor royalties and the publisher profits will go to the Trevor Project. This is the author note from the book:
When I was told Intervention had been accepted for
the Helping Hands line of stories, I was allowed to
decide which charity would receive the proceeds from
this story. There are lots of great charities out there, but
for this story there could be only one choice: The Trevor
Project.
The Trevor Project is the leading national organization
providing crisis intervention and suicide prevention
services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and
questioning (LGBTQ) youth. For those kids who reach
that breaking point, and don’t have a brother like Jory
to pull them back from the edge, The Trevor Project
provides a nationwide, 24/7 crisis intervention lifeline,
as well as other supportive services. You can find them
at http://www.thetrevorproject.org/ and call them at The
Trevor Lifeline 1-866-4-U-TREVOR (which is 1-866-488-
7386)
When we lose even one kid to pain and despair, it is a
tragedy which diminishes us all. I’m honored if my story
can help in any way. Thank you for buying, reading,
and contributing. And if you are that kid, looking for
reasons not to give up, call them. The number is there.
It’s free. It’s safe and confidential. They will connect you
to a community of people who believe in your worth and
will support you. Call them. Tell them Jory sent you.
There will be five initial stories in the Helping Hands line released one a day this week. Look for stories from Authors Karen Lee, Jo Ramsey and Samantha Jenkins, and then my second story - The Benefit of Ductwork. Some great writing, and very worthy charities chosen. Other stories will continue to come out throughout the year. I'm delighted to be part of this project.
January 1, 2012
Life Lessons is a Book of the Month read
If you happen to be a member of the Goodreads M/M romance group, Life Lessons was selected as a Book of the Month for January. I'm delighted (and a little nervous. Will anyone even discuss it? Will they mention all the things they didn't like about it?) Authorial paranoia at its finest.
Anyway, if you have a yen to tell people how annoying Mac was about not coming out for Tony, or how unreasonable Tony was with nagging Mac to come out when he wasn't ready, or how kids really don't belong in a M/M romance, or anything else, wander over here. I've vowed not to lurk, so people can discuss it without the author peering over their shoulders. If a question arises that wants my input, someone can PM me. I hope some folks will enjoy the discourse, and maybe some new readers will find the book. In any case, it is an honor to have been selected in the poll. A nice way to start the year.
Anyway, if you have a yen to tell people how annoying Mac was about not coming out for Tony, or how unreasonable Tony was with nagging Mac to come out when he wasn't ready, or how kids really don't belong in a M/M romance, or anything else, wander over here. I've vowed not to lurk, so people can discuss it without the author peering over their shoulders. If a question arises that wants my input, someone can PM me. I hope some folks will enjoy the discourse, and maybe some new readers will find the book. In any case, it is an honor to have been selected in the poll. A nice way to start the year.
December 31, 2011
2011 - what a ride!
This time last year I had just signed the MLR Press contract for Life Lessons, my first ever published work. I was looking ahead to 2011 with excitement and trepidation, and a lot of uncertainty. Well as 2011 draws to a close, I have to be amazed at what a year it has been.
On a personal front, there were a lot of ups and downs. Seeing my oldest daughter turn 18, seeing my elderly mother become more confused with each passing day. There was a lot of travel, a lot of joy, a lot of tears. Hospital visits and new kittens, learning to ice-skate and finding out I'm definitely too old to spin. (Vertigo, not just for Tilt-a-Whirls any more.) A roller-coaster year.
My first self-published book came out in April, unseen by anyone else, unproofed, unedited except by me, because I was so new to the game I didn't realize you could ask or pay people to do that for you. And yet Lies and Consequences was so well received it gave me hope that I could actually do this writing thing. Then Life Lessons, my first pro book, was published in May. And people were actually willing to pay for my work. Some really liked it. And following links and reviews led me to Goodreads, and a community of people who enjoyed the types of books I read and write.
That was a revelation for me. I "met" new friends. I had fans! I found a score of wonderful authors I'd never heard of, and more great books than I could possibly read. Although I tried. What a wealth of amazing stories can be found on those shelves!
I made mistakes. I said the wrong thing in the wrong place, and angered an author whom I deeply respect. I didn't say the right thing in the right place and damaged a new friendship. I found that I can care deeply about people whom I have never met, and whose full names I don't know. And that caring brings joy and pain and frustration at being unable to help, and fear of misunderstanding. And yet makes life far wider and richer for an introvert like me, whose real life is constrained by shyness.
I made friends. Wonderful friends whom I hope to continue to get to know better. And I wrote books. Lots of books. I learned the pleasure and the anxiety of putting the work of my imagination out to be read by strangers. As the year ends, I have 4 novels and 5 short stories in print, 2 more novels and 2 shorts scheduled for release. And if I get my edits on Life Lessons #3 finished tonight and sent in, I'll add another submission to that list. I have had my Young Adult work accepted. I have had every success I could have hoped for, more than I ever imagined.
Not that I'm ever going to get rich on book sales, but I earned enough to make my husband stop calling my writing a fluffy hobby. And my work has showed up on best-of-the-year lists on Jessewave, and was nominated an incomprehensible 15 times in the Goodreads M/M Romance Member's Choice Awards. I want to give an enormous thank-you to the people who nominated my books. I am proud to be found in the stellar company of those nominee lists. (Winners to be announced January 7th, incidentally.)
So I look back on 2011 with a touch of disbelief, that all of those things happened to me. And I look forward to 2012 with the hope that the joys will once again outweigh the pains.
My resolutions for the New Year are simple - to be more mindful in my life. To listen more carefully, write more eloquently, and take more time for the things that matter. And I want to wish everyone who has read my work a wonderful upcoming year. May you find joy and laughter, may there be discovery and creativity, and good things in your lives. And may you read lots and lots of wonderful books.
On a personal front, there were a lot of ups and downs. Seeing my oldest daughter turn 18, seeing my elderly mother become more confused with each passing day. There was a lot of travel, a lot of joy, a lot of tears. Hospital visits and new kittens, learning to ice-skate and finding out I'm definitely too old to spin. (Vertigo, not just for Tilt-a-Whirls any more.) A roller-coaster year.
My first self-published book came out in April, unseen by anyone else, unproofed, unedited except by me, because I was so new to the game I didn't realize you could ask or pay people to do that for you. And yet Lies and Consequences was so well received it gave me hope that I could actually do this writing thing. Then Life Lessons, my first pro book, was published in May. And people were actually willing to pay for my work. Some really liked it. And following links and reviews led me to Goodreads, and a community of people who enjoyed the types of books I read and write.
That was a revelation for me. I "met" new friends. I had fans! I found a score of wonderful authors I'd never heard of, and more great books than I could possibly read. Although I tried. What a wealth of amazing stories can be found on those shelves!
I made mistakes. I said the wrong thing in the wrong place, and angered an author whom I deeply respect. I didn't say the right thing in the right place and damaged a new friendship. I found that I can care deeply about people whom I have never met, and whose full names I don't know. And that caring brings joy and pain and frustration at being unable to help, and fear of misunderstanding. And yet makes life far wider and richer for an introvert like me, whose real life is constrained by shyness.
I made friends. Wonderful friends whom I hope to continue to get to know better. And I wrote books. Lots of books. I learned the pleasure and the anxiety of putting the work of my imagination out to be read by strangers. As the year ends, I have 4 novels and 5 short stories in print, 2 more novels and 2 shorts scheduled for release. And if I get my edits on Life Lessons #3 finished tonight and sent in, I'll add another submission to that list. I have had my Young Adult work accepted. I have had every success I could have hoped for, more than I ever imagined.
Not that I'm ever going to get rich on book sales, but I earned enough to make my husband stop calling my writing a fluffy hobby. And my work has showed up on best-of-the-year lists on Jessewave, and was nominated an incomprehensible 15 times in the Goodreads M/M Romance Member's Choice Awards. I want to give an enormous thank-you to the people who nominated my books. I am proud to be found in the stellar company of those nominee lists. (Winners to be announced January 7th, incidentally.)
So I look back on 2011 with a touch of disbelief, that all of those things happened to me. And I look forward to 2012 with the hope that the joys will once again outweigh the pains.
My resolutions for the New Year are simple - to be more mindful in my life. To listen more carefully, write more eloquently, and take more time for the things that matter. And I want to wish everyone who has read my work a wonderful upcoming year. May you find joy and laughter, may there be discovery and creativity, and good things in your lives. And may you read lots and lots of wonderful books.
