Alexa Land's Blog, page 13
September 7, 2017
Throwback Thursday: Allllll the way back to the beginning
Way Off Plan was the first novel I published, but it wasn't the first MM romance I wrote. That was actually a paranormal tale called Feral. Once I wrote it, I didn't really know what to do with it, so Feral lived on my computer for a while. After I released Way Off Plan and All In and they did well on Amazon, I went back and published Feral. I was shocked as hell when the book I'd basically written just for me actually took off and helped launch my fledgling career.
It's an odd thing, looking back at this book now. I was such a novice writer, and I see that in these pages. But at the same time, I adore it, both for what it is and for all it represents.
I wrote this book at a time when I'd all but lost my voice. I was a full-time mom in a bad marriage, with no income, few creative outlets, and a distinct lack of self-esteem. But I wrote this book. I wrote it for me, because I needed to find my voice again. I wrote it because I had a burning desire to make something and reconnect with the creative part of me that almost went extinct when I let "mother" and "wife" totally define me.
Below is the prologue and a scene from Feral. I very rarely look inside this book now, maybe because it's so wrapped up with a part of my life that no longer exists. I will always be a mother first and foremost. But after I published this book, the bad marriage ended, and I learned I could not only survive but thrive on my own. Feral played a significant role in my journey, and it'll always be a part of me.
*****
Prologue
He was watching me.
I sensed his presence weeks before I saw him. Day after day, I peered out into the woods beside the lake house, unable to shake the feeling that someone was out there. But I never caught a glimpse of him. Eventually, I convinced myself it had to be my imagination, that spending so much time by myself was starting to mess with my mind.
I was so wrong.
*****
Against all odds, apparently I’d actually managed to fall asleep for a while. I sat up on the hard kitchen floor and looked at the clock on the stove, which read 2:13 a.m. I hadn’t managed to sleep the whole night away, but the fact that I’d slept at all was pretty remarkable.
My head was pounding. I got up only as far as my knees and reached for a bottle of aspirin, then used my hand as a cup and scooped tap water into my mouth to wash down a couple pills. I started to lay back down on the floor, but my back and shoulders were so stiff from sleeping there that I forced myself to my feet and pointed myself at the couch. I turned off all the lights on the way into the living room, the complete darkness far more soothing to my throbbing headache.
I curled up in a ball on the couch and shut my eyes. And the skin on the back of my neck prickled. I opened my eyes again and lay perfectly still, my subconscious warning me not to move so I’d remain hidden, because it sensed some kind of danger.
Something caught my eye then. Movement. Something out in the night. I remained motionless, scanning the darkness beyond the windows as fear trickled like ice water down my spine. It was probably nothing, I told myself. A deer maybe. Or a raccoon. Something harmless.
Movement again, barely visible in the faint light from the sliver of moon. Something out past the deck. Out at the water’s edge. Something big.
Something pacing.
I couldn’t tell if it was human. Or Nikolai. It shouldn’t be. He should be many, many miles away right now.
Wasn’t he?
My throat had gone dry and it was difficult to swallow, the sound unbearably loud in the perfect quiet. I still didn’t move, even though I knew that was pointless. If it was a vampire – mine, or perhaps another one – then it could see me perfectly right now in the darkness. It knew I was here. It knew I was defenseless.
What was it waiting for?
My heart was beating so hard that I wondered if whatever was out there could hear it. I sat up slowly, my hands sweating as I braced them against the couch. I wondered if I’d locked the front door, then almost rolled my eyes at my stupidity. The house was glass. If whatever was out there wanted in, it only had to smash a window. A lock wasn’t going to stop it.
The thing in the dark stepped up onto the deck.
It was backlit and human in form, a bit hunched, broad shoulders outlined in moonlight, powerful arms ending in big hands that were contorted somehow. Curled like claws.
I had no idea if it was Nikolai.
It seemed to be breathing hard, its body expanding and contracting as it drew air into its lungs.
And then it crouched slightly. Ready to pounce.
I vaulted over the back of the couch, fear a sharp taste in my mouth as I took the stairs three at a time. I had to get away. Now. I hurled myself across the dark bedroom, heading for the bathroom and the only solid walls in the house.
I didn’t make it.
A hand closed around my ankle, and I slammed face down onto the wood floor. I hadn’t heard glass shattering, I didn’t know how it had reached me so quickly. But it had me now.
A heavy body leapt on top of me and I cried out as the air was forced from my lungs. Hands were tearing at my clothes, stripping me. I was brutally flipped over, and a mouth pressed against my own. It tasted of blood and salt. And it tasted of Nikolai.
It's an odd thing, looking back at this book now. I was such a novice writer, and I see that in these pages. But at the same time, I adore it, both for what it is and for all it represents.
I wrote this book at a time when I'd all but lost my voice. I was a full-time mom in a bad marriage, with no income, few creative outlets, and a distinct lack of self-esteem. But I wrote this book. I wrote it for me, because I needed to find my voice again. I wrote it because I had a burning desire to make something and reconnect with the creative part of me that almost went extinct when I let "mother" and "wife" totally define me.
Below is the prologue and a scene from Feral. I very rarely look inside this book now, maybe because it's so wrapped up with a part of my life that no longer exists. I will always be a mother first and foremost. But after I published this book, the bad marriage ended, and I learned I could not only survive but thrive on my own. Feral played a significant role in my journey, and it'll always be a part of me.
*****
Prologue
He was watching me.
I sensed his presence weeks before I saw him. Day after day, I peered out into the woods beside the lake house, unable to shake the feeling that someone was out there. But I never caught a glimpse of him. Eventually, I convinced myself it had to be my imagination, that spending so much time by myself was starting to mess with my mind.
I was so wrong.
*****
Against all odds, apparently I’d actually managed to fall asleep for a while. I sat up on the hard kitchen floor and looked at the clock on the stove, which read 2:13 a.m. I hadn’t managed to sleep the whole night away, but the fact that I’d slept at all was pretty remarkable.
My head was pounding. I got up only as far as my knees and reached for a bottle of aspirin, then used my hand as a cup and scooped tap water into my mouth to wash down a couple pills. I started to lay back down on the floor, but my back and shoulders were so stiff from sleeping there that I forced myself to my feet and pointed myself at the couch. I turned off all the lights on the way into the living room, the complete darkness far more soothing to my throbbing headache.
I curled up in a ball on the couch and shut my eyes. And the skin on the back of my neck prickled. I opened my eyes again and lay perfectly still, my subconscious warning me not to move so I’d remain hidden, because it sensed some kind of danger.
Something caught my eye then. Movement. Something out in the night. I remained motionless, scanning the darkness beyond the windows as fear trickled like ice water down my spine. It was probably nothing, I told myself. A deer maybe. Or a raccoon. Something harmless.
Movement again, barely visible in the faint light from the sliver of moon. Something out past the deck. Out at the water’s edge. Something big.
Something pacing.
I couldn’t tell if it was human. Or Nikolai. It shouldn’t be. He should be many, many miles away right now.
Wasn’t he?
My throat had gone dry and it was difficult to swallow, the sound unbearably loud in the perfect quiet. I still didn’t move, even though I knew that was pointless. If it was a vampire – mine, or perhaps another one – then it could see me perfectly right now in the darkness. It knew I was here. It knew I was defenseless.
What was it waiting for?
My heart was beating so hard that I wondered if whatever was out there could hear it. I sat up slowly, my hands sweating as I braced them against the couch. I wondered if I’d locked the front door, then almost rolled my eyes at my stupidity. The house was glass. If whatever was out there wanted in, it only had to smash a window. A lock wasn’t going to stop it.
The thing in the dark stepped up onto the deck.
It was backlit and human in form, a bit hunched, broad shoulders outlined in moonlight, powerful arms ending in big hands that were contorted somehow. Curled like claws.
I had no idea if it was Nikolai.
It seemed to be breathing hard, its body expanding and contracting as it drew air into its lungs.
And then it crouched slightly. Ready to pounce.
I vaulted over the back of the couch, fear a sharp taste in my mouth as I took the stairs three at a time. I had to get away. Now. I hurled myself across the dark bedroom, heading for the bathroom and the only solid walls in the house.
I didn’t make it.
A hand closed around my ankle, and I slammed face down onto the wood floor. I hadn’t heard glass shattering, I didn’t know how it had reached me so quickly. But it had me now.
A heavy body leapt on top of me and I cried out as the air was forced from my lungs. Hands were tearing at my clothes, stripping me. I was brutally flipped over, and a mouth pressed against my own. It tasted of blood and salt. And it tasted of Nikolai.
August 31, 2017
Throwback Thursday: Jessie and Kai, When Enemies became Lovers
Today I'm looking back at The Distance, book 11 in the Firsts and Forever Series. This is Jessie's story. I loved him from the moment I introduced him in the series, and I was so happy to give him his own book and a sweet happily ever after!
Here's my inspiration photo for Kai, Jessie's love interest:
So sexy! He was named by one of my readers, by the way, a kind, lovely woman named Anita, who lives in Australia. I now refer to her as Kai's godmother. :)
Kai and Jessie start out as enemies. They're rival street racers, and Jessie blames Kai (who he knows only by his racing name, Trigger, at first) for playing dirty and wrecking Jessie's car in a head-to-head drag race. Kai sees things very differently. In the following scene from The Distance, the spark ignites between our two main characters:
Trigger was dressed in a tight, black tank top and worn-out jeans, and was washing his hands in an industrial sink when I came in. The shop’s interior was spotless and well-maintained, in sharp contrast to the outside. His Mustang and two black, late sixties Impalas were lined up on the far side of the concrete floor. The Stang’s hood was up, and an empty paper coffee cup and a greasy shop rag decorated its fender.
To say he was surprised to see me was a major understatement. Trigger’s brown eyes went wide and he blurted, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I want an apology. I also want a rematch, but first we have to find a track with a concrete barrier down the center to keep you from coming at me again.”
He raised an eyebrow. “If you think I’m capable of purposely trying to wreck your car, why would you come here? I mean, according to you, I’m guilty of attempted murder. I also must have the reflexes of a cobra, since I managed to hit your careening car in the split second that your tire blew out. Yet here you are, strolling into the lair of someone who’d have to be a complete sociopath, given your accusations.”
“I don’t think you meant to hurt me. You’re a dick, not a psycho. You probably just wanted to knock my car out of commission. But that’s still incredibly dangerous and a really shitty thing to do to someone, so would it kill you to say you’re sorry? Just once? Would those words make you shrivel up and die, right here on the concrete?”
His voice rose as he exclaimed, “Why would I apologize when you hit me?”
“Oh yeah. I swerved right, hit you, and then my car went flying off to the left, where it rolled half a dozen times. Because physics works like that!”
“Sure it does, when we’re talking about your little Fisher Price car ricocheting off a solid metal object!” He stormed over to his Mustang, picked up the paper coffee cup and said, “Here’s a demonstration so you can understand this once and for all. This cup will stand in for your toy car, since they weigh about the same. My Mustang will be playing herself in this reenactment. I’m driving along, minding my own business, but then your tire explodes and oh, look!” He threw the cup at the Ford’s fender, and it bounced off and rolled across the floor. “See that? That’s exactly what happened! Cause and effect. You hit me, you bounced off, and the stupid embankment on the side of the road acted like a ramp, so you went airborne and then you rolled. I’m sure that sucked, I’m sure it was scary as shit, but what it wasn’t was my fucking fault.”
“Thank you for that brilliant reenactment, and your point would have been made spectacularly, except for the fact that I was actually driving something made by Mazda and not by fucking Dixie.”
“Whatever. My car weighed twice as much as yours, so the result was the same.”
“Except that here’s what actually happened,” I said, marching over to the coffee cup. “You hit me, and my car did this.” I stomped on the cup and flattened it. “And yet, somehow, saying you’re sorry is just asking way the hell too much from you!”
Trigger’s voice rose again. “Fine. I’m sorry you hit me. I am, actually. It sucks that you got hurt, and that you wrecked your shitty toy car. But you were what caused all of that!”
“Asshole!”
“Fucking stop blaming me!”
“No, because you’re to blame!”
Trigger threw his hands in the air and yelled, “You refuse to see this from anything but your own misguided perspective!”
“So do you!”
“Get the fuck out of my shop. I’m so sick of you and your kind!”
“My kind!” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t tell me you’re also a homophobe, as if just being a regular asshole wasn’t enough!”
“You’re gay?”
“Duh!”
“Well, how was I supposed to know that? It’s not like you’re wearing a sign around your neck.”I said flatly, “No, just three beaded necklaces.”
He waved his hand dismissively and said, “That doesn’t mean anything.” Okay, he had a point there.I asked, “So, if you didn’t mean gay people when you said ‘my kind’, what label were you trying to stick to me?”
“Spoiled brats who fix up their cars on mommy and daddy’s dime. Was your Civic a high school graduation present?”
I stared at him and said, “Dude, I’m twenty-four.”
“Oh, come on! There’s no way we’re the same age.”
“Are you ever right about anything? I mean anything at all?”
“It’s impossible that you’re twenty-four. You barely look old enough to shave!”
I rolled my eyes and pulled my driver’s license from my wallet, then went up to him and held it in front of his face. “Satisfied?”
Trigger grinned and said, “That’s the worst fake ID I’ve ever seen.”
“Based on what?”
“You called yourself Jessie James, and spelled Jessie with an i-e.”
“Granted, I’ve regretted that last name, and I’ll probably change it again, but the ID’s not fake.”
“What do you mean, change it again?”
“I legally changed my name a few years ago, because the one my parents gave me completely sucked.”
“What could possibly be worse than Jessie-with-an-i-e James?”
“None of your damn business,” I said as I shoved the license back in my wallet and returned it to my pocket. “Neither is this, but James was my middle name. That’s why I used it. It wasn’t because I have a great love of bank-robbing outlaws.”
He chuckled and said, “Wow, you’re kind of insane.”
“And you’re an asshole. Which is worse?”
“Oh, okay. I’m an asshole because I won’t buy in to your delusions and tell you what you want to hear.”
“No, you’re an asshole because you’re an asshole.”
Trigger knit his dark brows. “That’s enough name-calling for one night. Go home, Jessie James.”
“Sure,” I said, my stubbornness flaring, “just as soon as you apologize for ramming my car and making me crash last year and for running a dirty race tonight!”
His voice rose again, and so did the color in his cheeks. “It’s not unusual for cars to swerve at those speeds when they’re in the straight-away, and sometimes they bump into each other! If you can’t understand those basic facts, you have no business racing!”
“Oh no. Do not try to explain racing to me! I’ve been doing this most of my life! That’s how I know the difference between an unintentional drift and the crap you pull when you’re on the track!”
“You don’t know shit, and I told you to get out.”
“Not until you fucking apologize!” He grabbed my upper arm and started to tow me to the side door, and I yelled, “Let go of me!”
He went right on pulling me across the shop. “No matter what I say, you just won’t listen. You think you know everything! You think you know me, but you don’t have a fucking clue!”
“I said let go of me!” I tried to yank my arm from his grasp and hip-checked him fairly hard in the process. That threw him off balance, and he fell over and pulled me down with him. Trigger rolled over so he was straddling me, and I swore at him and almost slapped him as I flailed around and tried to free myself.
He caught my wrists and pinned them to the floor on either side of my head as he exclaimed, “Just calm down!” When I finally stopped struggling, we stared at each other for a long moment as I caught my breath and my heart raced.
Without warning, lust shot through me like a jolt from a defibrillator. When Trigger let go of my wrists, I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to me. In the next instant, we were kissing wildly. I rolled over so I was on top of him and devoured his mouth, and he ran his hands down my back and grabbed my ass. I had absolutely no explanation for what was happening. None at all. I went with it anyway.
*****
Ahhhh I love those two! From that rough beginning, they went on to be the sweetest couple, and later a family.
Next up in the series is Take a Chance on Me. It's Quinn's story (who we met in the last book in the series, All I Ever Wanted). It should be out in late September/early October, exact release date TBA.
Thanks for reading!
Here's my inspiration photo for Kai, Jessie's love interest:
So sexy! He was named by one of my readers, by the way, a kind, lovely woman named Anita, who lives in Australia. I now refer to her as Kai's godmother. :)
Kai and Jessie start out as enemies. They're rival street racers, and Jessie blames Kai (who he knows only by his racing name, Trigger, at first) for playing dirty and wrecking Jessie's car in a head-to-head drag race. Kai sees things very differently. In the following scene from The Distance, the spark ignites between our two main characters:
Trigger was dressed in a tight, black tank top and worn-out jeans, and was washing his hands in an industrial sink when I came in. The shop’s interior was spotless and well-maintained, in sharp contrast to the outside. His Mustang and two black, late sixties Impalas were lined up on the far side of the concrete floor. The Stang’s hood was up, and an empty paper coffee cup and a greasy shop rag decorated its fender.
To say he was surprised to see me was a major understatement. Trigger’s brown eyes went wide and he blurted, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I want an apology. I also want a rematch, but first we have to find a track with a concrete barrier down the center to keep you from coming at me again.”
He raised an eyebrow. “If you think I’m capable of purposely trying to wreck your car, why would you come here? I mean, according to you, I’m guilty of attempted murder. I also must have the reflexes of a cobra, since I managed to hit your careening car in the split second that your tire blew out. Yet here you are, strolling into the lair of someone who’d have to be a complete sociopath, given your accusations.”
“I don’t think you meant to hurt me. You’re a dick, not a psycho. You probably just wanted to knock my car out of commission. But that’s still incredibly dangerous and a really shitty thing to do to someone, so would it kill you to say you’re sorry? Just once? Would those words make you shrivel up and die, right here on the concrete?”
His voice rose as he exclaimed, “Why would I apologize when you hit me?”
“Oh yeah. I swerved right, hit you, and then my car went flying off to the left, where it rolled half a dozen times. Because physics works like that!”
“Sure it does, when we’re talking about your little Fisher Price car ricocheting off a solid metal object!” He stormed over to his Mustang, picked up the paper coffee cup and said, “Here’s a demonstration so you can understand this once and for all. This cup will stand in for your toy car, since they weigh about the same. My Mustang will be playing herself in this reenactment. I’m driving along, minding my own business, but then your tire explodes and oh, look!” He threw the cup at the Ford’s fender, and it bounced off and rolled across the floor. “See that? That’s exactly what happened! Cause and effect. You hit me, you bounced off, and the stupid embankment on the side of the road acted like a ramp, so you went airborne and then you rolled. I’m sure that sucked, I’m sure it was scary as shit, but what it wasn’t was my fucking fault.”
“Thank you for that brilliant reenactment, and your point would have been made spectacularly, except for the fact that I was actually driving something made by Mazda and not by fucking Dixie.”
“Whatever. My car weighed twice as much as yours, so the result was the same.”
“Except that here’s what actually happened,” I said, marching over to the coffee cup. “You hit me, and my car did this.” I stomped on the cup and flattened it. “And yet, somehow, saying you’re sorry is just asking way the hell too much from you!”
Trigger’s voice rose again. “Fine. I’m sorry you hit me. I am, actually. It sucks that you got hurt, and that you wrecked your shitty toy car. But you were what caused all of that!”
“Asshole!”
“Fucking stop blaming me!”
“No, because you’re to blame!”
Trigger threw his hands in the air and yelled, “You refuse to see this from anything but your own misguided perspective!”
“So do you!”
“Get the fuck out of my shop. I’m so sick of you and your kind!”
“My kind!” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t tell me you’re also a homophobe, as if just being a regular asshole wasn’t enough!”
“You’re gay?”
“Duh!”
“Well, how was I supposed to know that? It’s not like you’re wearing a sign around your neck.”I said flatly, “No, just three beaded necklaces.”
He waved his hand dismissively and said, “That doesn’t mean anything.” Okay, he had a point there.I asked, “So, if you didn’t mean gay people when you said ‘my kind’, what label were you trying to stick to me?”
“Spoiled brats who fix up their cars on mommy and daddy’s dime. Was your Civic a high school graduation present?”
I stared at him and said, “Dude, I’m twenty-four.”
“Oh, come on! There’s no way we’re the same age.”
“Are you ever right about anything? I mean anything at all?”
“It’s impossible that you’re twenty-four. You barely look old enough to shave!”
I rolled my eyes and pulled my driver’s license from my wallet, then went up to him and held it in front of his face. “Satisfied?”
Trigger grinned and said, “That’s the worst fake ID I’ve ever seen.”
“Based on what?”
“You called yourself Jessie James, and spelled Jessie with an i-e.”
“Granted, I’ve regretted that last name, and I’ll probably change it again, but the ID’s not fake.”
“What do you mean, change it again?”
“I legally changed my name a few years ago, because the one my parents gave me completely sucked.”
“What could possibly be worse than Jessie-with-an-i-e James?”
“None of your damn business,” I said as I shoved the license back in my wallet and returned it to my pocket. “Neither is this, but James was my middle name. That’s why I used it. It wasn’t because I have a great love of bank-robbing outlaws.”
He chuckled and said, “Wow, you’re kind of insane.”
“And you’re an asshole. Which is worse?”
“Oh, okay. I’m an asshole because I won’t buy in to your delusions and tell you what you want to hear.”
“No, you’re an asshole because you’re an asshole.”
Trigger knit his dark brows. “That’s enough name-calling for one night. Go home, Jessie James.”
“Sure,” I said, my stubbornness flaring, “just as soon as you apologize for ramming my car and making me crash last year and for running a dirty race tonight!”
His voice rose again, and so did the color in his cheeks. “It’s not unusual for cars to swerve at those speeds when they’re in the straight-away, and sometimes they bump into each other! If you can’t understand those basic facts, you have no business racing!”
“Oh no. Do not try to explain racing to me! I’ve been doing this most of my life! That’s how I know the difference between an unintentional drift and the crap you pull when you’re on the track!”
“You don’t know shit, and I told you to get out.”
“Not until you fucking apologize!” He grabbed my upper arm and started to tow me to the side door, and I yelled, “Let go of me!”
He went right on pulling me across the shop. “No matter what I say, you just won’t listen. You think you know everything! You think you know me, but you don’t have a fucking clue!”
“I said let go of me!” I tried to yank my arm from his grasp and hip-checked him fairly hard in the process. That threw him off balance, and he fell over and pulled me down with him. Trigger rolled over so he was straddling me, and I swore at him and almost slapped him as I flailed around and tried to free myself.
He caught my wrists and pinned them to the floor on either side of my head as he exclaimed, “Just calm down!” When I finally stopped struggling, we stared at each other for a long moment as I caught my breath and my heart raced.
Without warning, lust shot through me like a jolt from a defibrillator. When Trigger let go of my wrists, I grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to me. In the next instant, we were kissing wildly. I rolled over so I was on top of him and devoured his mouth, and he ran his hands down my back and grabbed my ass. I had absolutely no explanation for what was happening. None at all. I went with it anyway.
*****
Ahhhh I love those two! From that rough beginning, they went on to be the sweetest couple, and later a family.
Next up in the series is Take a Chance on Me. It's Quinn's story (who we met in the last book in the series, All I Ever Wanted). It should be out in late September/early October, exact release date TBA.
Thanks for reading!
August 24, 2017
Throwback Thursday: The Most Personal Thing I've Ever written
A few years ago, I received an email from a reader, which included a request. He asked me to consider writing a character who was HIV-positive, like himself, because he very rarely saw his story represented in the MM romances he read.
It was something I'd wanted to do for a long time, but I hadn't been able to go there, because it hit too close to home. I lost one of my best friends to complications from the AIDS virus in the mid-nineties. Even though decades have passed, I still feel that loss as if it happened last week. But when I got that email, I knew it was time for me to face this subject.
I'm occasionally moved to tears while writing emotional parts of my books, but I've never cried harder than when I wrote the following scene. This is from Who I Used to Be, book 12 in the Firsts and Forever Series. Later on, a character in the book is diagnosed with HIV. But in this scene, the two main characters, Zachary and TJ, are visiting the AIDS Memorial Grove in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park. The names and a few identifying details have been changed, but this scene is drawn directly from my life. My friend and his brother are memorialized in the Grove. I'll include a few photos of this place, which is absolutely sacred to me, at the end of this post:
When we finally returned to the car, he hesitated, then turned to look at me. “There’s something I do every time I come to Golden Gate Park. I almost hate to mention it, because we’ve been having so much fun and it’s…well, it’s beautiful and important, but it’s also pretty sobering.”
“The AIDS Memorial Grove?” I guessed.
He nodded. “Two people who meant the world to me are memorialized in the Circle of Friends. I always make a point of paying my respects.”
“We have to do that,” I said.
It wasn’t far from the lake, but we chose to drive. TJ parked on the street and we walked up to the grove hand-in-hand. The sun was just beginning to set, and we had the place to ourselves. The ring of redwood trees around the memorial cast long shadows. Nestled between them, the memorial was carved out in concrete and stone. It was surrounded by thick, lush landscaping that seemed to shelter and protect the names within.
A lump formed in my throat as TJ led me to a spot he obviously knew well and knelt down. I knelt with him. Name after name after name radiated out from a central point, like ripples in a pond. He brushed his fingers over letters etched into one of the inner rings and said, “John Robertson was my best friend. He died just two months after his brother David.” He reached out and ran his fingers over another nearby name, and a tear splashed onto the memorial. “When I got out of prison, I moved to San Francisco not knowing a soul. I ended up answering a ‘roommate wanted’ ad on a community bulletin board in the Castro. John and I became best friends almost immediately.
“The whole time I knew him, he was dying of AIDS. It was a different time back then, in the mid-nineties. The disease was a death sentence, not like now. John was considered a long-term survivor, because he’d lived with it for seven years when I met him, but his health was deteriorating fast and he knew it. My God though, the way he embraced every day, every minute! He lived more in the two years I knew him than most people do in eighty. He celebrated anything and everything. He was passionate and joyful, and I was so damn lucky to know him.
“I became close friends with his brother, too. He moved in with us the last six months of his life. John not only had to watch his brother die, he also had to see the fate that awaited him.”
TJ paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “David was skin and bones at the end. His cheeks were hollow, and his eyes were sunken. It was such an effort to speak, and he was in a wheelchair because he was too weak to walk. But he’d still crack jokes, and he’d try to make other people smile. David had this hot pink scarf with gold thread running through it. He’d have me tie it around his head, and then he’d ask me, ‘Do I look fabulous, Trevor James Dean?’ He loved my full name and insisted on using it. I always told him he looked beautiful, and that made him happy. He was wearing his scarf when he died. John and I buried him with it.”
Tears streamed down his face. TJ took another moment before continuing, so quietly, “And then…then the light went out in Johnnie’s eyes. It was like, once his brother was gone, my best friend stopped fighting. He knew death was chasing him, and he quit running.”
TJ swallowed hard and said, “When he caught the flu, we both knew it was the beginning of the end. He hadn’t deteriorated the way his brother did, but he’d always had asthma so his lungs weren’t very strong to begin with. The disease reminded me of a predator, zeroing in on his weakness, his vulnerability. When he caught the flu, he couldn’t recover. His lungs just gave out.
“I remember standing at his bedside in the hospital, watching what was left of my best friend. I knew death was coming for him that night. I felt it. I was holding his hand when he died. One minute he was there, and the next he just wasn’t anymore. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe something dramatic, the way it is in the movies. But there was nothing. He just went away.”
He pushed to his feet, and I went with him, clutching his hand. TJ whispered, “His name was John Aaron Robertson. He was thirty-six years old when he died, and he was kind, and he was gorgeous inside and out, and he was amazing. He loved his friends, and he loved life like no one I’ve ever met before or after. He was way too fucking young to die, and the world got a little colder and grayer and less beautiful when he left it.” TJ stooped down, kissed his fingertips, and pressed them to John’s name. He did the same for David, then stood up and took a deep, shaky breath.
I pulled him into my arms and we held each other for a long time. When we finally let go a little, he rested his forehead against mine and reached up with both hands to brush the tears from my cheeks. He said softly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just wanted to tell their story. I think that’s important. As long as their memory lives on, they’re not gone. Not really.”
*****
This is the AIDS Memorial Grove.
If you're ever in San Francisco, please stop by and pay your respects to the scores of people memorialized in the Grove, including my friend. His name was Jim. He was thirty-six years old when he died, and he was kind, and he was gorgeous inside and out, and he was amazing. He loved his friends, and he loved life like no one I’ve ever met before or after. He was way too fucking young to die, and the world got a little colder and grayer and less beautiful when he left it.
It was something I'd wanted to do for a long time, but I hadn't been able to go there, because it hit too close to home. I lost one of my best friends to complications from the AIDS virus in the mid-nineties. Even though decades have passed, I still feel that loss as if it happened last week. But when I got that email, I knew it was time for me to face this subject.
I'm occasionally moved to tears while writing emotional parts of my books, but I've never cried harder than when I wrote the following scene. This is from Who I Used to Be, book 12 in the Firsts and Forever Series. Later on, a character in the book is diagnosed with HIV. But in this scene, the two main characters, Zachary and TJ, are visiting the AIDS Memorial Grove in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park. The names and a few identifying details have been changed, but this scene is drawn directly from my life. My friend and his brother are memorialized in the Grove. I'll include a few photos of this place, which is absolutely sacred to me, at the end of this post:
When we finally returned to the car, he hesitated, then turned to look at me. “There’s something I do every time I come to Golden Gate Park. I almost hate to mention it, because we’ve been having so much fun and it’s…well, it’s beautiful and important, but it’s also pretty sobering.”
“The AIDS Memorial Grove?” I guessed.
He nodded. “Two people who meant the world to me are memorialized in the Circle of Friends. I always make a point of paying my respects.”
“We have to do that,” I said.
It wasn’t far from the lake, but we chose to drive. TJ parked on the street and we walked up to the grove hand-in-hand. The sun was just beginning to set, and we had the place to ourselves. The ring of redwood trees around the memorial cast long shadows. Nestled between them, the memorial was carved out in concrete and stone. It was surrounded by thick, lush landscaping that seemed to shelter and protect the names within.
A lump formed in my throat as TJ led me to a spot he obviously knew well and knelt down. I knelt with him. Name after name after name radiated out from a central point, like ripples in a pond. He brushed his fingers over letters etched into one of the inner rings and said, “John Robertson was my best friend. He died just two months after his brother David.” He reached out and ran his fingers over another nearby name, and a tear splashed onto the memorial. “When I got out of prison, I moved to San Francisco not knowing a soul. I ended up answering a ‘roommate wanted’ ad on a community bulletin board in the Castro. John and I became best friends almost immediately.
“The whole time I knew him, he was dying of AIDS. It was a different time back then, in the mid-nineties. The disease was a death sentence, not like now. John was considered a long-term survivor, because he’d lived with it for seven years when I met him, but his health was deteriorating fast and he knew it. My God though, the way he embraced every day, every minute! He lived more in the two years I knew him than most people do in eighty. He celebrated anything and everything. He was passionate and joyful, and I was so damn lucky to know him.
“I became close friends with his brother, too. He moved in with us the last six months of his life. John not only had to watch his brother die, he also had to see the fate that awaited him.”
TJ paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “David was skin and bones at the end. His cheeks were hollow, and his eyes were sunken. It was such an effort to speak, and he was in a wheelchair because he was too weak to walk. But he’d still crack jokes, and he’d try to make other people smile. David had this hot pink scarf with gold thread running through it. He’d have me tie it around his head, and then he’d ask me, ‘Do I look fabulous, Trevor James Dean?’ He loved my full name and insisted on using it. I always told him he looked beautiful, and that made him happy. He was wearing his scarf when he died. John and I buried him with it.”
Tears streamed down his face. TJ took another moment before continuing, so quietly, “And then…then the light went out in Johnnie’s eyes. It was like, once his brother was gone, my best friend stopped fighting. He knew death was chasing him, and he quit running.”
TJ swallowed hard and said, “When he caught the flu, we both knew it was the beginning of the end. He hadn’t deteriorated the way his brother did, but he’d always had asthma so his lungs weren’t very strong to begin with. The disease reminded me of a predator, zeroing in on his weakness, his vulnerability. When he caught the flu, he couldn’t recover. His lungs just gave out.
“I remember standing at his bedside in the hospital, watching what was left of my best friend. I knew death was coming for him that night. I felt it. I was holding his hand when he died. One minute he was there, and the next he just wasn’t anymore. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe something dramatic, the way it is in the movies. But there was nothing. He just went away.”
He pushed to his feet, and I went with him, clutching his hand. TJ whispered, “His name was John Aaron Robertson. He was thirty-six years old when he died, and he was kind, and he was gorgeous inside and out, and he was amazing. He loved his friends, and he loved life like no one I’ve ever met before or after. He was way too fucking young to die, and the world got a little colder and grayer and less beautiful when he left it.” TJ stooped down, kissed his fingertips, and pressed them to John’s name. He did the same for David, then stood up and took a deep, shaky breath.
I pulled him into my arms and we held each other for a long time. When we finally let go a little, he rested his forehead against mine and reached up with both hands to brush the tears from my cheeks. He said softly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just wanted to tell their story. I think that’s important. As long as their memory lives on, they’re not gone. Not really.”
*****
This is the AIDS Memorial Grove.
If you're ever in San Francisco, please stop by and pay your respects to the scores of people memorialized in the Grove, including my friend. His name was Jim. He was thirty-six years old when he died, and he was kind, and he was gorgeous inside and out, and he was amazing. He loved his friends, and he loved life like no one I’ve ever met before or after. He was way too fucking young to die, and the world got a little colder and grayer and less beautiful when he left it.
August 17, 2017
Throwback Thursday: Zachary and TJ's Fantastic Beasts
Many of my Firsts and Forever couples hold a special place in my heart, including Zachary and TJ, the main characters in Who I Used to Be, book 12 in the series.
Love found them when they least expected it, and I thought the way they supported each other was beautiful. TJ was totally there for Zachary when he hit rock bottom, and toward the end of the book, they changed places. Zachary provided support to TJ when he needed it most, showing not only how strong they were as a couple, but how far Zachary had come over the course of his story.
I also loved the fantastic wind-up toys TJ taught Zachary to make. When I was writing Who I Used to Be, the upcycled animals and fantasy creatures were strictly a product of my imagination. But after the book came out, readers started sending me photos of what they imagined the wind-up toys to look like. More often than not, the work they sent me was that of artist Sue Beatrice of All Natural Arts, as pictured here:
I don't think all of Ms. Beatice's artworks are wind-ups, but the overall look, especially that dragon in the bottom photo, is very much what I pictured when I was imagining what TJ and Zachary might create. As I've mentioned before, I have a great deal of respect and admiration for people in the arts, which is why write so many artists. I also think there's something magical about starting with what others consider junk and turning it into art (as in the the scrap metal that Skye works with, or the obsolete electronics TJ scavenges for parts).
Next week, I'll be talking about another, very personal aspect of Who I Used to Be. Thanks for reading!
Love found them when they least expected it, and I thought the way they supported each other was beautiful. TJ was totally there for Zachary when he hit rock bottom, and toward the end of the book, they changed places. Zachary provided support to TJ when he needed it most, showing not only how strong they were as a couple, but how far Zachary had come over the course of his story.
I also loved the fantastic wind-up toys TJ taught Zachary to make. When I was writing Who I Used to Be, the upcycled animals and fantasy creatures were strictly a product of my imagination. But after the book came out, readers started sending me photos of what they imagined the wind-up toys to look like. More often than not, the work they sent me was that of artist Sue Beatrice of All Natural Arts, as pictured here:
I don't think all of Ms. Beatice's artworks are wind-ups, but the overall look, especially that dragon in the bottom photo, is very much what I pictured when I was imagining what TJ and Zachary might create. As I've mentioned before, I have a great deal of respect and admiration for people in the arts, which is why write so many artists. I also think there's something magical about starting with what others consider junk and turning it into art (as in the the scrap metal that Skye works with, or the obsolete electronics TJ scavenges for parts).
Next week, I'll be talking about another, very personal aspect of Who I Used to Be. Thanks for reading!
August 10, 2017
Throwback Thursday: The Big Guy in the Background
I've been hard at work on Quinn's story. It's called Take a Chance on Me, and I'm hoping to have it out by late September. As you probably recall, we met River's free-spirited roommate Quinn for the first time in All I Ever Wanted, the most recent book in the series, which came out in June.
Quinn's love interest, a police officer named Duke, had a small role in the last book as Cole's uptight roommate, but that wasn't the first time we've met him. He works with Finn Nolan, and as you may recall, Finn met and fell in love with Chance in Coming Home (book 9 in the Firsts and Forever Series).
Here's a quick scene with Duke from Coming Home, when Chance goes to the police station to return Finn's money before leaving town:
I went up to the huge, muscle-bound police officer with a crew cut behind the front counter and put the brown envelope in front of him as I said, “Could you please make sure Finn Nolan gets that? It’s important.”
He frowned a little as he got to his feet and said in a deep voice, “I can’t accept that for security reasons.” God lord, the guy had to be about six-eight.
“Oh! Shit, I didn’t think of that. Look, it’s not, like, anything harmful. That’s just something that belongs to him and I need to give it back.” I pulled out my wallet and showed him my driver’s license. “Here’s my I.D. If I was a terrorist or something, I wouldn’t show that to you. Please, just give the envelope to Finn. It’s really important.”
The guy glanced at my I.D. and looked surprised. “Your name’s Chance.”
“Yeah.”
“Finn mentioned you.”
Now it was my turn to look surprised. “He did?”
The cop nodded as I put away my wallet. “I don’t think he meant to. I’m not always behind a desk, usually he and I patrol together. He was smiling about something and staring out the window of the squad car a couple weeks ago. Looked like he was a million miles away. When I asked what he was so happy about, he said, ‘Chance.’ I asked who that was and he got really flustered and changed the subject. What are you to him?”
“A friend.”
The big officer knit his brows and studied me for a moment. Finally he asked, “What’s in the envelope?”
“It’s personal.”
He picked it up and weighed it in his hands, then said, “There’s a lot of cash in there.”
I hadn’t been expecting that, and no way was I going to tell him the envelope held twenty-two thousand dollars. There was just no explaining that much money. Instead I thought quickly and said, “You’re right. That’s nearly eight hundred dollars in small bills. Finn loaned me some money and I’m paying him back. You can see why I didn’t want to put it in the mail.”
The cop considered that, still studying me carefully, and asked, “What was the loan for?”
“A car repair. My Honda’s older than I am. It needed a whole new transmission.” I was completely bullshitting, but he seemed to buy it.
After another moment, he picked up the phone and hit a button, then spoke into it, saying, “Come up to the front desk for a minute.” He hung up without waiting for a reply and told me, “Most people would have written a check. It’s not a good idea to carry a bunch of cash around.”
“You’re right.”
“Why aren’t you giving this back to him in person?”
“Because I’m heading out of town and won’t see him again before I go.” I actually got to tell the truth that time.
Someone came up behind the cop, and a familiar voice said, “We talked about this, Duke. Don’t just call people and then hang up without telling them why they’re being summoned. I mean, I don’t care, but it ticks off our coworkers.”
“Sorry,” the big cop said, turning and putting the envelope in Finn’s hands. “Your friend’s here. He wanted to give you that.”
Finn looked shocked when the cop moved aside and he spotted me, but he replaced it a moment later with a halfway decent poker face. “Thanks, Duke. I’m going to walk my friend out. I’ll be right back.”
*****
But believe it or not, Duke goes back even farther than that in the Firsts and Forever Series! Here he is in a quick scene from Against the Wall, book 7. Christian is visiting his love interest Shea at the same police station on Christmas, and he brought a big box of Chinese food for all the officers on duty:
I popped a shrimp in my mouth before asking, “Is it always this quiet, or do the bad guys take time off at Christmas?”
“It comes and goes in waves. We were really busy earlier, and sadly, we’ll be extremely busy tonight.”
“How do you know?”
“It happens every year. Domestic violence always increases on holidays.”
“Wow, that’s terrible. Why is that, do you suppose?”
“A lot of reasons. The holidays are emotionally draining, for one thing. There’s a lot of drinking and plenty of stress, which just adds to the mix. Plus, people are home at the holidays, so there’s simply more opportunity for an incident to occur.”
“Wow, Christmas through the eyes of a police officer. Not terribly cheery, is it?”
“Cheery isn’t a word I’d usually use to describe my job.”
A huge cop with a crew cut came up to us just then and put down a paper plate with homemade sugar cookies. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said in a deep voice.
“Christian.”
“I’m Duke. Thanks for bringing in that feast, it beat the hell out of the sandwich I’d packed for myself. Thought you guys might like some cookies, I made ‘em myself.”
“Thanks,” I said. “They look really good.”
“I called my mom for her recipe, but somehow they don’t taste as good as hers. Anyway, Merry Christmas and thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.”
When Duke left, Shea smiled at me. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard him say willingly. Normally, you can barely get more than a one-word answer out of him.”
“You should have plied him with Chinese food a lot sooner.”
“Apparently. Oh, and that’s one of the good aspects of my job, by the way.”
“Getting to work with giant men who bake cookies in the shape of tiny Christmas trees?”
Shea smiled at me. “The sense of camaraderie. Granted, everyone’s a bit cranky today because they’d rather be home, but still.”
*****
It delights me to no end that this minor character, the big guy in the background, basically, is getting his turn in the spotlight! I always thought it'd be fun to develop his character and find out what makes the giant, baking cop tick, and now I have my chance! I initially paired straight-laced Duke with wild child Quinn because I thought the odd couple dynamic would be fun, but they've been surprising me in the best possible way.
I think Quinn himself says it best in these lines from the upcoming book: "At first, I’d only seen our differences. But we were the same, in so many ways. Here, finally, was someone who might truly understand me. By the same token, I thought I understood him in a way few people could."
I'm looking forward to getting this book into your hands, so you too can discover how two men who seem vastly different find a kindred spirit in the most unlikely place. <3
Quinn's love interest, a police officer named Duke, had a small role in the last book as Cole's uptight roommate, but that wasn't the first time we've met him. He works with Finn Nolan, and as you may recall, Finn met and fell in love with Chance in Coming Home (book 9 in the Firsts and Forever Series).
Here's a quick scene with Duke from Coming Home, when Chance goes to the police station to return Finn's money before leaving town:
I went up to the huge, muscle-bound police officer with a crew cut behind the front counter and put the brown envelope in front of him as I said, “Could you please make sure Finn Nolan gets that? It’s important.”
He frowned a little as he got to his feet and said in a deep voice, “I can’t accept that for security reasons.” God lord, the guy had to be about six-eight.
“Oh! Shit, I didn’t think of that. Look, it’s not, like, anything harmful. That’s just something that belongs to him and I need to give it back.” I pulled out my wallet and showed him my driver’s license. “Here’s my I.D. If I was a terrorist or something, I wouldn’t show that to you. Please, just give the envelope to Finn. It’s really important.”
The guy glanced at my I.D. and looked surprised. “Your name’s Chance.”
“Yeah.”
“Finn mentioned you.”
Now it was my turn to look surprised. “He did?”
The cop nodded as I put away my wallet. “I don’t think he meant to. I’m not always behind a desk, usually he and I patrol together. He was smiling about something and staring out the window of the squad car a couple weeks ago. Looked like he was a million miles away. When I asked what he was so happy about, he said, ‘Chance.’ I asked who that was and he got really flustered and changed the subject. What are you to him?”
“A friend.”
The big officer knit his brows and studied me for a moment. Finally he asked, “What’s in the envelope?”
“It’s personal.”
He picked it up and weighed it in his hands, then said, “There’s a lot of cash in there.”
I hadn’t been expecting that, and no way was I going to tell him the envelope held twenty-two thousand dollars. There was just no explaining that much money. Instead I thought quickly and said, “You’re right. That’s nearly eight hundred dollars in small bills. Finn loaned me some money and I’m paying him back. You can see why I didn’t want to put it in the mail.”
The cop considered that, still studying me carefully, and asked, “What was the loan for?”
“A car repair. My Honda’s older than I am. It needed a whole new transmission.” I was completely bullshitting, but he seemed to buy it.
After another moment, he picked up the phone and hit a button, then spoke into it, saying, “Come up to the front desk for a minute.” He hung up without waiting for a reply and told me, “Most people would have written a check. It’s not a good idea to carry a bunch of cash around.”
“You’re right.”
“Why aren’t you giving this back to him in person?”
“Because I’m heading out of town and won’t see him again before I go.” I actually got to tell the truth that time.
Someone came up behind the cop, and a familiar voice said, “We talked about this, Duke. Don’t just call people and then hang up without telling them why they’re being summoned. I mean, I don’t care, but it ticks off our coworkers.”
“Sorry,” the big cop said, turning and putting the envelope in Finn’s hands. “Your friend’s here. He wanted to give you that.”
Finn looked shocked when the cop moved aside and he spotted me, but he replaced it a moment later with a halfway decent poker face. “Thanks, Duke. I’m going to walk my friend out. I’ll be right back.”
*****
But believe it or not, Duke goes back even farther than that in the Firsts and Forever Series! Here he is in a quick scene from Against the Wall, book 7. Christian is visiting his love interest Shea at the same police station on Christmas, and he brought a big box of Chinese food for all the officers on duty:
I popped a shrimp in my mouth before asking, “Is it always this quiet, or do the bad guys take time off at Christmas?”
“It comes and goes in waves. We were really busy earlier, and sadly, we’ll be extremely busy tonight.”
“How do you know?”
“It happens every year. Domestic violence always increases on holidays.”
“Wow, that’s terrible. Why is that, do you suppose?”
“A lot of reasons. The holidays are emotionally draining, for one thing. There’s a lot of drinking and plenty of stress, which just adds to the mix. Plus, people are home at the holidays, so there’s simply more opportunity for an incident to occur.”
“Wow, Christmas through the eyes of a police officer. Not terribly cheery, is it?”
“Cheery isn’t a word I’d usually use to describe my job.”
A huge cop with a crew cut came up to us just then and put down a paper plate with homemade sugar cookies. “I didn’t catch your name,” he said in a deep voice.
“Christian.”
“I’m Duke. Thanks for bringing in that feast, it beat the hell out of the sandwich I’d packed for myself. Thought you guys might like some cookies, I made ‘em myself.”
“Thanks,” I said. “They look really good.”
“I called my mom for her recipe, but somehow they don’t taste as good as hers. Anyway, Merry Christmas and thanks again.”
“You’re welcome.”
When Duke left, Shea smiled at me. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard him say willingly. Normally, you can barely get more than a one-word answer out of him.”
“You should have plied him with Chinese food a lot sooner.”
“Apparently. Oh, and that’s one of the good aspects of my job, by the way.”
“Getting to work with giant men who bake cookies in the shape of tiny Christmas trees?”
Shea smiled at me. “The sense of camaraderie. Granted, everyone’s a bit cranky today because they’d rather be home, but still.”
*****
It delights me to no end that this minor character, the big guy in the background, basically, is getting his turn in the spotlight! I always thought it'd be fun to develop his character and find out what makes the giant, baking cop tick, and now I have my chance! I initially paired straight-laced Duke with wild child Quinn because I thought the odd couple dynamic would be fun, but they've been surprising me in the best possible way.
I think Quinn himself says it best in these lines from the upcoming book: "At first, I’d only seen our differences. But we were the same, in so many ways. Here, finally, was someone who might truly understand me. By the same token, I thought I understood him in a way few people could."
I'm looking forward to getting this book into your hands, so you too can discover how two men who seem vastly different find a kindred spirit in the most unlikely place. <3
August 3, 2017
Throwback Thursday: When Nico Met Luca
Nico Dombruso is the main character in All I Believe, book 10 in the Firsts and Forever Series. Over the course of the story, he falls in love with art dealer Luca Caruso, who he meets while on vacation in Sicily. But it turns out the two men have met before. In fact, they were each other's first kiss back when they were teens, and neither has ever been able to forget his "boy at the fountain".
In the following scene from All I Believe, Nico has just returned to Sicily on a vacation with his grandmother, and he's looking out at the fountain from his hotel room in the middle of the night:
I leaned on the balcony’s iron railing and stared at the fountain for a while. Then on impulse, I checked my pocket for my room key and left the suite. The hotel was perfectly still. Downstairs, the lone clerk behind the front desk glanced at me before turning his attention back to a computer screen. I cut through the lobby, pushed open the heavy door and crossed the worn cobblestones to the fountain.
It had seemed huge when I was younger, and it really was quite large. Disproportionately so, actually, for that not particularly grand piazza. The round base was easily twenty-five feet in diameter. In its center, three bigger-than-life horses bucked and reared up on their hind legs, ridden by angels with outstretched wings. I sat on the wide edge of the fountain and ran my hand over it. The stone was smooth and cool to the touch.
All of it was familiar: the smell of the sea and of the baking bread in the shop just a few feet away, the light breeze on my skin, the sound of the water splashing in the fountain. It was exactly as it had been on another August night, years ago.
I’d been fourteen. My parents had talked about bringing my brother and sister and me to Viladembursa for years, since we had a lot of relatives there and a family history that went back to the town’s founding. There was always some reason the trip got postponed. Often it was because of my dad’s job, which didn’t give him much time off. But that summer, we’d finally made it. I didn’t know it would be our last vacation as a family at the time.
My fourteenth summer was when everything changed. That was when Dad stopped living with us. It was when I heard my mom cry for the first time, and my brother started getting in trouble at school and eventually was sent to live with relatives in New York. It was when my sister started caring about her friends far more than her family and turned into someone I barely recognized. But our trip to Sicily happened just before all of that, and had come to symbolize the end of my childhood. It also encompassed my most precious memory.
I’d gotten up far too early on the last day of our family vacation, the day we were going to fly home to Marin County. Dawn was just beginning to color the horizon as I slipped out of my family’s suite and went down to the fountain. I wanted to say goodbye to the stone horses. I had gotten attached to them during my two weeks in Viladembursa. I was weird like that.
I closed my eyes and remembered that morning twelve years ago. It felt exactly like this one, the same sounds and smells, the same breeze stirring my hair. I’d replayed it a thousand times and did it again as I sat in the town square, watching it like a movie in my mind’s eye:
“What exactly are you doing?” The conversation had begun in Italian, but when I replayed it, I heard it in English, a trick of time and memory.
I’d jumped at the voice behind me, and turned to face a tall, thin, good-looking boy with thick black hair and a quick smile that showed off a chipped front tooth. “Nothing,” I answered automatically, feeling a blush warming my cheeks.
“You were talking to someone, but no one’s here.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Were you talking to the angels in the fountain, and if so, do they answer?”
“Of course not,” I’d said indignantly. “I was talking to the horses.”
Instead of laughing at me as I’d expected, the boy just asked, “Why?”
“Because I like them, and after today it’ll be a long time before I see them again.”
“So you’ve come to say goodbye.” I nodded and the boy grew serious. “Where are you going?”
“Home to California.”
He switched to perfect English at that point and said, “Oh. You’re American.”
I also switched to English. “Yeah. You too?”
He shrugged, which made one of the straps on his oversized tank top slip off his shoulder. I noticed three fairly prominent freckles in perfect alignment on his left collarbone, dark against his olive skin. “I’m not anything. I’m a citizen of the world.”
“What does that mean?”
“Mom and I travel around a lot. No place is really home. Or everyplace is, depending on how you look at it.”
“It’s too bad I’m leaving.”
His expression grew thoughtful, and I looked up into his eyes. They were light, but I couldn’t quite make out the color in the soft illumination from the street lamps that ringed the plaza. “Don’t you want to go home?”
I’d pushed my glasses further up the bridge of my nose and said, “I did. But, well, you seem like a nice guy and I have a feeling I would have liked getting to know you.”
“Based on what?”
“The fact that you didn’t laugh at me for talking to stone horses. Any guy that doesn’t make fun of me for something like that is clearly friend material.”
“But if you stayed, I wouldn’t want to be your friend.”
“Oh.” I stepped back awkwardly and looked at the cobblestones.
He went right along with me and tilted my chin up with a gentle touch until I was looking at him again. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I’d want to be more.” As I tried to make sense of that, the boy cleared his throat and broke eye contact. When he looked at me again, he asked, “Would you find it weird if a guy told you you’re beautiful?”
“Yes.”
Now it was his turn to step back, releasing my chin and dropping his hand to his side. “Sorry,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed.
“I wouldn’t think it was weird because a guy said it,” I quickly amended. “I’d think it was weird if anyone said that about me.”
He looked at me through thick lashes, and a little smile returned to his full lips. “You don’t think you’re beautiful?”
“Dude, what planet are you from that you’d think that, Krypton?”
The boy chuckled and lightly traced the frame of my thick, black glasses. “Clearly you’re the one from Krypton, Clark Kent.” He took them off and placed them beside us on the edge of the fountain. “Can you see without those?”
“Only close up. Everything more than a foot away is a blur.”
He stepped forward, so that our bodies were only a few inches apart. “Can you see me, Clark?”
I nodded and said, “If I’m Clark Kent, then who are you?”
“I always fancied myself as a Bruce Wayne type.” A slight British accent slipped in when he said that.
“Wow, modest,” I said with a big grin. “Rich, handsome, brilliant. Is that how you’d describe yourself?”
“Well, obviously!” He beamed at me and held his thin arms out to the sides, as if to display his worn out tank top, cut-off jeans and very Italian leather sandals.
“You’re a master of disguise, Bruce,” I told him. “No one will suspect you’re a billionaire playboy in that ensemble.”
“Barefoot boys in pajamas shouldn’t judge other people by their clothes,” he said, his eyes sparkling. I looked down at my white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants and said, “I totally forgot I was wearing this.”
“I like it. Makes you look a little like you just escaped from the nut house. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and all that. It’s a good look for you.”
“First you call me Superman, then you call me a mental patient. You have an interesting approach to making conversation.”
I started to reach for my glasses, but he caught my hand and held on to it. “No, don’t. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s easier to see your eyes if you leave your glasses off. What color are they? I can only tell that they’re dark.”
“They’re brown,” I told him. “Like mud.”
“I bet they’re gorgeous and decidedly un-mud-like. You’ll have to stay with me until the sun comes up, so you can prove me right.”
I grinned again and said, “I have no idea what to make of you, Bruce. That sounds like such a line. I’d almost think you were hitting on me.”
“Almost? The fact that I’m holding your hand in the middle of the town square doesn’t make that a definitely?”
“You’re not really holding my hand, you’re just trying to keep me from my glasses.” I started to reach for them with my other hand, but he caught that too and held it.
“I’m doing both simultaneously.”
“I’ll take them off again when the sun comes up, if you’re actually interested in seeing my eye color.”“That’s not the only reason I want you to leave them off. As long as you’re not wearing them, I’m literally the only thing you can see, right?” When I nodded, he said, “I like that. I like being your whole world.”
I chuckled embarrassedly. “You’re an odd person, Bruce.”
“I know.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot and said, “Since you don’t think it’s odd that a guy called you beautiful and seem to have no problem with him holding your hand, how would you feel about him kissing you?”
My heart leapt at that, and I looked around automatically. I couldn’t actually see the plaza, but I knew we were all alone. “Is that, um, I mean, are you planning on that?” I stammered, stalling for time as my thoughts and emotions ricocheted wildly. I’d always been pretty sure I was gay, but I’d never acted on it. I’d gotten the impression it was something I was supposed to keep secret, but here was this guy, talking about kissing me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Only if I think it won’t result in me getting punched in the face.” He tried to make it sound like a joke, but obviously it held some real concern.
“It wouldn’t,” I managed as my heart raced. The conversation felt a bit surreal. I’d wondered at the time if I was dreaming. In the years afterwards, I wondered how much of it I misremembered as time passed.
The words might have been distorted and embellished over time, but there were two things I remembered with absolute clarity: the boy, and that kiss. As the sunrise colored the sky pink and orange, he leaned in and brushed his lips to mine, gently, tentatively. When I responded, he kissed me with a little more confidence as my heart pounded. He cupped my face between his palms, and my hands automatically went to his waist, holding on to him as if trying to ground myself.
It was my first kiss, and it was also the moment I knew with absolute, unshakable certainty that I was gay. It felt so right, so utterly perfect, that it left no room for doubt. The kiss went on for a long time, both of us melting into each other. It might have lasted for hours if we hadn’t been startled by the baker, who opened the side door of his shop and pushed a big, clanking metal rack out onto the cobblestones.
I stepped back quickly and grabbed my glasses, pushing them in place as a delivery truck bounced and rattled into the square. The boy stepped back too, blushing shyly. When he looked at me, I said softly, “They’re green. I’d wondered what color your eyes were.”
“Yours look like a wildfire, seen through a bottle of Coke. I knew they weren’t mud-colored.”
I chuckled at that description. We stood there awkwardly for a few moments, and then I murmured, “I have to go. My family’s probably awake by now and they’ll wonder where I am.”
“Not yet. Just five more minutes, please?”
“I really should get back.”
He grinned mischievously and took my hand. “You can’t go yet. You haven’t said goodbye properly.”
“Goodbye. It was great meeting you.”
“Not to me. To them,” he said, tilting his head toward the fountain.
I burst out laughing when he jumped into the water and started to drag me in with him. As I exclaimed, “What are you doing? We’re going to get in trouble,” I leaned back and dug my heels in.
“Totally worth it. Come say goodbye to the celestial rodeo.”
“It does look like a rodeo! I can’t believe I never saw that before!” He scooped me up in his arms, carried me into the fountain and put me down beside one of the horses while I flailed and protested.
“Oh my God, the water’s freezing!” I shouted as it soaked into my pajama pants.
“You’ll get used to it after a minute,” he said. “Now tell me, what’s this horse’s name?”
I forgot the cold and looked up at the bucking bronco. “Zeke.”
The boy burst out laughing. “Why Zeke?”
“I dunno. Seemed like a rodeo name. The other two are Clem and Billy Joe Bob.”
“You’ve never been to a rodeo, have you?”
“Hell no. Have you?”
“I’ve been to a bullfight,” he said. “It’s kind of similar.”
“It’s not at all!” While we debated the parallels between bullfighting and rodeos, I waded around the fountain to each of the three huge horses and gave them a hug. I then splashed over to the side of the fountain and crawled over the wide ledge. When I looked back at my companion, he was leaning against one of the horses with his arm around its hind leg. I grinned and said, “Aren’t you coming out?”
“In a minute.”
“I really have to go. I don’t want my mom to worry if she wakes up and sees I’m not there.”
“I know.”
I hesitated and said, “I hate to say goodbye.”
“This isn’t goodbye, it’s just so long for now. I don’t know when or where, but I’ll see you again someday, Clark.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He smiled at me and said, “Oh, I am. I’m always right about everything. You and I are meant to be, I’m sure of it.”
“Think so?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. Who else besides Bruce Wayne would be good enough for Clark Kent?”
*****
We got a brief check-in with Nico in Armor, the novella I published earlier this year, and he and Luca will both be back in a supporting role in Mike Dombruso's book, which I'll be writing after Take a Chance on Me. Quinn's book is coming right along, by the way, and I hope to publish it in late September. After that, it's time to turn the focus on the Dombruso family, with Nico and Luca as well as Gianni and Zan from Belonging all coming back for a substantial check-in.
In the following scene from All I Believe, Nico has just returned to Sicily on a vacation with his grandmother, and he's looking out at the fountain from his hotel room in the middle of the night:
I leaned on the balcony’s iron railing and stared at the fountain for a while. Then on impulse, I checked my pocket for my room key and left the suite. The hotel was perfectly still. Downstairs, the lone clerk behind the front desk glanced at me before turning his attention back to a computer screen. I cut through the lobby, pushed open the heavy door and crossed the worn cobblestones to the fountain.
It had seemed huge when I was younger, and it really was quite large. Disproportionately so, actually, for that not particularly grand piazza. The round base was easily twenty-five feet in diameter. In its center, three bigger-than-life horses bucked and reared up on their hind legs, ridden by angels with outstretched wings. I sat on the wide edge of the fountain and ran my hand over it. The stone was smooth and cool to the touch.
All of it was familiar: the smell of the sea and of the baking bread in the shop just a few feet away, the light breeze on my skin, the sound of the water splashing in the fountain. It was exactly as it had been on another August night, years ago.
I’d been fourteen. My parents had talked about bringing my brother and sister and me to Viladembursa for years, since we had a lot of relatives there and a family history that went back to the town’s founding. There was always some reason the trip got postponed. Often it was because of my dad’s job, which didn’t give him much time off. But that summer, we’d finally made it. I didn’t know it would be our last vacation as a family at the time.
My fourteenth summer was when everything changed. That was when Dad stopped living with us. It was when I heard my mom cry for the first time, and my brother started getting in trouble at school and eventually was sent to live with relatives in New York. It was when my sister started caring about her friends far more than her family and turned into someone I barely recognized. But our trip to Sicily happened just before all of that, and had come to symbolize the end of my childhood. It also encompassed my most precious memory.
I’d gotten up far too early on the last day of our family vacation, the day we were going to fly home to Marin County. Dawn was just beginning to color the horizon as I slipped out of my family’s suite and went down to the fountain. I wanted to say goodbye to the stone horses. I had gotten attached to them during my two weeks in Viladembursa. I was weird like that.
I closed my eyes and remembered that morning twelve years ago. It felt exactly like this one, the same sounds and smells, the same breeze stirring my hair. I’d replayed it a thousand times and did it again as I sat in the town square, watching it like a movie in my mind’s eye:
“What exactly are you doing?” The conversation had begun in Italian, but when I replayed it, I heard it in English, a trick of time and memory.
I’d jumped at the voice behind me, and turned to face a tall, thin, good-looking boy with thick black hair and a quick smile that showed off a chipped front tooth. “Nothing,” I answered automatically, feeling a blush warming my cheeks.
“You were talking to someone, but no one’s here.”
“No I wasn’t.”
“Were you talking to the angels in the fountain, and if so, do they answer?”
“Of course not,” I’d said indignantly. “I was talking to the horses.”
Instead of laughing at me as I’d expected, the boy just asked, “Why?”
“Because I like them, and after today it’ll be a long time before I see them again.”
“So you’ve come to say goodbye.” I nodded and the boy grew serious. “Where are you going?”
“Home to California.”
He switched to perfect English at that point and said, “Oh. You’re American.”
I also switched to English. “Yeah. You too?”
He shrugged, which made one of the straps on his oversized tank top slip off his shoulder. I noticed three fairly prominent freckles in perfect alignment on his left collarbone, dark against his olive skin. “I’m not anything. I’m a citizen of the world.”
“What does that mean?”
“Mom and I travel around a lot. No place is really home. Or everyplace is, depending on how you look at it.”
“It’s too bad I’m leaving.”
His expression grew thoughtful, and I looked up into his eyes. They were light, but I couldn’t quite make out the color in the soft illumination from the street lamps that ringed the plaza. “Don’t you want to go home?”
I’d pushed my glasses further up the bridge of my nose and said, “I did. But, well, you seem like a nice guy and I have a feeling I would have liked getting to know you.”
“Based on what?”
“The fact that you didn’t laugh at me for talking to stone horses. Any guy that doesn’t make fun of me for something like that is clearly friend material.”
“But if you stayed, I wouldn’t want to be your friend.”
“Oh.” I stepped back awkwardly and looked at the cobblestones.
He went right along with me and tilted my chin up with a gentle touch until I was looking at him again. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I’d want to be more.” As I tried to make sense of that, the boy cleared his throat and broke eye contact. When he looked at me again, he asked, “Would you find it weird if a guy told you you’re beautiful?”
“Yes.”
Now it was his turn to step back, releasing my chin and dropping his hand to his side. “Sorry,” he mumbled, clearly embarrassed.
“I wouldn’t think it was weird because a guy said it,” I quickly amended. “I’d think it was weird if anyone said that about me.”
He looked at me through thick lashes, and a little smile returned to his full lips. “You don’t think you’re beautiful?”
“Dude, what planet are you from that you’d think that, Krypton?”
The boy chuckled and lightly traced the frame of my thick, black glasses. “Clearly you’re the one from Krypton, Clark Kent.” He took them off and placed them beside us on the edge of the fountain. “Can you see without those?”
“Only close up. Everything more than a foot away is a blur.”
He stepped forward, so that our bodies were only a few inches apart. “Can you see me, Clark?”
I nodded and said, “If I’m Clark Kent, then who are you?”
“I always fancied myself as a Bruce Wayne type.” A slight British accent slipped in when he said that.
“Wow, modest,” I said with a big grin. “Rich, handsome, brilliant. Is that how you’d describe yourself?”
“Well, obviously!” He beamed at me and held his thin arms out to the sides, as if to display his worn out tank top, cut-off jeans and very Italian leather sandals.
“You’re a master of disguise, Bruce,” I told him. “No one will suspect you’re a billionaire playboy in that ensemble.”
“Barefoot boys in pajamas shouldn’t judge other people by their clothes,” he said, his eyes sparkling. I looked down at my white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants and said, “I totally forgot I was wearing this.”
“I like it. Makes you look a little like you just escaped from the nut house. One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest and all that. It’s a good look for you.”
“First you call me Superman, then you call me a mental patient. You have an interesting approach to making conversation.”
I started to reach for my glasses, but he caught my hand and held on to it. “No, don’t. Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s easier to see your eyes if you leave your glasses off. What color are they? I can only tell that they’re dark.”
“They’re brown,” I told him. “Like mud.”
“I bet they’re gorgeous and decidedly un-mud-like. You’ll have to stay with me until the sun comes up, so you can prove me right.”
I grinned again and said, “I have no idea what to make of you, Bruce. That sounds like such a line. I’d almost think you were hitting on me.”
“Almost? The fact that I’m holding your hand in the middle of the town square doesn’t make that a definitely?”
“You’re not really holding my hand, you’re just trying to keep me from my glasses.” I started to reach for them with my other hand, but he caught that too and held it.
“I’m doing both simultaneously.”
“I’ll take them off again when the sun comes up, if you’re actually interested in seeing my eye color.”“That’s not the only reason I want you to leave them off. As long as you’re not wearing them, I’m literally the only thing you can see, right?” When I nodded, he said, “I like that. I like being your whole world.”
I chuckled embarrassedly. “You’re an odd person, Bruce.”
“I know.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot and said, “Since you don’t think it’s odd that a guy called you beautiful and seem to have no problem with him holding your hand, how would you feel about him kissing you?”
My heart leapt at that, and I looked around automatically. I couldn’t actually see the plaza, but I knew we were all alone. “Is that, um, I mean, are you planning on that?” I stammered, stalling for time as my thoughts and emotions ricocheted wildly. I’d always been pretty sure I was gay, but I’d never acted on it. I’d gotten the impression it was something I was supposed to keep secret, but here was this guy, talking about kissing me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Only if I think it won’t result in me getting punched in the face.” He tried to make it sound like a joke, but obviously it held some real concern.
“It wouldn’t,” I managed as my heart raced. The conversation felt a bit surreal. I’d wondered at the time if I was dreaming. In the years afterwards, I wondered how much of it I misremembered as time passed.
The words might have been distorted and embellished over time, but there were two things I remembered with absolute clarity: the boy, and that kiss. As the sunrise colored the sky pink and orange, he leaned in and brushed his lips to mine, gently, tentatively. When I responded, he kissed me with a little more confidence as my heart pounded. He cupped my face between his palms, and my hands automatically went to his waist, holding on to him as if trying to ground myself.
It was my first kiss, and it was also the moment I knew with absolute, unshakable certainty that I was gay. It felt so right, so utterly perfect, that it left no room for doubt. The kiss went on for a long time, both of us melting into each other. It might have lasted for hours if we hadn’t been startled by the baker, who opened the side door of his shop and pushed a big, clanking metal rack out onto the cobblestones.
I stepped back quickly and grabbed my glasses, pushing them in place as a delivery truck bounced and rattled into the square. The boy stepped back too, blushing shyly. When he looked at me, I said softly, “They’re green. I’d wondered what color your eyes were.”
“Yours look like a wildfire, seen through a bottle of Coke. I knew they weren’t mud-colored.”
I chuckled at that description. We stood there awkwardly for a few moments, and then I murmured, “I have to go. My family’s probably awake by now and they’ll wonder where I am.”
“Not yet. Just five more minutes, please?”
“I really should get back.”
He grinned mischievously and took my hand. “You can’t go yet. You haven’t said goodbye properly.”
“Goodbye. It was great meeting you.”
“Not to me. To them,” he said, tilting his head toward the fountain.
I burst out laughing when he jumped into the water and started to drag me in with him. As I exclaimed, “What are you doing? We’re going to get in trouble,” I leaned back and dug my heels in.
“Totally worth it. Come say goodbye to the celestial rodeo.”
“It does look like a rodeo! I can’t believe I never saw that before!” He scooped me up in his arms, carried me into the fountain and put me down beside one of the horses while I flailed and protested.
“Oh my God, the water’s freezing!” I shouted as it soaked into my pajama pants.
“You’ll get used to it after a minute,” he said. “Now tell me, what’s this horse’s name?”
I forgot the cold and looked up at the bucking bronco. “Zeke.”
The boy burst out laughing. “Why Zeke?”
“I dunno. Seemed like a rodeo name. The other two are Clem and Billy Joe Bob.”
“You’ve never been to a rodeo, have you?”
“Hell no. Have you?”
“I’ve been to a bullfight,” he said. “It’s kind of similar.”
“It’s not at all!” While we debated the parallels between bullfighting and rodeos, I waded around the fountain to each of the three huge horses and gave them a hug. I then splashed over to the side of the fountain and crawled over the wide ledge. When I looked back at my companion, he was leaning against one of the horses with his arm around its hind leg. I grinned and said, “Aren’t you coming out?”
“In a minute.”
“I really have to go. I don’t want my mom to worry if she wakes up and sees I’m not there.”
“I know.”
I hesitated and said, “I hate to say goodbye.”
“This isn’t goodbye, it’s just so long for now. I don’t know when or where, but I’ll see you again someday, Clark.”
“I hope you’re right.”
He smiled at me and said, “Oh, I am. I’m always right about everything. You and I are meant to be, I’m sure of it.”
“Think so?”
He nodded. “Absolutely. Who else besides Bruce Wayne would be good enough for Clark Kent?”
*****
We got a brief check-in with Nico in Armor, the novella I published earlier this year, and he and Luca will both be back in a supporting role in Mike Dombruso's book, which I'll be writing after Take a Chance on Me. Quinn's book is coming right along, by the way, and I hope to publish it in late September. After that, it's time to turn the focus on the Dombruso family, with Nico and Luca as well as Gianni and Zan from Belonging all coming back for a substantial check-in.
August 2, 2017
Facebook Group
I have a fun little group on Facebook for readers of my Firsts & Forever Series, and you're welcome to join us! You can find the group here.
July 27, 2017
Throwback Thursday: Felons in Love
I must confess, I'm a little bit infatuated with Andreo and Constantino. We first met them in All I Believe, and I knew right away they needed a story of their own. There was some mention of a long and complicated past, which I got to explore a bit in Hitman's Holiday, a Christmas novella I published in 2015.
I also revisited this couple in Armor, the novella I published earlier this year, and it definitely won't be the last time we see these two!
Here's one of my favorite scenes from Hitman's Holiday, followed by an amazing video a reader made for me, which beautifully and eloquently summarizes the book. In this scene, Andreo finally tracks down Connie, who stole something valuable from him after they spent the night together years before. The fact that Andreo had also stolen this object is beside the point. ;) One of the things I love about these two is that you never quite know if they're going to fight or fuck every time they get near each other!
It had taken me just short of three years to track down the man I at first knew only as Connie. Since my extended family was involved in organized crime, I had a lot of resources at my disposal. Even so, I hadn’t had much to go by, and the search had proven difficult.
But not impossible.
I looked around me as I climbed the open staircase to a sixth-floor walk-up in Brooklyn. The old packing plant was in the midst of a major renovation that was turning it into upscale condos with gorgeous views of the Manhattan skyline across the river. Most of it was empty, with only a couple lofts completed at that point. The rest was a construction site, and it was vacant this time of night. I had it on good authority that Connie, better known as Constantino Dombruso, was subletting one of the completed lofts on the top floor.
I’d been shocked when I discovered the identity of my coin thief. The Dombruso family and mine went way back, with a long-standing feud and a history of tension and distrust. But then, maybe it shouldn’t have been so surprising that I’d encountered one of them while committing a crime. The Dombrusos’ influence spread far and wide, and they had their hands in all sorts of pies. Apparently that even extended to pilfering rare coins, which I would have thought was beneath them.
But maybe Constantino hadn’t been working for his family, and his role in their organization was unclear. One of his cousins ran the family, and his father was an infamous contract killer, but I didn’t know much more than that, despite the fact that my family had been keeping tabs on his for generations. It was always wise to know your enemy, so I was annoyed that our intel had become spotty and had put one of my family members to work in order to remedy that situation.
When I reached the loft, I paused in the hallway to catch my breath and assessed the large door in front of me. It was solid wood and probably original to the building. It slid on a rusted track that looked like it might be original as well. No way would that door give way, but the track probably would.
I was in full you-fucked-with-the-wrong-guy mode, right down to my black leather jacket, mercenary-worthy cargo pants, black t-shirt and combat boots. To truly convey that message, I drew my leg back and kicked the door with all my might, my boot connecting solidly with the vintage pine. It sent a shockwave through my leg and hip and actually hurt like hell, but it was worth it, because the big door fell inward with a really satisfying crash as its metal track bent and tore away from its moorings.
I spotted Constantino immediately across the huge, oddly empty loft. He was sitting on a big, wrought-iron bed with a book in his hand, his dark eyes wide and startled. In the next instant he was in motion, and I was, too. Surprisingly, he didn’t try to run away. Instead, he headed straight for me.
Whatever thoughts, plans and ideas had gotten me to that point fell away the moment we reached each other. I grabbed him and crushed him to me as my lips ravaged his. He kissed me desperately as his hands grasped my jacket, pulling me to him.
I should have been furious. I should have hated him, and for a long time, I thought I did. But the moment I saw him again, all bets were off.
I picked him up and carried him to the bed, then threw him on top of the rumpled blankets and climbed on top of him. As I straddled his thighs, I grabbed his white t-shirt and literally tore it off him, then did the same with the pair of briefs he wore. He moaned as his cock swelled and bounced against his abs. I reached for it and he pushed my hand away, so instead I dove onto his exposed neck, licking and kissing it as he thrust his hips and rubbed his erection against me.
I needed to be inside him more than I’d ever needed anything in my life. I yanked my jacket and t-shirt from my body and threw them aside, then reached for my wallet and grabbed a condom and lube packet. I unzipped my cargo pants and pulled out my throbbing hard-on, and as soon as I was prepped, I got on my knees between his thighs, grabbed his legs and pulled them apart. He sat up a bit to watch what I was doing and exhaled slowly as I pushed into him.
As I began to move in him, he locked eyes with me. I drove myself into him so hard that the entire bed rocked, and he gave me a wicked little smile. I grinned at him and dropped down and kissed him before I began to absolutely pound him. He threw his head back and yelled, the sound almost bestial. Connie clawed my back as he pulled me closer and rocked his hips up to meet each thrust, slamming himself onto my cock, a sheen of perspiration appearing on his olive skin.
There was no rational thought, no discussion, nothing but pure, raw, primal sex. We took what we needed unapologetically. Like two starving men at a banquet, we feasted on each other, grabbing, demanding, civility completely forgotten. I clutched him to me and he bit my shoulder, then cried out as if he’d been the one bitten. I grabbed his hair and pulled his head back so I could get to his neck, his mouth, his shoulders, kissing and licking and nipping him.
Again and again I drove myself into him. The sound of my body slamming into his filled the empty loft, along with our yells. As my orgasm built, I pulled back and stared into his eyes, trying to burn him and that moment into my memory like a brand. He stared right back at me, his dark eyes wide, his full lips parted as he gasped for breath.
He climaxed a moment before I did, yelling as he shot all over his chest and mine. When he came, his ass clamped down on my cock, which detonated my orgasm. He crushed my body to his and I slammed into him as I came, my vision faltering. The force of my orgasm overwhelmed me, and I wrapped my arms around him as if he was all that was anchoring me to the earth. I shot into him repeatedly, my body almost convulsing, and by the time it was over there was almost nothing left of me.
I fell onto my side as aftershocks racked my body, and Connie carefully peeled off the condom and disposed of it somehow. I was too out of it to really notice what was happening. He pulled the blanket over both of us and wrapped his arms and legs around me, then began to dot light, tender kisses on my face, my lips, even my eyelids. I drew him into an embrace and breathed in his scent. His hair still smelled like tangerines.
When I’d stopped shaking and could finally talk again I murmured, “Why won’t you let me touch your cock?” There were a million things I wanted to ask him, but that had pushed its way to the front of the cue.
“None of your business.” He kissed my cheek and I brushed the hair from his face. Only then did I notice he’d pinned back his overgrown bangs with an old-fashioned, black bobby pin. It made me happy for some reason, maybe because it was so quirky. I was grinning as I fell asleep.
*****
When I awoke, I was once again alone. I was also handcuffed to the iron bed frame. It didn’t particularly surprise me, though it did annoy me. I sat up and looked down at myself. I was completely dressed from the waist down. My pants were even zipped, which I didn’t remember doing.
The loft was emptier than it had been the night before, and there were no clothes in the big, open closet. In fact, aside from the bed, it contained absolutely nothing aside from my t-shirt, which was folded neatly on the floor across the room. My phone was centered on top of it.
I sighed and used my free hand to pick up my leather jacket, which he’d draped on the bed post. Then I grinned a little when I spotted the metal bobby pin clipped to the collar of my jacket. Connie wasn’t coming back, I knew that for a fact. But he’d left me a way out.
Apparently the cuffs had just been meant to slow me down so he could get a head start on me. I picked the lock easily with the bobby pin, then slipped it in the pocket of my cargo pants and went to use the restroom. After that, I did a lap around the loft, looking for anything he might have left behind. There was nothing though, apart from a few packets of soy sauce in a drawer in the kitchen and a half-empty can of diet soda in the refrigerator.
I put on my t-shirt and jacket, then picked up the door and moved it aside. He’d propped it up over the gaping hole I’d created when I announced my arrival. I leaned it back in place before I headed for the stairs.
*****
And as promised, the amazing video for Hitman's Holiday,
made by a dear reader, can be found here. Enjoy!
I also revisited this couple in Armor, the novella I published earlier this year, and it definitely won't be the last time we see these two!
Here's one of my favorite scenes from Hitman's Holiday, followed by an amazing video a reader made for me, which beautifully and eloquently summarizes the book. In this scene, Andreo finally tracks down Connie, who stole something valuable from him after they spent the night together years before. The fact that Andreo had also stolen this object is beside the point. ;) One of the things I love about these two is that you never quite know if they're going to fight or fuck every time they get near each other!
It had taken me just short of three years to track down the man I at first knew only as Connie. Since my extended family was involved in organized crime, I had a lot of resources at my disposal. Even so, I hadn’t had much to go by, and the search had proven difficult.
But not impossible.
I looked around me as I climbed the open staircase to a sixth-floor walk-up in Brooklyn. The old packing plant was in the midst of a major renovation that was turning it into upscale condos with gorgeous views of the Manhattan skyline across the river. Most of it was empty, with only a couple lofts completed at that point. The rest was a construction site, and it was vacant this time of night. I had it on good authority that Connie, better known as Constantino Dombruso, was subletting one of the completed lofts on the top floor.
I’d been shocked when I discovered the identity of my coin thief. The Dombruso family and mine went way back, with a long-standing feud and a history of tension and distrust. But then, maybe it shouldn’t have been so surprising that I’d encountered one of them while committing a crime. The Dombrusos’ influence spread far and wide, and they had their hands in all sorts of pies. Apparently that even extended to pilfering rare coins, which I would have thought was beneath them.
But maybe Constantino hadn’t been working for his family, and his role in their organization was unclear. One of his cousins ran the family, and his father was an infamous contract killer, but I didn’t know much more than that, despite the fact that my family had been keeping tabs on his for generations. It was always wise to know your enemy, so I was annoyed that our intel had become spotty and had put one of my family members to work in order to remedy that situation.
When I reached the loft, I paused in the hallway to catch my breath and assessed the large door in front of me. It was solid wood and probably original to the building. It slid on a rusted track that looked like it might be original as well. No way would that door give way, but the track probably would.
I was in full you-fucked-with-the-wrong-guy mode, right down to my black leather jacket, mercenary-worthy cargo pants, black t-shirt and combat boots. To truly convey that message, I drew my leg back and kicked the door with all my might, my boot connecting solidly with the vintage pine. It sent a shockwave through my leg and hip and actually hurt like hell, but it was worth it, because the big door fell inward with a really satisfying crash as its metal track bent and tore away from its moorings.
I spotted Constantino immediately across the huge, oddly empty loft. He was sitting on a big, wrought-iron bed with a book in his hand, his dark eyes wide and startled. In the next instant he was in motion, and I was, too. Surprisingly, he didn’t try to run away. Instead, he headed straight for me.
Whatever thoughts, plans and ideas had gotten me to that point fell away the moment we reached each other. I grabbed him and crushed him to me as my lips ravaged his. He kissed me desperately as his hands grasped my jacket, pulling me to him.
I should have been furious. I should have hated him, and for a long time, I thought I did. But the moment I saw him again, all bets were off.
I picked him up and carried him to the bed, then threw him on top of the rumpled blankets and climbed on top of him. As I straddled his thighs, I grabbed his white t-shirt and literally tore it off him, then did the same with the pair of briefs he wore. He moaned as his cock swelled and bounced against his abs. I reached for it and he pushed my hand away, so instead I dove onto his exposed neck, licking and kissing it as he thrust his hips and rubbed his erection against me.
I needed to be inside him more than I’d ever needed anything in my life. I yanked my jacket and t-shirt from my body and threw them aside, then reached for my wallet and grabbed a condom and lube packet. I unzipped my cargo pants and pulled out my throbbing hard-on, and as soon as I was prepped, I got on my knees between his thighs, grabbed his legs and pulled them apart. He sat up a bit to watch what I was doing and exhaled slowly as I pushed into him.
As I began to move in him, he locked eyes with me. I drove myself into him so hard that the entire bed rocked, and he gave me a wicked little smile. I grinned at him and dropped down and kissed him before I began to absolutely pound him. He threw his head back and yelled, the sound almost bestial. Connie clawed my back as he pulled me closer and rocked his hips up to meet each thrust, slamming himself onto my cock, a sheen of perspiration appearing on his olive skin.
There was no rational thought, no discussion, nothing but pure, raw, primal sex. We took what we needed unapologetically. Like two starving men at a banquet, we feasted on each other, grabbing, demanding, civility completely forgotten. I clutched him to me and he bit my shoulder, then cried out as if he’d been the one bitten. I grabbed his hair and pulled his head back so I could get to his neck, his mouth, his shoulders, kissing and licking and nipping him.
Again and again I drove myself into him. The sound of my body slamming into his filled the empty loft, along with our yells. As my orgasm built, I pulled back and stared into his eyes, trying to burn him and that moment into my memory like a brand. He stared right back at me, his dark eyes wide, his full lips parted as he gasped for breath.
He climaxed a moment before I did, yelling as he shot all over his chest and mine. When he came, his ass clamped down on my cock, which detonated my orgasm. He crushed my body to his and I slammed into him as I came, my vision faltering. The force of my orgasm overwhelmed me, and I wrapped my arms around him as if he was all that was anchoring me to the earth. I shot into him repeatedly, my body almost convulsing, and by the time it was over there was almost nothing left of me.
I fell onto my side as aftershocks racked my body, and Connie carefully peeled off the condom and disposed of it somehow. I was too out of it to really notice what was happening. He pulled the blanket over both of us and wrapped his arms and legs around me, then began to dot light, tender kisses on my face, my lips, even my eyelids. I drew him into an embrace and breathed in his scent. His hair still smelled like tangerines.
When I’d stopped shaking and could finally talk again I murmured, “Why won’t you let me touch your cock?” There were a million things I wanted to ask him, but that had pushed its way to the front of the cue.
“None of your business.” He kissed my cheek and I brushed the hair from his face. Only then did I notice he’d pinned back his overgrown bangs with an old-fashioned, black bobby pin. It made me happy for some reason, maybe because it was so quirky. I was grinning as I fell asleep.
*****
When I awoke, I was once again alone. I was also handcuffed to the iron bed frame. It didn’t particularly surprise me, though it did annoy me. I sat up and looked down at myself. I was completely dressed from the waist down. My pants were even zipped, which I didn’t remember doing.
The loft was emptier than it had been the night before, and there were no clothes in the big, open closet. In fact, aside from the bed, it contained absolutely nothing aside from my t-shirt, which was folded neatly on the floor across the room. My phone was centered on top of it.
I sighed and used my free hand to pick up my leather jacket, which he’d draped on the bed post. Then I grinned a little when I spotted the metal bobby pin clipped to the collar of my jacket. Connie wasn’t coming back, I knew that for a fact. But he’d left me a way out.
Apparently the cuffs had just been meant to slow me down so he could get a head start on me. I picked the lock easily with the bobby pin, then slipped it in the pocket of my cargo pants and went to use the restroom. After that, I did a lap around the loft, looking for anything he might have left behind. There was nothing though, apart from a few packets of soy sauce in a drawer in the kitchen and a half-empty can of diet soda in the refrigerator.
I put on my t-shirt and jacket, then picked up the door and moved it aside. He’d propped it up over the gaping hole I’d created when I announced my arrival. I leaned it back in place before I headed for the stairs.
*****
And as promised, the amazing video for Hitman's Holiday,
made by a dear reader, can be found here. Enjoy!
July 20, 2017
Throwback Thursday: Sawyer's Secret
Sawyer was the main character in Worlds Away, which came out at Christmas last year, and he was a departure for me. Readers of my series already knew his secret, because they'd met him in a prior book: he was a big, burly guy who felt at home in women's clothing. A few of my readers were uncomfortable with this, and some of them told me they had to take some time to examine why that was.
To that I say: mission accomplished. Not that I wanted to make my readers uncomfortable per se, but I did want to challenge preconceived notions about gender, masculinity, and femininity. Sawyer was intended to bring up questions about gender roles and societal expectations.
Almost always, when we see androgynous characters in books, or in movies and television, they're slim and small. They often have long hair and other traditionally "feminine" characteristics. But societal acceptance can't be limited to one body type. Because Sawyer is tall and muscular, he doesn't fit the stereotype of what an androgynous person should look like. But this is still his truth. This is who he is, regardless of whether or not that fits our expectations.
If a big guy in a dress makes us uncomfortable, but we fawn over a slim, young, "pretty boy" in makeup, then really, how open-minded are we? I'm not pointing a finger here. I'm the first to admit I carry some bias too, and I wrote Sawyer to challenge my own perceptions, as well as society's.
Throughout Worlds Away, Sawyer gradually learns to accept who he is and begins to show his true self to the world. In the following scene, his love interest Alastair is finding out about Sawyer's other side for the first time:
“Thanks for being so open with me.”
“Well, I think you should know who you’re taking to bed.” I hesitated before adding, “You don’t have the whole picture yet, though. There’s something I need to show you. It might be a deal breaker, but I don’t want to hide it from you, like I do with almost everyone else.”
He watched me curiously as I pulled off my shoes and socks, then got up and turned to him. I took a deep breath as I began to unbutton my shirt. “If you’re not into this, that’s fine,” I said. “I know it’s…different.”
Alastair stared at me with rapt attention as I began to undress. I tossed my shirt on a nearby chair before unfastening my jeans, stepping out of them, and kicking them aside. My heart was pounding, and I swallowed hard and mumbled, “So, this is me,” as I stood before him. I was wearing one of my favorite outfits, a corset, stockings with garters, and a thong, all black.
His eyes went wide as they ran down my body. I was sure I’d freaked him out. He didn’t know what to make of me, he didn’t even know what to say. I was mortified, and so sad that I’d fucked up what could have been a great night. I should have hidden it and changed in the bathroom. I never should have—
“You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” Alastair’s voice was low and thick with desire, and he pulled me to him and kissed me with raw hunger.
*****
Sawyer and Alastair will be back in a supporting role in Quinn's book, tentatively entitled Take a Chance on Me, which should be out in later September.
As always, thanks for reading!
To that I say: mission accomplished. Not that I wanted to make my readers uncomfortable per se, but I did want to challenge preconceived notions about gender, masculinity, and femininity. Sawyer was intended to bring up questions about gender roles and societal expectations.
Almost always, when we see androgynous characters in books, or in movies and television, they're slim and small. They often have long hair and other traditionally "feminine" characteristics. But societal acceptance can't be limited to one body type. Because Sawyer is tall and muscular, he doesn't fit the stereotype of what an androgynous person should look like. But this is still his truth. This is who he is, regardless of whether or not that fits our expectations.
If a big guy in a dress makes us uncomfortable, but we fawn over a slim, young, "pretty boy" in makeup, then really, how open-minded are we? I'm not pointing a finger here. I'm the first to admit I carry some bias too, and I wrote Sawyer to challenge my own perceptions, as well as society's.
Throughout Worlds Away, Sawyer gradually learns to accept who he is and begins to show his true self to the world. In the following scene, his love interest Alastair is finding out about Sawyer's other side for the first time:
“Thanks for being so open with me.”
“Well, I think you should know who you’re taking to bed.” I hesitated before adding, “You don’t have the whole picture yet, though. There’s something I need to show you. It might be a deal breaker, but I don’t want to hide it from you, like I do with almost everyone else.”
He watched me curiously as I pulled off my shoes and socks, then got up and turned to him. I took a deep breath as I began to unbutton my shirt. “If you’re not into this, that’s fine,” I said. “I know it’s…different.”
Alastair stared at me with rapt attention as I began to undress. I tossed my shirt on a nearby chair before unfastening my jeans, stepping out of them, and kicking them aside. My heart was pounding, and I swallowed hard and mumbled, “So, this is me,” as I stood before him. I was wearing one of my favorite outfits, a corset, stockings with garters, and a thong, all black.
His eyes went wide as they ran down my body. I was sure I’d freaked him out. He didn’t know what to make of me, he didn’t even know what to say. I was mortified, and so sad that I’d fucked up what could have been a great night. I should have hidden it and changed in the bathroom. I never should have—
“You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.” Alastair’s voice was low and thick with desire, and he pulled me to him and kissed me with raw hunger.
*****
Sawyer and Alastair will be back in a supporting role in Quinn's book, tentatively entitled Take a Chance on Me, which should be out in later September.
As always, thanks for reading!
July 13, 2017
Throwback Thursday: The Tinder Chronicles
Once upon a time, I decided to write a series of novellas centered around a vampire hunter. His name was Tinder (in case you're wondering, this was years before the dating app), and he was snarky and damaged and I adored him. But my writing career ended up pulling me in another direction, so my plans for an ongoing series ended after three novellas. They're published in one volume, The Tinder Chronicles.
Below is a little peek at Tinder and Bane, the vampire he really didn't want to fall for. As you'll see, their relationship is...complicated. In this scene, Tinder and fellow vampire hunter Lee have tracked a group of vampires to a warehouse near the Port of Long Beach in Southern California. Oh, and just a heads-up: like most vampire books, it's a little gory. But I think that's part of the fun. ;)
A big, burly vamp was coming down the stairs toward me, who I recognized as one of the fab five from Shoreline Village. I shot at him with my crossbow, but he managed to dodge the arrow. Damn it! He lunged for me, and again my agility worked to my advantage. I avoided his grasp and he stumbled down a few steps before righting himself. That gave me a chance to reload my crossbow. I didn’t miss the second time.
The other four were closing fast, and I sprinted up the stairs. On the top floor, I continued my mad dash. When the corridor ran out, I ducked into a big, drab office and slammed and locked the door behind me, a split second before one of the vamps reached me. It was a metal fire door and fairly solid, but I knew it wouldn’t keep a bunch of vamps out forever. I shoved the big desk across the room and up against the door, then leaned against it, gasping for breath, my heart pounding like it was trying to bust out of my chest. Shouts could be heard out in the hall. It sounded like the vamps who'd been chasing me were calling for even more reinforcements. Awesome.
I looked around the room. Besides the desk, all it contained was an office chair and a big metal file cabinet about five feet wide and six feet high. There were no windows, only a single skylight in the center of the fifteen foot ceiling. Yeah okay, I could make that work.
The file cabinet was a bit problematic, because it weighed a ton and I couldn’t budge it. I folded the top door of the cabinet up and back and swore vividly as I began grabbing armloads of files and flinging them out of the cabinet. As I worked on emptying it out so it was light enough to drag under the skylight, I wondered what had happened to Lee. There’d been no sign of him since I entered the building.
It took for-fucking-ever to empty the cabinet. Meanwhile, it sounded like the vamps out in the hall had located an ax and were trying to chop their way through the door. I rolled my eyes at that. If they’d been smart enough to hack through the wall instead of the metal door, they’d be in here already.
Even with all the paper out of it, the steel cabinet was still crazy heavy. Lucky me to find the one file cabinet in the universe built to survive a nuclear blast. I crouched down, grasped it by the edges and threw my weight into it. The cabinet slid about half an inch. I tugged on it again and again, painfully making my way to the center of the room and completely wearing myself out in the process. That sucked, because as soon as I got myself out of this room, I was going to have to run right back into the ground floor and get those civilians to safety.
The chances of living through this were not looking good.
When I very nearly had the cabinet in position, the skylight shattered. I held up the edge of my jacket and hid under it as glass rained down on me. A light thud alerted me that someone had just jumped through the skylight and landed beside me. I lurched to my feet and grabbed a stake from inside my jacket as I whirled around, but was immediately grabbed, transported across the room and slammed up against the wall with my wrists pinned to either side of my head.
I looked up into pale green eyes and a permanent smirk. “Which just goes to prove,” I said, my voice a low growl, “that no matter how bad a situation is, it can always get worse.”
“Hello, Tinder. You’re looking well.”
“Hi Bane. Hey, do me a favor. Let go of my right wrist for a second, so I can jam this stake through your heart.”
Bane was the most aptly named vampire ever, because he was, in fact, the bane of my existence. I’d gone up against him several times over the years. It somehow always ended with him getting away, despite my best efforts to reduce him to something I could suck up with a Dustbuster.
And now he had me pinned to a wall, his big, powerful body pressed against mine to keep me immobile. This was seriously not good. I threw everything I had into trying to break free. Failing that, I tried to head-butt him. He pulled back, just out of range, then changed his hold on me, grasping both wrists with one hand and holding them to the wall above my head while wrapping his other hand around my neck. It fucking pissed me off that he was so much stronger than I was.
“I don’t suppose if I asked nicely,” he said, “you’d be a love and stay in this room for the next half hour.” His English accent made his odd request sound downright civilized.
I knit my brows. “I think that’s about as likely as you jamming this stake through your heart yourself, just because I said pretty please.” I still grasped the big wooden spike in my right hand.
He sighed and said, “It’s such a bother that you can’t be compelled. Makes everything just that much more difficult.” He pushed down the cuff of my jacket with a fingertip, revealing the beginning of the incantation that was tattooed on both arms. My body was a canvas of spells and symbols, all of which provided me with various protections. Several, including the one he somehow knew to look for, made me immune to compelling.
“I live to annoy.”
He grinned at that. And then he said randomly, his voice low and seductive, “You smell like sex. That’s quite often the case, is it not? And yet, you never smell like the same bloke twice. You really should have more respect for yourself, Tinder.”
“Eat me.”
His grin erupted into a full-blown smile. This was slightly unnerving, because Bane was in the minority of vampires that had elected not to file their fangs down. Blending in with the general population was apparently of no interest to him. “Thanks for the oh-so-tempting offer, love, but I haven’t the time, I’m afraid.” In a lightning fast move, he grabbed the stake from my hand and drove it through my right shoulder. I cried out as pain shot through my body. “Rain check,” he said with a wink.
He stepped back from me. I started to collapse but was held up by the stake, which had passed all the way through me and embedded in the wall. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
Bane scaled the file cabinet using the empty drawers as a ladder. He jumped up effortlessly and hung from the frame of the busted out skylight, then kicked the file cabinet over. I hissed, “God damn it!"
He hung by one hand and pointed at me. “Stay.” He said it like he was talking to a dog. Then he used both hands to easily pull himself up and out of the skylight.
I threw every swear word I knew at him as I grasped the end of the stake with my left hand and tried to pull it out of my shoulder. It wouldn’t budge. Just then, the ax finally broke through the metal door. I took hold of the stake again and tugged frantically. My chances of escape where nonexistent since that asshole had knocked the file cabinet over, and no way did I have the strength to pull it upright again. But when the vamps finally busted through that door, I wasn’t going down without a fight. I’d probably be able to take at least a couple of them out before they killed me.
Since the stake was embedded too deeply in the wall to remove it, I knew what I had to do. I gritted my teeth and lunged forward. The stake was a lot thicker at the handle end and the pain was so intense as it tore through my shoulder that I almost blacked out. I dropped to my knees, panting and shaking, but for only a few moments. Soon I pushed myself up and staggered across the room to my crossbow. I pointed the weapon at the door as I sat down, leaning against the upended file cabinet, and waited for the vamps to finish breaking through.
Only, they never did. Some kind of commotion in the hall interrupted them, with the blade of the ax embedded in the door so deeply that I could see a few inches of it on this side. For several minutes, some kind of battle raged. I thought at first that it might be Lee, but that would have been over quickly, given how many vamps were out there.
Eventually, all fell silent. I gave it an extra minute, then pushed to my feet, holding my right arm against my stomach to try to stabilize my shoulder. I leaned back against the desk and used my legs to shove it out of the way, then paused and listened at the door. Nothing. When I flipped the lock and peered into the hallway, the only thing out there was six piles of clothing. What the fuck?
Below is a little peek at Tinder and Bane, the vampire he really didn't want to fall for. As you'll see, their relationship is...complicated. In this scene, Tinder and fellow vampire hunter Lee have tracked a group of vampires to a warehouse near the Port of Long Beach in Southern California. Oh, and just a heads-up: like most vampire books, it's a little gory. But I think that's part of the fun. ;)
A big, burly vamp was coming down the stairs toward me, who I recognized as one of the fab five from Shoreline Village. I shot at him with my crossbow, but he managed to dodge the arrow. Damn it! He lunged for me, and again my agility worked to my advantage. I avoided his grasp and he stumbled down a few steps before righting himself. That gave me a chance to reload my crossbow. I didn’t miss the second time.
The other four were closing fast, and I sprinted up the stairs. On the top floor, I continued my mad dash. When the corridor ran out, I ducked into a big, drab office and slammed and locked the door behind me, a split second before one of the vamps reached me. It was a metal fire door and fairly solid, but I knew it wouldn’t keep a bunch of vamps out forever. I shoved the big desk across the room and up against the door, then leaned against it, gasping for breath, my heart pounding like it was trying to bust out of my chest. Shouts could be heard out in the hall. It sounded like the vamps who'd been chasing me were calling for even more reinforcements. Awesome.
I looked around the room. Besides the desk, all it contained was an office chair and a big metal file cabinet about five feet wide and six feet high. There were no windows, only a single skylight in the center of the fifteen foot ceiling. Yeah okay, I could make that work.
The file cabinet was a bit problematic, because it weighed a ton and I couldn’t budge it. I folded the top door of the cabinet up and back and swore vividly as I began grabbing armloads of files and flinging them out of the cabinet. As I worked on emptying it out so it was light enough to drag under the skylight, I wondered what had happened to Lee. There’d been no sign of him since I entered the building.
It took for-fucking-ever to empty the cabinet. Meanwhile, it sounded like the vamps out in the hall had located an ax and were trying to chop their way through the door. I rolled my eyes at that. If they’d been smart enough to hack through the wall instead of the metal door, they’d be in here already.
Even with all the paper out of it, the steel cabinet was still crazy heavy. Lucky me to find the one file cabinet in the universe built to survive a nuclear blast. I crouched down, grasped it by the edges and threw my weight into it. The cabinet slid about half an inch. I tugged on it again and again, painfully making my way to the center of the room and completely wearing myself out in the process. That sucked, because as soon as I got myself out of this room, I was going to have to run right back into the ground floor and get those civilians to safety.
The chances of living through this were not looking good.
When I very nearly had the cabinet in position, the skylight shattered. I held up the edge of my jacket and hid under it as glass rained down on me. A light thud alerted me that someone had just jumped through the skylight and landed beside me. I lurched to my feet and grabbed a stake from inside my jacket as I whirled around, but was immediately grabbed, transported across the room and slammed up against the wall with my wrists pinned to either side of my head.
I looked up into pale green eyes and a permanent smirk. “Which just goes to prove,” I said, my voice a low growl, “that no matter how bad a situation is, it can always get worse.”
“Hello, Tinder. You’re looking well.”
“Hi Bane. Hey, do me a favor. Let go of my right wrist for a second, so I can jam this stake through your heart.”
Bane was the most aptly named vampire ever, because he was, in fact, the bane of my existence. I’d gone up against him several times over the years. It somehow always ended with him getting away, despite my best efforts to reduce him to something I could suck up with a Dustbuster.
And now he had me pinned to a wall, his big, powerful body pressed against mine to keep me immobile. This was seriously not good. I threw everything I had into trying to break free. Failing that, I tried to head-butt him. He pulled back, just out of range, then changed his hold on me, grasping both wrists with one hand and holding them to the wall above my head while wrapping his other hand around my neck. It fucking pissed me off that he was so much stronger than I was.
“I don’t suppose if I asked nicely,” he said, “you’d be a love and stay in this room for the next half hour.” His English accent made his odd request sound downright civilized.
I knit my brows. “I think that’s about as likely as you jamming this stake through your heart yourself, just because I said pretty please.” I still grasped the big wooden spike in my right hand.
He sighed and said, “It’s such a bother that you can’t be compelled. Makes everything just that much more difficult.” He pushed down the cuff of my jacket with a fingertip, revealing the beginning of the incantation that was tattooed on both arms. My body was a canvas of spells and symbols, all of which provided me with various protections. Several, including the one he somehow knew to look for, made me immune to compelling.
“I live to annoy.”
He grinned at that. And then he said randomly, his voice low and seductive, “You smell like sex. That’s quite often the case, is it not? And yet, you never smell like the same bloke twice. You really should have more respect for yourself, Tinder.”
“Eat me.”
His grin erupted into a full-blown smile. This was slightly unnerving, because Bane was in the minority of vampires that had elected not to file their fangs down. Blending in with the general population was apparently of no interest to him. “Thanks for the oh-so-tempting offer, love, but I haven’t the time, I’m afraid.” In a lightning fast move, he grabbed the stake from my hand and drove it through my right shoulder. I cried out as pain shot through my body. “Rain check,” he said with a wink.
He stepped back from me. I started to collapse but was held up by the stake, which had passed all the way through me and embedded in the wall. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
Bane scaled the file cabinet using the empty drawers as a ladder. He jumped up effortlessly and hung from the frame of the busted out skylight, then kicked the file cabinet over. I hissed, “God damn it!"
He hung by one hand and pointed at me. “Stay.” He said it like he was talking to a dog. Then he used both hands to easily pull himself up and out of the skylight.
I threw every swear word I knew at him as I grasped the end of the stake with my left hand and tried to pull it out of my shoulder. It wouldn’t budge. Just then, the ax finally broke through the metal door. I took hold of the stake again and tugged frantically. My chances of escape where nonexistent since that asshole had knocked the file cabinet over, and no way did I have the strength to pull it upright again. But when the vamps finally busted through that door, I wasn’t going down without a fight. I’d probably be able to take at least a couple of them out before they killed me.
Since the stake was embedded too deeply in the wall to remove it, I knew what I had to do. I gritted my teeth and lunged forward. The stake was a lot thicker at the handle end and the pain was so intense as it tore through my shoulder that I almost blacked out. I dropped to my knees, panting and shaking, but for only a few moments. Soon I pushed myself up and staggered across the room to my crossbow. I pointed the weapon at the door as I sat down, leaning against the upended file cabinet, and waited for the vamps to finish breaking through.
Only, they never did. Some kind of commotion in the hall interrupted them, with the blade of the ax embedded in the door so deeply that I could see a few inches of it on this side. For several minutes, some kind of battle raged. I thought at first that it might be Lee, but that would have been over quickly, given how many vamps were out there.
Eventually, all fell silent. I gave it an extra minute, then pushed to my feet, holding my right arm against my stomach to try to stabilize my shoulder. I leaned back against the desk and used my legs to shove it out of the way, then paused and listened at the door. Nothing. When I flipped the lock and peered into the hallway, the only thing out there was six piles of clothing. What the fuck?
