Aisling Mancy's Blog, page 18

Aisling Mancy Answers Four Intriguing Questions about Writing and Work In Process

A special thanks to Jamallah Bergman for tagging me in this blog hop! Visit her site to see her intriguing answers to the same questions!
1. What are you working on now?
I'm working on five different novels. As most of you know, I also write Young Adults works under C. Kennedy and I'm currently finishing up Tharros, the sequel to Omorphi. Following, I'll polish another Young Adult novel, Slaying Isidore's Dragons, and then polish my Adult works, Sleight of Heart, Aeromancer, and Shooting Star for submission.~*~
When life and death incarnate collide, can they unite to rebuild humanity and save the universe? 
Sometime in the far off future, a Wraith is tasked with the recovery of top-secret military cargo from a stranded space freighter. The cargo turns out to be an entity-- an entity that the Wraith refuses to return to his military superiors. When life and death, incarnate, collide, can they unite to rebuild humanity and save the universe? 


~*~
"I must not think, I may not gaze,  On what I am -- on what I was."                                               ~Byron 
It was the year 3012. First, there had been the stem-cell scientists and gene-splicers, and then came interstellar travel. Under the auspices of the Human Genome Project, they created a race of human-alien hybrids with hermaphroditic traits and superior psychokinetic powers. A millennium later, they named them an abomination before God and called for their annihilation. They. 
Ffolant was the most powerful human-Jupitarian hybrid in existence and they came after him. They. At age eighteen, they had murdered his parents before his eyes to make a point. They. They sheared his wings and genetically enhanced him. And almost killed him in the process. They. Then they made him a tracker – of his own kind. They. 
Now, at twenty-two, he was their most trusted assassin. He was elite and he loathed it. Rebellion thundered behind his eyes and hatred burst like caustic fireworks in his mind. The need for insurrection permeated his veins, bittersweet saccharin on his senses and a cloying miasma on humanity’s horizon. A storm was coming.

~*~ 
A vampire mage, a gypsy,  and a love that won't be denied.  
Lord Taliesin Solitaire was born albino, cursed mute by the fey, and betrayed by a vampire lover. For two hundred years the vampire mage has vowed never to love again and has only used sex as a means to a meal. Until a palm-reading gypsy finds himself in peril and Taliesin can’t resist rescuing the beautiful young man.
Pesha is the eldest but smallest son of King Vaida Sinclair, the oppressive ruler of the Kåle Romani Compania. Deemed impure by his father, Pesha is shunned and mistreated by his band and six half-brothers, and one brother in particular wants him dead. His pale, silent savior gives him safety, security and a love he never could have imagined. As Pesha falls in love with his handsome white knight, his half-brother does the unthinkable. 
Can Taliesin rescue Pesha from the cruel clutches of his half-brother a second time?

2. How is your current WIP different from others in the genre?
I have a unique background in that I was raised by a prolific author and also have a background in writing for film. Both have provided the forum for me to write in a number of different styles and expand my horizons in writing high-action content. All of my works, whether adult or young adult, contain a lot of action.

3. Why do you write?
For the love of the craft. I've been writing since the age of seven and, plainly stated, I wouldn't know how not to write daily. It's ingrained in me, it's very much who I am, and I would feel as if I lost a limb (maybe two) if I didn't write daily.

4. How does your writing process work?
Once a story forms in my mind, a movie begins to play in my imagination and putting it to paper becomes an imperative. I'm a "panster," as it were, and almost always write without an outline, but do so linearly. I am not one to skip around and write different parts of the story then piece it together. That said, I do take breaks from writing a particular story and work on another story in order to gain perspective. As such, I often have many stories in process at one time.
Check next Friday's posts from these excellent authors:

H. B. Pattskyn
Jordan Brewer
Tara Rose 

All That Glistens by Pelaam now available from Wilde City Press!

Princess Citlali and her brother Taima discover that while someone can appear attractive on the outside, they may hide a heart of pure evil. Equally, Taima also finds that a rough and gruff appearance can house a love beyond anything he may have imagined.

When Taima is kidnapped it will take all of Citlali’s strength, and that of those who love her and Taima, to face and defeat a deadly foe. One who killed before, and will not hesitate to do so again.

From: Wilde City Press
Price: $4.99
Gay Romance: Erotic, Fantasy/Paranormal, Romantic
Length: 39,000 words
Formats available: epub, mobi, html, pdfHeat level: 4 Flames out of 5

Happy Holidays!!!

From Cleo, Kismet, and Schnapps, my three parrots!

Christmas Delights! An Anthology from RJ Scott's Love Lane Books featuring my short story Joyeux Noel!

It's out! And it's FREE!!! Christmas Delights is an anthology featuring great authors RJ Scott, Kay Berrisford, Valynda King, Amber Kell, Francis Gideon, A.T. Weaver, Caitlin Ricci, AJ Henderson, Meredith Russell, Tom Alexander, Gary Hendrickson, Christopher John, John Wiley, Hollis Shiloh, Abigail Winters, Diane Adams, Allan Jay, JC Wallace, SA Garcia, Nicole Dennis, and Joyeux Noël by me!!

Available from Love Lane Books & All Romance eBooks

Join RJ Scott and us for twenty-four chances to win books and prizes here with a final prize draw on December 25th here!

Shira Anthony talks Real Romance: Getting it Right

Encore, Book 5 in the Blue Notes Series&Symphony in Blue, a Holiday Novella
Join me in welcoming fellow author Shira Anthony and the fifth installment in the Blue Notes Series, Encore, and her special Holiday Novella, Symphony in Blue!

Real Romance: Getting it Right

Thanks, Aisling, for hosting me on your blog and letting me talk about my Blue Notes Series from Dreamspinner Press.  I actually have two Blue Notes releases this winter:  Encore , the fifth novel in the series, and Symphony in Blue , a holiday novella.  Novels in the Blue Notes Series are interrelated, but each is a standalone story that can be read in any order.  The exception?  Symphony in Blue, which is a direct sequel to the first four books in the series ( Blue Notes , The Melody Thief , Aria , and Prelude ). Can you read Symphony in Blue without the others?  I think so, but I also think you’ll enjoy it more if you’ve read the other books first.  Symphony in Blue will be released on Christmas Day.  Be sure to check out the Blue Notes Holiday 2013 Blog Tour giveaway information at the bottom of the post—I’m giving away a Kindle loaded with ebooks and some other great, music-themed prizes!

Ask Aisling. I love, LOVE, fantasy. I write stories about sexy mermen and magical universes. But I also like to write stories about real men in real relationships, with real issues to contend with. Those real men are at the heart of my Blue Notes Series, and above all the other books, Encore is probably the most “real” to me. Let me explain….

I’m a former classical musician.  I played violin for more than 15 years, and I was a professional opera singer for nearly as long.  When I mentioned to a friend that I was writing a series of gay romances set in the classical music universe, that friend said, “How realistic is it that all the men in your stories are gay?”  My answer: totally realistic.  Most of the men I worked with—conductors, makeup artists, choreographers, stage directors, and of course, musicians (from pianists to my leading men)—were gay.  Most of my career was in the 1980s, a very difficult time for gay men, not only because of society’s hatred of homosexuality, but also because of the AIDS epidemic.  I lost friends and colleagues to AIDS.  Beautiful, talented, loving, wonderful men.  Lost forever.  Encore is dedicated to those men.
When I decided to write conductor John Fuchs and violinist Roger Nelson’s story in Encore, I based them and their lives on the men I knew and loved.  Some are gone.  Others still struggle to find their bit of happiness.  It’s like one of my co-stars in a production of Tosca told me, back in the early 1990s:  “We have no role models.  There’s nobody I know who’s been in a gay relationship that’s lasted more than a few years.”  I’d like to think that today, nearly 20 years later, there are role models for gay relationships.  Laws prohibiting same-sex marriage are falling like dominoes.  A majority of Americans believe gay men should be able to marry and have families.  But the reality is that the gay men I knew in the 80s and 90s (and still am friends with), are a product of a time when it was so much more difficult than it is now.  And many of them still struggle.
That reality is John and Roger’s.  I don’t think any two of my characters were ever more “meant for each other” than these men.  And yet it takes them more than 30 years to make things work.  Yes, they get their happy ending.  But what they have to endure before they arrive at the HEA?  It’s painful.  Gut-wrenching.  And entirely real.  When they finally get that hard-won happily ever after, it’s satisfying.  Even better?  Roger and John go on to mentor many of the other musicians in the series, and not just through their music.  They become the role models for David Somers and Alex Bishop (Prelude).  And those two men become the role models for Cary Redding and Antonio Bianchi (The Melody Thief) and Aiden Lind and Sam Ryan (Aria).  So in that sense, the reality of John and Roger’s struggle—the positivereality—creates a legacy for other men.  Just like the men I’ve known have forged a path for younger men.  And that’s one reality I’m happy to celebrate! ~Shira
******Blue Notes Holiday 2013 Blog Tour Info 
Blue Notes Series Holiday 2013 Giveaway:

          · Begins on release day for “Encore,” November 11, 2013

          · Ends on New Year’s Eve, December 31, 2013, at midnight

          · Drawings are open to both U.S. readers and international readers, but physical prizes (Kindle, necklace, book, and t-shirt) are for U.S. readers only. I will award a virtual set of the first 4 Blue Notes Series books to one winner from outside the U.S.

          · Prizes (U.S. Only):

                    o Grand Prize: A Kindle loaded with the first 4 Blue Notes Series books and some of my other back titles

                    o 1st Place: A sterling silver music themed necklace

                    o 2nd Place: Winner’s choice of one of my back titles in paperback (i.e., not including the 2 new releases)

                    o 3rd Place: Blue Notes t-shirt, cover of the winner’s choice

To Enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway Click Here
****** 
November 11th (release day – Encore): Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words (Melanie Marshall)

November 12th: Live Your Life, Buy the Book

November 14th: Michael Rupured’s Blog

November 15th: Joyfully Jay (Blue Notes Cover Art – Interviews with the Artists)

November 18th: Elin Gregory’s blog

November 22nd: Aisling Mancy’s blog

November 26th: Andrew Q. Gordon’s blog

December 6th: Oscar’s Bruised Petals (Sandra Gardia’s blog)

December 10th: Brilliant Disguise (Tali Spencer’s blog)

December 16th: Rebecca Cohen’s blog

December 20th: Purple Rose Teahouse (Charlie Cochet’s blog)

December 23rd: Mrs. Condits and Friends

December 25th: Symphony in Blue Release Day Party at Melanie Marshall’s Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words

December 27th: Helen Pattskyn’s blog

******
ENCORE
CHAPTER ONEToledo, OhioSeptember 1971 
JOHN WOUND his way around gaggles of girls who blocked the hallway, turning it into a twisted obstacle course. He dodged a locker door here, someone slinging a backpack full of books there, and nearly got whacked in the gut by a kid holding a trumpet case. John’s elbow connected with the hard fiberglass of the case as he pivoted to avoid the collision.
Shoot. That was going to make one big bruise. Not to mention it hurt.
He rounded the corridor and stepped inside the band room, relieved to find it empty. He leaned against the wall and took long, raspy breaths to try to calm his pounding heart. He wiped the sweat off his face, then rubbed his hands on his brown polyester pants.
“Hiding?”
“What?” John nearly jumped when he realized he wasn’t alone. His voice sounded high and girlish to his ears.
“Are you hiding?” The speaker was a kid with wild brown hair and a hint of shadow on his jaw. He sat on one of the chairs by the podium, twirling a violin bow around like a baton. John hadn’t seen the kid when he’d first come in, but it was clear the kid had seen him.
“I… n-no.” Damn. Was he stuttering now? He hadn’t stuttered this badly since elementary school.
The kid just laughed. “You new here?”
“Y-yes. Transferred last week.”
“You got a name?”
“J-John. Fuchs.” John’s face was on fire as he croaked out his name. “Wh-who are you?”
“Roger Nelson.” Roger ran a hand through his curly hair, which only served to make it stand up like horns. Roger reminded John of a devil, and it wasn’t just the hair.
“N-nice to m-meet you, Roger.” John walked over and offered Roger his hand.
Roger laughed and ignored the gesture. “Yeah.” John could see his eyes were a deep green. Luminous. “Where’d you transfer from?”
“Saint B-Barnaby’s.”
More laughter. “So you’re slumming it with us now?”
“I guess.” He sure wasn’t going to tell Roger about his parents’ divorce, or about how they’d decided they no longer had the money to send him to private school one year before graduation. “I hear you’ve got a great orchestra.” At least he wasn’t stuttering anymore. He’d spent years in speech therapy in elementary and junior high school, but when he was nervous, it sometimes came back.
“We’re pretty good,” Roger said. John knew this was an understatement. His mother had done her homework—Marysville Senior High School’s orchestra had won the state Division A championship the year before. “You play?”
“Piano. But I also play viola, trumpet, and flute.” When Roger’s eyes widened, John quickly added, “Not very well, though.” John looked down at his feet and studied them intently. “I’m going to be a conductor.”
When Roger didn’t respond, John asked, “How about you?” He realized how stupid a question it was the instant he’d asked it. Of course the guy played violin.
“Concertmaster.” In spite of the casual response, John thought he saw a hint of pride flash in Roger’s eyes. “But I’m going to be the guy who hangs off the back of the garbage truck.”
“Oh.” What do you say to that? He had no idea if Roger was joking, but he sure wasn’t going to embarrass himself by finding out.
Roger stood up and began to put his violin away. He was a little taller than John—who was now nearly six feet—with a lanky body and surprisingly broad shoulders. Good-looking too. John’s face warmed once more.
“Is Mr. Constantino in his office?” he asked, mostly because he was having a really hard time not staring at Roger. He didn’t really need to speak to the orchestra director.
Roger shrugged. “He was there a little while ago.”
“Thanks.” John waited for Roger to say something, but when he didn’t, John made his way over to the office at the far end of the room.

BY THE time John had finished talking to Mr. Constantino, grabbed his books from his locker, and headed outside to the main courtyard, the sun was beginning to set. The air was cool, not surprising for late October in northern Ohio, so John set down his pack and zipped up his poplin jacket. The smell of fallen leaves mingled with a more pungent odor. Marijuana. He looked around and saw Roger seated on the low brick wall at the edge of the courtyard, smoking a joint.
“Hey.” Roger inhaled and held his breath.
John swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. “Hey.” Oh, that was great!“Uh, h-how are you?”
Roger laughed and exhaled as John walked over. He held out the joint to John. “Want some?”
“No, thanks.” He’d never even come this close to the real thing. “I’ve got to get going. Bus leaves in about five minutes.”
A girl with hair down to her waist walked over to them. John was sure Roger was going to hide the pot, but instead he held it out to her and she took a long toke. Roger put his arm around the girl’s shoulders and shot John a knowing look.
“Who’s he?” the girl asked as she blew smoke in John’s face.
John coughed and blinked.
“New kid. Orchestra.”
“I’m John.” John offered the girl a smile. He’d decided shaking hands was not public school etiquette after meeting Roger earlier.
The girl just stared at him, then turned to Roger and proceeded to kiss him. Not just any kiss. A french kiss. John felt sick to his stomach watching. He’d always thought kissing girls was gross. Now he was sure of it.
Roger kissed the girl back, then pushed her away before turning to John and asking, “Need a ride?”
The girl glared at Roger, who ignored her.
“I… ah… s-sure.” John wasn’t sure at all, but Roger was the only kid who’d acknowledged his existence since he’d arrived at Marysville and he figured it’d be rude to turn down the offer.
He and Roger walked in silence to the parking lot, where Roger led him to an enormous brown Buick. Small blue-and-pink spots dotted the exterior where someone had, he guessed, sanded off patches of rust in preparation for a paint job that never materialized. The windows were rolled down and the doors unlocked.
Roger grinned. “V-8.” When John didn’t respond, Roger continued, “This baby can outgun just about any car on the market.”
“Groovy.”
Roger’s laughter echoed off the nearby building. “Jeez, what the hell did they teach you at St. Something?”
“St. Barnaby’s,” John corrected, feeling keenly awkward.
“Yeah. That place. Nobody says ‘groovy’ anymore.”
“Oh.” John’s cheeks burned and he stared down at the blacktop, focusing on a weed that had forced its way through a crack and pushing it with his shoe.
“Get in.”
The slippery fabric of John’s pants propelled him over the vinyl bench seat as if someone had greased it. He stopped sliding about a foot away from where Roger was, key already in the ignition, his left hand releasing the parking brake. John looked around for a seatbelt. There was none.
“Always buckle up!”His mother’s voice resonated in his brain, and for once, he ignored it.
“Where to?” Roger had started the engine, which roared to life, backfired once, then settled down to a noisy rumble. “This baby purrs, doesn’t she?”
“I… er… yes.” Then, realizing he hadn’t answered Roger’s first question, he added, “2430 Covington Drive.”
“Fancy part of town, huh?”
Not for long.The Realtor had come by the other day, and John thought he’d seen her drool when his mother told her they needed to sell quickly. He wondered where they’d end up. Probably one of the duplexes closer to downtown—the places people moved in and out of on a regular basis.
He often walked the dog by the duplexes on garbage night, curious as to what ended up on the tree lawn after the latest renters left. He’d found an entire stack of LPs one night, including a boxed set of Tchaikovsky’s greatest hits and a recording of the Singing Nun. He’d hidden them in his closet—God forbid his mother find out he’d been going through other people’s garbage. She’d have a fit.
He hummed a bit of “Dominique” and smiled. He’d always liked that song. Dominique, neekah, neekah….
“What’s that?”
Roger’s voice brought John back to the here and now. “Nothing. Just a song.”
Roger reached for the radio as they stopped at the light. The radio blared, and John winced inwardly. He didn’t like loud rock music—it gave him a headache.
We’re not gonna take it!
“We’re not gonna take it,” Roger sang along. “Gonna break it, gonna shake it, let’s forget it better still.” Roger looked over at John and grinned.
“Who’s that?”
“The Who. That’s who.” Roger snorted, a look of smug satisfaction spreading across his face.
“Oh.” John had heard of them, although he’d never heard their music.
“Cool, huh?”
“Uh-huh. Cool.” John made a mental note not to mention the Singing Nun and to use the word “cool” instead of “groovy.”
As they drove, John watched Roger. He wore a pair of off-white painter’s pants with a half-dozen pockets and a hammer loop. John noticed how the pants pulled at Roger’s crotch when he sat. Roger’s shirt was a blue plaid flannel, unbuttoned to reveal a dusting of curly hair on his chest. John’s mouth was dry, so he chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. He felt a pulsing sensation in his groin and shifted to accommodate his embarrassing erection. He prayed Roger wouldn’t notice.
Disgusted with himself, he thought of his first and only discussion of homosexuality with his father.
They’d been sitting in the living room, watching yet another report about the war in Vietnam. It was pretty much the same thing every night—a daily tally of the number of American troops killed and the growing protest marches at home in the US. But this night, there was a story about a riot in New York City at a place called Stonewall.
“Fucking fluters,” John’s father said. “They should have shot them all.”
John, who was about fourteen years old, just stared at the images on the TV. “What’s a fluter?” he asked.
Jerome Fuchs looked down at his son and snorted. “Homosexuals. Fags. Deviants who prefer to spend time with their own.”
When John just blinked in response, his father continued, “They don’t like women.”
“Why not?” John was genuinely curious.
“How the hell should I know?”
Six months later, after Raymond Lessor kissed him in the coatroom, John figured out what his father had meant. He was exactly the kind of man his father had been talking about.
“You okay?” Roger turned down the radio and looked at him.
“Yes. I’m great.” He forced a smile and realized they’d just turned onto his street. “Oh, that’s my house, about halfway down.” He pointed.
Roger pulled into the driveway a minute later and John, backpack held in front of him like a shield, climbed out of the car. Slid, really.
“Thanks, Roger.” John waved tentatively, feeling like a complete idiot.
“It’s cool.” Roger cranked up the radio and pulled back out of the driveway. He waved, then gunned the engine and took off down the street, leaving a cloud of white smoke in his wake.
John waved the smoke away and watched the car disappear around the corner. “Cool,” he repeated as he swung his backpack over his shoulder and headed into the house.

About Shira:

In her last incarnation, Shira was a professional opera singer, performing roles in such operas as “Tosca,” “i Pagliacci,” and “La Traviata,” among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.

Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 36’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.  Click on the link if you want to hear a live performance of Shira singing “Vissi d’arte” from Puccini’s Tosca.

For updates on new releases, giveaways, and more, click here to subscribe to Shira’s newsletter


Shira can be found here:Website: http://www.shiraanthony.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shira.anthony
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4641776.Shira_Anthony
Twitter: @WriterShira
E-mail: shiraanthony@hotmail.com

Joyeux Noël

Joyeux Noël

a short story featured in 
R.J. Scott's FREE Christmas Delights AnthologyComing December 1st, 2013fromLove Lane Books


Noel Sauvageau is barely thirty years of age, yet one of the most powerful moguls on Wall Street. He also has a broken heart left over from high school. When a voice from his distant past rings him on Christmas Eve, will he allow his life to change for the better? Or will he remain closed off and isolated from the very love he needs to mend?

Damian Bloodstone, author of Am I Real, rocks Omorphi!

You know you have truly terrific friends when those who don't have YA sites blog anyway in order to get the word out about your first full-lenth M/M YA novel AND takes the time to read multiple passages in order to select three sentences to post. Damian, you are a gentleman in every sense of the word.

Check out Damian Bloodstone's Am I Real here. And, yeah, USA Today liked it too, so check it out.

Omorphi is my first full-length M/M YA novel and is due out from Harmony Ink Press on September 19th. I couldn't be more excited. Check it out here.

Thank you again, Damian. ROCK ON!

High Romance on the High Seas!

Stealing the Wind - Book one of Shira Anthony's Mermen of Ea Series Okay, I admit it. I can't get enough of this series. One of the luxuries we authors have is to be able to share our work with each other long before you, the reader, has the benefit of reading it. I come from a writing background, having written in almost every form imaginable, and am not easily impressed. Shakespeare said it best when he said that there are only seven stories to be told[1], and it's up to us as authors to build on one of those seven themes, make it fresh and new, intriguing, and spell-binding enough to capture and hold your imaginations hostage. I have watched this series come to fruition and can honestly say I have rarely encountered an author as imaginative as Shira is. This story is not only sure to hold your imagination captive, but your heart as well. And, your, er... libido. Read it, enjoy it, and get to know Shira. A very worthy read by a smart, imaginative author and a very cool person.

Thanks, Aisling, for inviting me to talk about my new Dreamspinner Press release, Stealing the Wind!  This book and series are a bit of a departure from my usual contemporary romances, but I’m having a blast letting my imagination run wild and diving (pardon the pun!) into the universe of the Ea, the merfolk shifters who inhabit the Mermen of Ea Series.

I wasn’t a sailor growing up, although some people call me a fish because I love to swim (and I am pretty good at it). It wasn’t until I was an adult that I caught sailing fever big time, thanks to the man who later became my husband. We just bought our third sailboat, a catamaran, and this one’s big: 35’ long and 16’ wide, it has 2 cabins, 2 full heads (bath with shower, toilet, and sink), and a great galley kitchen. We named her “Land’s Zen,” because when I’m aboard, I feel as though I’m in that Zen happy place I wish I could retreat to when times get tough.

I knew I wanted to write a story set on the ocean. In fact, I’ve had a contemporary romance involving sailing on the back burner for a while now. But I grew up on fantasy and sci-fi, so when I starting writing a gay romance about pirates and suddenly one of them shifted into merman form, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

Stealing the Wind is the first in a trilogy that follows the story of Taren Laxley, a slave who works for years rigging the tall ships that put into port in Raice Harbor. Taren dreams of sailing on one of those ships, but when he’s sold to a tavern and forced to share drafty sleeping quarters with many other slaves, his dreams fade. Enter Jonat Rider, captain of the Sea Witch and his first mate, Bastian, who decide Taren would be a delicious addition to their bed. Taren finds himself mesmerized by both men, and willingly becomes their bedmate in return for a promise of freedom after three years.

Two years into his indenture, however, Taren is lost at sea and what finds him is nothing short of his destiny in the form of Ian Dunaidh, captain of the rival ship Phantom and Rider’s sworn enemy. Taren is immediately drawn to Ian, and soon learns that Ian and his crew are not human. They are Ea, shifter merfolk who live on a secluded island. Taren discovers that he isn’t human either. He’s a merman. Let the adventure begin!

Stealing the Wind is a story of love and adventure in equal measure, and Taren and Ian’s love becomes a small piece of a very large puzzle. Who were Taren's parents?  Why was he separated from his people? Why are his dreams so vivid, and why do they involve a man who looks very much like Ian? I hope you’ll join me on Taren’s exciting journey of self-discovery.

Would you like to read an excerpt? Click here and read a very NSFW bit about mermen sex (yes, they do have sex in their shifted form!). Or click here to read the first chapter of the novel. I hope you’ll enjoy these slippery men as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them! -Shira
******
Blurb: Taren Laxley has never known anything but life as a slave. When a lusty pirate kidnaps him and holds him prisoner on his ship, Taren embraces the chance to realize his dream of a seagoing life. Not only does the pirate captain offer him freedom in exchange for three years of labor and sexual servitude, but the pleasures Taren finds when he joins the captain and first mate in bed far surpass his greatest fantasies.

Then, during a storm, Taren dives overboard to save another sailor and is lost at sea. He’s rescued by Ian Dunaidh, the enigmatic and seemingly ageless captain of a rival ship, the Phantom, and Taren feels an overwhelming attraction to Ian that Ian appears to share. Soon Taren learns a secret that will change his life forever: Ian and his people are Ea, shape-shifting merfolk… and Taren is one of them too. Bound to each other by a fierce passion neither can explain or deny, Taren and Ian are soon embroiled in a war and forced to fight for a future—not only for themselves but for all their kind.

Buy “Stealing the Wind” at Dreamspinner Press, or at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, AllRomanceEbooks, and other retailers.
******
Shira Anthony was a professional opera singer in her last incarnation, performing roles in such operas as Tosca, Pagliacci, and La Traviata, among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle.

Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 35’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.

Shira can be found here:Website: http://www.shiraanthony.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/shira.anthony
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4641776.Shira_Anthony
Twitter: @WriterShira
E-mail: shiraanthony@hotmail.com
 


Shakespeare's seven plots:[wo]man vs. nature [wo]man vs. [wo]man [wo]man vs. the environment [wo]man vs. machines/technology [wo]man vs. the supernatural [wo]man vs. self [wo]man vs. god/religion

Stealing the Wind by Shira Anthony

Mermen of Ea: Book One
 It's no secret that I love to read fantasy and Shira Anthony's new Mermen of Ea series is right up my... er, alley. Nothing short of imagination candy, Shira Anthony weaves a rich, multi-layered, sexy tale of fancy, mystery, and legend on the high seas that will steal your breath away! Wonderful and full of intrigue, Stealing the Wind tells the poignant tale of a young man’s capture and self-discovery in the mysteries of himself and the deep blue sea. Even if you're not into fantasy, this story is a fantastic read! I can't recommend it highly enough! ~*~Taren Laxley has never known anything but life as a slave. When a lusty pirate kidnaps him and holds him prisoner on his ship, Taren embraces the chance to realize his dream of a seagoing life. Not only does the pirate captain offer him freedom in exchange for three years of labor and sexual servitude, but the pleasures Taren finds when he joins the captain and first mate in bed far surpass his greatest fantasies.
 Then, during a storm, Taren dives overboard to save another sailor and is lost at sea. He’s rescued by Ian Dunaidh, the enigmatic and seemingly ageless captain of a rival ship, the Phantom, and Taren feels an overwhelming attraction to Ian that Ian appears to share. Soon Taren learns a secret that will change his life forever: Ian and his people are Ea, shape-shifting merfolk… and Taren is one of them too. Bound to each other by a fierce passion neither can explain or deny, Taren and Ian are soon embroiled in a war and forced to fight for a future—not only for themselves but for all their kind.
Now Available at:        Dreamspinner Press             AllRomanceEbooks              Amazon Read an excerpt: THE men who dragged Taren from the ship’s hold shoved him so hard into the captain’s quarters that he nearly fell face-first on the floor. His hands were tied behind his back. He’d been given water, although his throat was still parched. His belly growled. How long had it been since he’d awoken on the deck of the ship? He’d been locked away since he’d regained consciousness. He feared for the Sea Witch and her crew more than for his own safety. He prayed his shipmates had made it through the tempest unharmed. In spite of his pathetic state, the ship and the men who manned her felt oddly familiar to Taren. He knew he hadn’t met them before, of course, but the sensation was strong. Regardless, the sense of familiarity had not improved the conditions in which he’d been kept since his capture. He felt relieved to be freed from the darkness of the ship’s hold, if only temporarily. Through the large windows at the back of the room, Taren could see it was nighttime. He’d lost track of the days in the darkness. A nearly full moon illuminated the room, enabling Taren to make out a desk of carved wood, a simple table covered with maps, and several chairs. In the corner of the room was a large bed, also carved. The quarters were spartan, immaculate, and revealed nothing about their occupant. “Leave us. And unbind him.”  By the dim light, Taren struggled to make out the features of the man to whom the rough, commanding voice belonged.   “But Captain,” one of Taren’s captors protested. “The Council will want to know why he’s—”  “Leave us, Seria,” the captain snapped with obvious irritation. “The Council has no jurisdiction here. My men and I can handle him without your help.”  “As you wish.” From the tone of his voice, Taren judged the man none too pleased to be dismissed.   The leather strap around his wrists removed, Taren brought his numb hands together and massaged them as the men left. “Do not think that you can run,” the captain warned, perhaps sensing Taren’s thoughts. “My men are stationed outside the door, and I am more than capable of killing you without their help.”   The captain drew closer, and Taren could make out his features at last. What he saw surprised him. He had thought the man far older, when in fact he appeared to be only a few years Taren’s senior. The same age, perhaps, as Bastian, although his body was far broader and he stood even taller than Taren himself. Taren could not help but marvel at the bright green of the man’s eyes and the handsome edge of his strong jaw. For a moment he wondered if he’d seen Ian before. There was something familiar in the intensity of his gaze, something that stirred not only Taren’s loins but also his heart.   Fool! He holds the power to kill you, and yet all you can do is admire his appearance? Bastian was right. You’re a wanton, insatiable creature.   “What is your name, man, and how do you come to be here?” the captain demanded, his expression hard with impatience.   “I am Taren. Taren Laxley. I know not how I came to be here.” He still remembered nothing after he had lashed the rope about Fiall’s waist.   The edge of the captain’s mouth turned upward in a sneer. “Taren?”  Taren said nothing but met the other man’s gaze and held it, unafraid.   “I am Ian Dunaidh, captain of the Phantom.” He spoke the words with little emotion, but Taren thought he saw a flash of pride in Ian’s eyes.   Ian Dunaidh? Again that name. Taren struggled to remember where he’d heard it before. Then it came back to him—the conversation he’d had with Bastian, not long before Taren had been lost at sea. He remembered the hatred in Bastian’s eyes when he’d spoken of Ian. What had Bastian said? Rider and this man had been schoolboys together, but Ian had betrayed Rider or perhaps broken his heart? But how could that be? Rider was a man well into his forties, but this man appeared far younger. Still, knowing they were bitter rivals, Taren became even more determined to keep secret his connection to the Witch and her crew.   “Where did you come from?” Ian asked when Taren did not speak.   “I… I don’t know.” Taren knew Ian wouldn’t believe it. He didn’t care. He would not endanger the crew of the Sea Witch, even if it meant his life.   Ian laughed. “You lie.”   The ship lurched with a strong gust of wind and Taren, weakened from lack of food and thirst, stumbled back against the bulkhead and slipped down. Ian moved to steady Taren, pulling him up with a strong arm around Taren’s waist. This close, Taren could smell the captain’s musk and feel his breath upon his cheek. He responded to the rough contact in spite of himself, his cock filling and pressing against Ian’s muscled thigh.   Their eyes met. Ian appeared momentarily at a loss, Taren’s touch seeming to burn him. Taren knew he should attempt to free himself from Ian’s grasp, but—to his shame and dismay—he didn’t want the contact to end.   Ian turned to Taren and parted his lips but seemed unable to speak.   Without thinking, Taren leaned into Ian until their mouths touched. For an instant Ian seemed to hesitate, then took Taren’s lips with obvious hunger, kissing Taren hard as he probed the warmth of Taren’s mouth with his tongue. Ian’s breaths came in stutters and Taren moaned. His tongue danced around Ian’s with equal fervor. Gods, how he wanted this man!   When Ian finally pulled away, Taren was left gasping for breath, dizzy. Even Bastian had not aroused him thus. Ian seemed to hold some power over him that he was incapable of fighting. He couldn’t understand it—Ian Dunaidh was his captor and Rider’s enemy. Even so, Taren felt naked before him. The remnants of his tattered clothes did nothing to cover his body from Ian’s piercing gaze. He also felt a sudden pang of guilt at the thought of Rider and Bastian. Not that they’d ever spoken of what might happen if Taren stayed with them after his three years of service were complete, but didn’t he owe them his body, for at least that long?   Ian too appeared taken aback by what had transpired between them. His face appeared flushed, his brow dotted with sweat. “What…?” He stepped backward, leaving Taren barely able to stand but for the cabin wall supporting him.   “Who are you?” This time Ian’s voice was softer, any anger seemingly replaced by something approaching wonder.   “I-I told you who I am.” Taren wished he sounded more confident, but Ian left him ill at ease. In spite of the venom he’d heard in Bastian’s words when he’d spoken of the Phantom’s captain, Taren wanted to tell Ian everything, if only to feel his body once more pressed against his own and taste his mouth again.   “Who were your parents?” Ian appeared to have regained his self-control. He straightened up to his full height and did not move to touch Taren again.   “I don’t know. I never knew them.” Taren touched his lips, which still felt warm from Ian’s kiss. Then Taren added, almost without thinking, “What do you care?”   Ian appeared to consider the question. “Just curious,” he said at last, his tone dismissive.   Someone knocked on the door and one of the men peered inside. “Everything all right, Captain?”   “Everything’s fine.” Ian barely looked at the man.   “Shall I return the prisoner to the hold?”   “No.” Ian did not hesitate. “He will stay here with me.”   “Sir?” The sailor appeared shocked.   “He will stay with me. Have the cabin boy prepare a bed for him. Post a guard at my door.”   “Yes, sir!” The man turned and left, sparing a frown for Taren. “Do you intend to keep me here as your slave?” In truth, the idea of submitting to Ian held more than a little appeal for Taren, although he was far too proud to admit it. “No.” It was not the answer Taren had expected. “You will sleep here. That is all.”  Taren felt shame to realize this answer disappointed him. On the other hand, being in the captain’s cabin might prove useful. Here, he’d have better access to the upper decks of the ship. With a little luck, he might be able to escape.  Ian narrowed his eyes as he said, “If you attempt to escape, I will lock you in the hold once more.”  Taren averted his gaze. Can he read my thoughts?  Several men entered a few moments later with a bedroll and a few extra blankets.  “Bind him. See that he’s bathed,” Ian said. “If he fights you, return him to the hold.”  “Yes, sir.”  “And see that he gets some food. Nothing too heavy. Gruel or soup.”  “Aye, sir.”  Ian nodded, then quickly left the cabin and a very surprised Taren behind.   IAN stood at the bow of the ship, focused on the water. The moon had set and taken with it the last traces of purple and red that had colored the clouds. He had been standing here for nearly an hour, lost in thought. Only now did he take heed of his surroundings.   Taren. The name was foreign to his lips. Not a name given to those of his people. And yet he’d repeated it now more times than he cared to admit. He couldn’t deny what he had sensed when they’d kissed. He is one of us. Was it possible Taren did not know? Ian had sensed no lie when he’d claimed not to know his parents, although Ian sensed deceit when Taren claimed not to know where he’d come from.  He doesn’t remember how he got here. That was also the truth. The nearest ship had been days away—they had received no reports of other vessels in the area—and if by some chance Taren had survived a shipwreck as a result of the great storm, surely there would have been debris to accompany him. The crew said he’d been found on the surface of the waves. With nothing to keep him afloat. A normal man would have perished. Much as Ian wished there were another explanation, there wasn’t. Taren was no normal man. But why had he sensed the truth of Taren’s birthright only when he’d touched him?  Ian also couldn’t deny the way his body responded to the boy, couldn’t deny that for a moment he’d been tempted to do more than kiss him. What the devil was wrong with him? All Ea were dual-natured, animal and man, but only adolescents new to their Ea form lacked self-control.  Why did you kiss him? Ian stroked his hand over his lips, recalling the feel of Taren’s mouth, his taste. Like the ocean, wild and vast. Something in Taren’s kiss had stirred Ian’s other nature. Even now, Ian felt the need to dominate the boy. And yet, along with the primal hunger, there was something more—something strange and equally as wonderful as the powerful attraction. Familiarity.
About Shira: Shira Anthony was a professional opera singer in her last incarnation, performing roles in su operas as Tosca, Pagliacci, and La Traviata, among others. She’s given up TV for evenings spent with her laptop, and she never goes anywhere without a pile of unread M/M romance on her Kindle. Shira is married with two children and two insane dogs, and when she’s not writing, she is usually in a courtroom trying to make the world safer for children. When she’s not working, she can be found aboard a 35’ catamaran at the Carolina coast with her favorite sexy captain at the wheel.
Shira’s Blue Notes Series of classical music themed gay romances was named one of Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Word’s “Best Series of 2012,” and The Melody Thief was named one of the “Best Novels in a Series of 2012.” The Melody Thief also received an honorable mention, “One Perfect Score” at the 2012 Rainbow Awards. Shira can be found on: Facebook      Goodreads (Stealing the Wind: 4.4 out of 5 stars!)     Twitter: @WriterShira
On her Website: http://www.shiraanthony.com
And her E-mail address is: shiraanthony@hotmail.com

An Interview of Wade Kelly, author of The Cost of Loving

Join me in welcoming Wade Kelly to my blog. Her recently released novel, The Cost of Loving, is a heartrending and inspiring story. And I tease Wade. She's one seriously cool dude, to me. :D
Aisling: What inspires your writing?
Wade: Crap in the world. Haha. And my deep desire to spread a little hope along the way. I get e-mails from people all the time about how touched they are by what I write, so I must be doing something right. It is my goal to touch people. (And to make them think.)
Aisling: When did you start writing m/m romance? And why this genre?
Wade: It started by telling a male friend (gay male friend) that I’d write him a romance. I wanted to make it like a fairytale where he met his prince charming. It remained M/M because I had found a niche and I wasn’t afraid to tackle taboo subject matter. I’ve said online before that I had been persecuted by the church for what I wrote, and THAT was what kept me hiding away for 3 years. I feared PEOPLE hating me again. Now, 3 years later, I have people in my life who are supportive and excited for me. They understand my desire to share hope and give a little light into a world of rejections based on sexuality. It is a harsh world, and no one should feel alone in their pain.
Aisling: Are you a full time author?
Wade: Yes, in that writing is all I do that I get paid for. And No, because I could not live on what I make at the moment. Fortune and fame is not in my grasp yet. Haha.
Aisling: Who is your favorite author?
Wade: Love Amy Lane and Ashlyn Kane
Aisling: How many books have you written so far?
Wade: Technically 4 novels and 2 short stories. I was previously published under a different name. (There is a link on my website)
Aisling: Tell us a little about your novel, The Cost of Loving. The blurb says: Matt Dixon, a young firefighter, is the golden child of his family, and he never dreamed that coming out would challenge more than the way his church sees him. 


Wade: For years, Matt has led a double life hoping to avoid ridicule. When a self-righteous pastor’s statements provoke him to defend his recently deceased best friend’s honor and subsequently out himself, he suffers the brutal aftermath of his revelation. Everyone in his life, including his family and his new lover, Darian, must deal with the ramifications as Matt struggles to come to terms with guilt, shame, and his very belief in God.
     Darian Weston lost his fiancé when Jamie took his life, and his feelings for Matt added guilt to his burden of grief. Confused and lonely, Darian clings to Matt despite his inner strife. But small-town realities keep intruding, and if Matt and Darian hope to make a life together, they must first take a stand for what they believe in, even if they fear the cost.
     This novel delves deeper into the relationship of Matt and Darian, while also tackling the aspects of prejudice and persecution over sexuality, and the deep sense of guilt and despair associated with loss.
Aisling: How long did it take you to complete The Cost of Loving?
Wade: 9 months to write, 2 years to edit.

Aisling: Did you write it freely or plan everything in advance?

Wade: I write freely. Although some of it had to be planned because I have book 3 partially written already.
Aisling: What inspired you to write The Cost of Loving?
Wade: It is the continuation of the love story in When Love Is Not Enough (WLINE). Although I did strive for a stand-alone, The Cost of Loving is ultimately the sequel to WLINE. I took from my own life experiences and mapped out a (hopefully) believable character. For example: Matt’s truck scene happened to me.      Darian’s prescription drug addiction is what I think I COULD BE if I was not responsible with my children and life. I have painkillers and I know how they make me feel, but I don’t take them because I can’t function. So I restrain myself for the good of my family. But if pushed into despair again, I could easily succumb to the numbness of drugs.
     The scene with the pastor at the house, that is what happened to me. I took my life and altered it into a story about 3 gay young men trying to work out their lives. The picture is altered, but the feeling was the same.
Aisling: Who is your favorite character in the novel and why?
Wade: Darian Weston, because he is the broken part of me.
Aisling: How much of yourself did you manifest into your favorite character?
Wade: I invest my emotions. I didn’t grow up like him. I’m an imaginative writer and so I project myself often into visions of what I want to write. Darian being poor and from a broken home made sense to me for his character, so his life doesn’t reflect mine. But he is my sensitivity. He is my need for a protector. He is my longing for acceptance and love based on who I am without pretense.
Aisling: When someone reads The Cost Of Loving, what do you hope they gain from reading it?  Wade: An understanding of how people can struggle with sexuality & the Bible. This is real. The persecution around that struggle is real. And the resolution Matt has can be real too. People go through these types of soul-searching all the time. They (you) are not alone. Also, the after affects of losing someone to suicide is also real and damaging. Guilt always looms over us trying to make us think that the suicide of (fill in the blank) was somehow our fault. Often times that is a falsehood conjured by our own inability to cope with the loss.
Aisling: Can you share four things you’ve learned about the business?
Wade: 1.Keep it short 110k max is probably safe. When the story is too long, and the author is little known, the book cost too much for the publisher to produce and so more times than not it will be rejected over the length.
     2. Readers want a happy ending. Until you are established, you have to play the game. Eventually, the goal is to be able to write whatever the heck I want and get it published, but right now I am not that fortunate. I have to play the game.
     3. Be kind to other writers. We are all in this together. It is not a competition because no writer can ever write fast enough to keep up with a reader. Readers read FAST!
     4. Don’t take cuts or bad reviews personal. People like what they like, and don’t what they don’t. Unless every stinking review says the same thing—“this writer sucks!”—then fear not. The bad review will not harm you if people generally like the book. And obsessing over it just gives you an ulcer.
Aisling: What is the most frequently asked question by the fans?
Wade: Will there be a sequel to My Roommate’s a Jock? Well, Crap! The answer is yes, but I don’t know when. I have several other projects in the works first. I hope to write it next year.
Aisling: What are you working on now?  Wade: Names Can Never Hurt Me. The blurb currently says: Dubbed a “player” early on in life, constant sex has never been a problem for Nick—until now.
     Nick Jenkins couldn’t remember a time when he wasn’t popular, when he wasn’t the best looking guy in the room, nor could he recall ever having to coax a woman into bed with him. And recently, Nick even added guys to the list of “been there—done that” when kissing Corey on a dare led to much more and on several occasions. His reputation to “screw anything” was well known, and he didn’t care. So why was the attention of someone new causing such consternation?
     RC was a mystery from the moment they met. A frequent customer where Nick worked, getting to know RC was interesting, yet incremental due to the fact that he wasn’t in the “in crowd.” RC was overweight, always sweaty, and lived up to the nickname “scruffy dude.” Still, Nick could not let go of his deep longing for friendship, even if that friendship was with a loser.      Then, Nick finds out his new friend is gay. Will Nick look past the superficial and take hold of a connection deeper than he’s ever known before? Or will external pressures of social conformity win out—snuffing the fire before it ignites his soul.
     Currently at 59k words. It deals with stereotypes and bullying.
Aisling: How do you keep your creative "spark" alive? Wade: IDK. I have a hard time. That spark comes and goes too randomly for me!
Aisling: What is your suggestion or piece of advice to new and upcoming writers? Wade: Never give up your dream. You have to hang in there. If you get rejected over and over, then hire a professional editor. They might give you some insight as to WHY you were rejected while they clean up your manuscript.
Find Wade on her web site here Writer Wade Kelly On her blog here WriterWadeKelly.blogspot.com And on twitter here Twitter.com/WriterWade Kelly Aisling: Will you please share your favorite excerpt from The Cost of Loving with us?
Wade: Yes :) Favorite scene? Hmm… This should have some set-up, but it might spoil it. Let’s just say Matt goes over to visit Darian and he should not have been there. But this, to me, is a picture of Darian’s sweet, gentle, and fragile heart. Gosh, I love him! ~*~ “Yes.” Matt nodded. Then he tilted his head and smirked. “Well, no… not completely. I need you in bad way. You think your dad’ll be gone long enough to give me one of those ‘nonsex’ hand jobs?”
“Absolutely!” Darian grabbed Matt’s hand and practically dragged him up the steps. “Dad and Ms. Cheryl should be gone for a couple hours. They said they would be. I only got home twenty minutes before you got here. I’m supposed to be doing laundry.” He pulled Matt down the hall and into his room.
Matt stopped short in the doorway. “This is Jamie’s room.” He whispered as if the space were sacred.
Darian watched him. “Yeah. It was Jamie’s and mine.”
Matt stepped into the room and looked around. He’d never been in this room, but it felt familiar all the same. So many things he recognized as Jamie’s: pictures, posters, and a calendar from 2008. He even remembered being with Jamie when he picked out the comforter at Walmart. He walked around the room, and a chill went down his spine. Should I even be in here?
“Are you sure you want to do it in here?” Matt asked skeptically.
Darian walked up and laced his fingers through Matt’s. “Yes.” And then he reconsidered. “Maybe. I’m not sure. Can we sit on the bed and talk for a while? Seeing you weirded out is making me feel weirded out, and I don’t think I can get hard right now.”
Matt grinned. “Okay.” He lifted their joined hands and kissed Darian’s knuckles. “To tell you the truth, I’m fine if we do nothing but hold hands. I’ve missed you so much just being with you is all I really need.”
Darian’s pleasant smile lit up the room more than the overhead light, and he squeezed Matt’s hand.
Matt kept hold of Darian’s hand and looked at the pictures on the walls. He spied two chalk drawings similar to the one Darian did of him in September. One was of Jamie from what looked like 2005, judging from the shirt he wore, and the other was a self-portrait of Darian. Some others were Darian’s sketches, but most of the pictures on the wall were photos of Matt. Some of Jamie and one or two of Darian, but the majority were of Matt from when he was fifteen all the way to the present. “No wonder Dan thinks you’re obsessed with me.”
“But they’re not mine. They were all in Jamie’s things. Tucked in books and under the bed. I found a whole shoebox full in the closet. I started sticking them on the corkboard as I found them. Dan just doesn’t understand that Jamie was obsessed. He loved you.”
Matt noticed the drop in his voice and looked at Darian instead of the wall of photos. Darian was staring at the floor. Matt hooked a finger under his chin. “He loved you too.”
Darian released Matt’s hand and strolled over to the bed and sat down. Matt thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t. Darian was disturbingly quiet. He needed to think of something to cheer him up. But what?
Matt glanced around and spotted his iPod. It was hooked up to a set of speakers on his dresser. “Mind if I put on some music?”
Darian shook his head.
Matt went over and scrolled through his music library. He was astounded at the vast selection Darian had. “You have over nine thousand songs. Dude! This is incredible.” He caught Darian’s grin out of the corner of his eye. “All Time Low, Anberlin, Barenaked Ladies, Breaking Benjamin, Cars, Charlie Musselwhite, wow!” He kept scrolling. “Eagles, ELO, Evanescence, Fall Out Boy, Good Charlotte, Hawk Nelson…. This is amazing. I have almost everything you have. All right, I don’t have Hannah Montana or the Jonas Brothers, but REO Speedwagon, Rush, Secondhand Serenade, Skillet, Shinedown, Staind! Oh my gosh, Dare, we practically have the same taste in music.”
Darian shrugged. “I like a wide variety. I tend to listen based on my mood.”
He said it like it was no big deal, but it was a huge deal to Matt. He loved music! Lived for it. With the amount of running he did all the time, he needed music to survive. “Panic! At The Disco, Stone Sour, and The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus. Holy crap, Dare.” He put the iPod down and bounced over to Darian’s edge of the bed.
Darian’s eyebrow shot up. “What?”
“You don’t get it, I know, but every time I’m with you I find one more reason to love you. We’re going to be perfect together. Seriously. When you’re ready.” He kissed Darian and went back to the iPod. “The Used? I love The Used.” He hit play and “Paralyzed” came on, bass chords thumping against the walls.
“Me too,” Darian said. “I can play the opening riff to ‘With Me Tonight.’”
Matt's eyes bulged. “You play guitar? I play guitar!” Matt clapped his palm against his chest. He didn’t remember Jamie mentioning that detail in his journals.
Darian answered nonchalantly. “A little. My mom couldn’t afford guitar lessons, so I had to teach myself. I’m a better drummer than guitarist. My friend Ben has drums. He lets me play sometimes.”
“You play drums?” Matt plopped back down, causing the bed to bounce.
“Yeah. Not like Neil Peart, but I’m okay.”
Matt’s heart swelled. He ran his fingers through Darian’s hair marveling over every little thing that spelled out love. “You’re perfect.”
Darian blushed. “No, I’m not.”
“You are.” Matt kissed him softly. He eased him back on the bed and caressed his chest through the fabric of his shirt. He moved his mouth to explore the soft spot behind Darian’s ear while he reached down and slid his fingers along the waistband of his underwear where it stuck out above his jeans. Matt licked and nibbled Darian’s neck, mapping out a path with his tongue over to the ridge of his ear, sucking on his earlobe. He slipped his fingers under the hem of Darian’s shirt, but as soon as Matt felt the flat of Darian’s stomach and his bellybutton piercing, Darian stopped his hand from moving any higher. Matt pulled back. “What’s wrong?”
“I just…. It feels weird. I’m afraid Dan will come in any second. I’m still not sure I want to have ‘nonsex’ with you in Jamie’s old bed.”
Matt leaned back, one arm supporting his weight on his elbow. “It’s okay. I understand.” Matt caressed Darian’s lower belly as he looked down into his face. He remained right up next to his body with one leg looped over Darian’s thigh. “We don’t have to do anything. I just wanted to be with you. I’ve been having a horrible time lately, and you are the one good thing I got going on. I need you.”
Darian’s eyes shifted away from Matt’s. He looked troubled. Matt glided his fingers over to Darian’s hip and back along his belly. Darian had always responded well to that action before, so Matt was attempting it now to soothe whatever was on his mind. In fact, it seemed no matter where Matt rubbed him (not speaking sexually, of course), Darian always calmed down. Matt said, “I hope you know you can talk to me. Whatever’s bothering you. I may not have the answers, but I’ll listen. My mom always tells me I’m a great listener.”
Darian’s eyes darted to different objects in the room, everything but Matt’s face. “I’m worried you’ll get to know me and find out I’m a complete basket case.” Darian sounded so desperately troubled.
“Dare, baby, I won’t. I love you.”
Darian finally brought his attention back to Matt. “Why? I’m not that special. I can’t make complete sentences most of the time because my brain doesn’t function clearly. I don’t have any condoms in here even if we wanted to have sex. I have a bee phobia, but I like spiders. My mother moved to Seattle in October and didn’t even say good-bye. I think Jamie’s haunting me. I want to learn French before I die. I’m allergic to coconut. I don’t like mint chocolate chip ice cream. The only time I feel safe is when I’m with you. And sometimes I wish I had wings, like that guy on X-Men.”
Matt gazed into Darian’s eyes, waiting to make sure the list was done before he burst out laughing. He knew it was inappropriate, given Darian’s serious expression, but he couldn’t help it. “Oh Darian.” Matt flopped over onto his back. “That was the longest list of random thoughts I’ve ever heard.”
Darian sat up on one elbow and leaned over him—still quite melancholy. “If you think I’m perfect, you’ll only be disappointed.”
Matt knew he should ask about Darian’s mom moving, or his disturbing comment about Jamie haunting him, but those topics seemed so serious. Matt didn’t do serious. He avoided serious. He’d had enough serious for a while. He shoved “serious” deep inside and kept it there, like he did with his “incident.” Plus, what if talking opened up more problems? Darian needed a professional for this stuff. Darian needed his therapist.
Matt took his proven safe route of avoidance. “Dare, it’s meant figuratively. No one is perfect perfect. I think you’re perfect for me. That’s all I meant. The only questions I have left are about hunting, jogging, and dancing. Do you like to hunt?”
Darian shrugged. “No. I don’t think I could shoot Bambi. But I’m not opposed to eating him.”
Matt grinned. “Okay.” Not only did he like Darian’s simple answer, he also liked how his shoulders relaxed. This conversation was becoming less complicated. “I can live with that. How about running?”
Darian furrowed his forehead and cocked an eyebrow.
Matt laughed. “I take that as a ‘no.’ So how about dancing?”
“Yeah, I like to dance. Lori said I’m pretty good.”
Matt felt his heart swelling again. Everything inside told him Darian was the one. If only Darian could see it that way and let go of his doubts. Matt stood up when the songs shuffled and Staind came on. He held out his hand to Darian. “Dance with me?” Darian placed his hand in Matt’s, and Matt pulled Darian off the bed and into his arms. The two of them swayed to the music. With their bodies moving together, Matt sang the first line of lyrics to “Tangled Up In You” into Darian’s ear. He moved in time with the slow beat, and Darian stepped with him in perfect harmony.
On the second line of the song, Darian chimed in without missing a beat. “You’re the pills, that take away my pain.”
Matt smiled softly into Darian’s eyes as he sang the next line.
Matt waited and allowed Darian to fill in the next phrase of lyrics and he didn’t disappoint. And then, without missing a word, they sang the chorus together and Matt could have wept for how happy he felt dancing in Darian’s arms while harmonizing one of his favorite songs.
They danced more synchronously than Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. Dancing with Darian made Matt acutely aware of how good their bodies felt together. He had intended to hold back when he came over, but being around Darian was intoxicating. He always felt giddy and drunk, and his groin behaved as if he was on Viagra. He knew a hand job would not suffice as soon as Staind came on. Hearing Darian sing was breathtaking.
Before the song faded, he lowered Darian onto the bed again. He was going to make love to him; there was no stopping it. A hand job would have been fine for satisfaction and release, but being with Darian was more than a physical need. Matt wanted the closeness, the intimacy, and what Jamie would call the complete connection: mind, body, and soul.
Darian was utterly relaxed this time as Matt licked his neck and massaged the hardness in his jeans. His eyes were closed as Matt kissed his chin and undid his belt, making his way into Darian’s boxers. Darian clutched the back of Matt’s head and groaned and tilted his hips up.
Avril Lavigne sounded in the room singing “Hey, hey, you, you, I don’t like your girlfriend” and jolted Matt out of his captivation with the most amazing man on the planet.
Matt muttered, “Sorry. I can’t make love to you with this on.” He got up and changed the song. “Classical okay?”
“Yeah.”
Matt pulled Darian’s jeans off. “No more shuffle. It will play down the list.” He reached up to Darian’s shirt. “Whoa, what happened?” Matt pointed to the angry red scratches by his ribs.
Darian blurted, “The dog. He jumped and scratched me.”
“Wow, wicked nails. They need to be trimmed, man. You should probably put some ointment on that.”
“Okay,” Darian said. “Listen, can we do this half-undressed? It might make it easier if Dan gets home early. Rushing to get decent and all.”
Matt didn’t understand his concern; Darian had said Dan would be out for hours, but he went along with it. “Sure. Whatever. But next time I want all your skin exposed. You know I love your body.” He winked.
Darian smiled and pulled Matt into his arms.
“Are you okay with this? I know we said no sex,” Matt asked, as he got comfortable between Darian’s legs.
“Yes,” he moaned, pushing onto Matt’s fingers. “Oh God, yes.”
“I know I promised Dan, I know I should hold back, but I can’t seem to do that when I’m with you,” Matt explained as he kissed Darian’s neck. Matt was a verbal processor, so more times than not, he felt the need to explain his actions while executing them.
“We… oh… we revised that rule. Remember?”
“Oh yeah,” Matt gladly recalled. “You’re not as tight as I thought you’d be.”
Darian smirked as Matt moved his mouth from his lips to assault his throat. “I told you I have a dildo. I use it. Often.”
“That is so hot.” Matt practically came thinking about it. “Let me watch next time?”
“Yeah.” Darian’s body jerked when Matt touched his prostate.
Matt grinned.
When the anticipation was just too great, he withdrew his fingers and placed a pillow under Darian’s hips. He lined up his cock after rolling a condom down its length. Darian may not have had condoms, but Matt did. He’d never show up unprepared for sex. That was just wrong.
“Do you want another position?” he asked. “Missionary is seriously ordinary.”
Darian reached out and Matt sank on top of him. “No. I want to feel you all over me—covering me. I want to wrap myself around you and feel every pulse your body makes.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Sliding inside Darian was like coming home. It felt warm, comforting, and right. He never wanted to be anywhere else. They moved together as if continuing their dance on the mattress. Synchronous—of one accord. Their cries of passion added to the music and filled the room.
“I love you, Darian.” Matt held his beloved tight, affirming his joy by repeatedly saying Darian’s name while kissing him all over his face and neck, thrusting deeper and deeper into his body. Darian answered by squeezing Matt’s hips with his thighs and crying out Matt’s name. They were wrapped around each other, intent on becoming the embodiment of one flesh, both moaning in release when the door to the room opened and the dog barked.
“Holy shit!” Matt heard Dan Miller’s voice and froze.
There was nothing like getting caught in the act by your boyfriend’s father. Especially if it was in the buff, on top of the covers, with your dick well sunk into his ass. There were no excuses like “we were just kissing” or the ever popular, “we weren’t doing anything!” Matt was caught, red handed, balls-deep and with nowhere to run.
Mr. Miller turned his back and left the room, but Matt knew it would only be minutes before he returned. He yelled from the hallway, “Turn that fucking music down!”
Matt gazed into Darian’s terror-filled eyes. He held the base of the condom, pulled out, and turned off the music. The utter silence magnified the dread each of them felt. Matt reached for Darian, but Darian sat up and pulled his knees to his chest, further isolating himself. Matt knew this was not going to end well.
“Are you dressed yet?” Mr. Miller growled through the door.
Matt answered when it was obvious Darian couldn’t. “Um, almost.” Was he frozen in fear? Matt yanked on his jeans and went to Darian’s side. “Dare. Dare. You gotta get dressed. Dare. Snap out of it.” He snapped his fingers in front of Darian’s face.
“He’s never going to let me see you,” Darian mumbled.
“Dare. You’re twenty-two years old. You have every right to see whomever you want. If you want to see me—you can.”
Darian shook his head. “No. He’s going to tell me to leave. He’s going to hate me because I betrayed his son. He’s going to punish me for having you in Jamie’s bed.”
Matt sat back and watched tears stream from Darian’s eyes. The poor wretched soul was blankly staring past Matt’s shoulder at something in the room. He looked sick. Darian had to be in shock. “What the hell’s going on in this house? What did he do to you? Does he hurt you?”
Matt hoped for an answer, but Dan Miller stormed back in. He grabbed Matt’s arm and pulled.
“Get out!”
“Mr. Miller, I—”
“I said, get out!” He shoved him into the hall and pushed him until he stumbled toward the stairs. “I told you my rules, and you just had to disregard every concern we discussed. Get out! You will not be seeing my son any more. You lost your privilege.”
Cheryl met them at the bottom of the steps. “Dan? What are you doing? Dan!” She jumped out of the way as Dan shoved Matt down the last two steps.
Dan threatened Matt all the way to the front door. “Get out. And if I see you around again, I’ll take out a restraining order.” He slammed the door.
Matt heard Cheryl question Dan. He could hear Dan yelling his way up the steps. He never remembered Mr. Miller acting so volatile. He was a passive aggressor. He kept silent in the face of conflict. At least that was the way he had been for the past seven or eight years. Early on, when Jamie’s parents argued, Matt remembered hearing Mr. Miller loud and clear. Then one day, his yelling ended. Maybe that was the point when he discovered yelling solved nothing? Then why was he back to yelling again? And at Darian? Why?
Matt quaked with anger and fear. He should do something. Did he have the right to do something? Darian wasn’t Dan’s son despite what he called him. He was his legal guardian, if Jamie’s journals were correct. Regardless, Darian wasn’t a minor. Maybe Matt could do something, but what? He walked to the side of the house where Darian’s window was. He couldn’t hear all the words and wished the window were open.
“… believe you had the gall to bring him into….” Matt strained to hear what was going on. “… defiled… grounded… trusted you, and you sneak around behind… with him! How could… Jamie’s best friend… like an animal….” The words got more garbled. Then the window opened and Matt flattened himself against the siding between the bushes. If he was caught listening there was no telling what would happen. Suddenly it was raining photographs. All the ones of Matt were floating down to the grass. Then Mr. Miller chucked Darian’s drawings out the window, even the framed ones. Everything that had any hint of Matt on it was thrown out.
Matt didn’t understand what he’d done so wrong. He didn’t know why Mr. Miller had turned into a psychopath. He was not himself. Something was way wrong, and it went beyond Matt breaking the rules tonight. He could kind of see why he’d get angry; walking in on Darian in bed with Matt was, of course, the worst activity he could witness. But still, something was wrong and Darian was feeling the force of it head-on.
When the computer came flying out the window, Matt figured he’d seen enough. It was painful to be this helpless. He wanted to go back in and shelter Darian, but that would only make matters worse. He had to talk to Lori and find out if she knew what was going on and if Darian was being abused.