Lex Chase's Blog, page 21

[Monday Spark] “Perfect 10″

Hello Internet! Welcome to Monday Spark! As you know, I’ve had other authors participate in Flash Fiction Friday, but why let them have all the fun? Every Monday I pick my own prompts and run with it. What can you expect today? An intergalactic love story from beyond the stars we ever knew.

Please enjoy!

Perfect 10

By Lex Chase

Genre: Sci-Fi

Prompt: While on a flight, two men strike up a conversation, one of them reveals to the other they are on a religious pilgrimage.

“Fuck!” Ashir hissed, slamming his fist to the hexite window. His claws threatened to shred Edania’s welcoming glow right off the mother planet’s surface.

The planet looked so much like Anareta, Ashir thought. The vast turquoise oceans, the lush verdant land, the Tol called it Edania. The anara of the faith called it Eden. It was said the Mother Goddess was born on these rocky shores in salutation to the rising Father Sun.

Ashir didn’t believe in things like Edania or Eden; Mother Goddesses or Sun Fathers. He didn’t believe in the Tol chants, crystals, and hexes. He couldn’t see the point in the act of devoting his soul to an unseen force that would supposedly supply for all of his needs. It sounded like suffering. Why would anyone willingly give up their lives to something as insubstantial as faith? Life and livelihood could not be sustained on prayers alone. It was just not economically and physically possible.

He believed in the concrete, the constant, and the now. He believed with every fiber of his being that splicing one perfectly measured genome from a willing subject with his own DNA would result in his own godhood.

In these days, gods were built, not divinely inspired.

It wasn’t faith that mattered, but breeding. Ashir’s genetic structure gave him more status and privilege that a lesser spliced could ever hope to attain. Captain Ashir of the feared D’jallon wanted more, though. Enough was never enough. Why settle for a level 9.5 gene rank when he could be a level 10? That’s what it had always been about, even when he was a sickly boy struggling to survive in the Kalik colony. He had promised himself he’d never be sick again, he’d never grow old, and he’d never die. That he would alter and mold himself into a perfectly undefeatable god. That he would be a Perfect 10.

His long thick tail, a product of his own forced evolution, twitched in irritation. He anxiously watched Edania lazily spin, and night descend on the eastern hemisphere. He could swear the planet laughed at him.

He had lost ten years of his life trekking to the fucking thing. His ship had been held hostage for the sake of a pilgrimage of one passenger. Just one. Tol prophet-to-be Zan’eh’tel Kon’tah’nak was ever the annoying plucky and perky passenger to grace his ship.

Ashir had gleefully charged him an exorbitant sixty dollen for the arduous ten year journey across the outer reaches. Was it worth it in the end? Quick mental math affirmed him: expenditure versus profit left him very wealthy indeed.

He ticked off the key expenses. Room and board? Check. Nourishment? Check. Maintenance. Check. One broken heart…

He frowned darkly, his claw-tipped fingers fanning over his breastbone. He nodded once. Check.

There are some things that not even gene splicing can make whole.

It was worth it in the end. If he reminded himself with the promise of his own planet and his own government, the ends would outweigh the means.

“Lana,” Ashir called out into the open air of his cabin.

A hologram projection fizzled into being from a port in the corner of the room. A little anara girl with dark spiraling curlicues clad in a happy yellow sundress twirled and shimmered on the round glowing holo-pad.

“Yes, Daddy?” she asked.

“Locate Zan,” he commanded. “We have reached our final destination and he should prepare to disembark.”

Over Ashir’s shoulder, Lana whimpered. He gritted his teeth in irritation.

“Zan’s leaving…?” she asked with hesitation.

“Lanalee….” Ashir muttered.

“Zan can’t go!” she wailed clearly distraught. “Zan won’t go! I’ll lockdown! I’ll do it!”

“Lanalee D’jallon!” Ashir scolded and spun on his heel to face his ethereal ship-child. “I am your captain and your guardian. You will obey me!”

Lana burst into pixelated tears, and the warm organic metal of the ship shuddered roughly left. Ashir fought to keep his balance.

“I don’t want him to go!” she screeched. “He’s my friend!”

“Lana! Listen to me!” Ashir barked. Then he took a breath to calm himself, his angry expression faded into a stoic calm. “As your guardian, I know what’s best for you. Zan is merely a passenger. He is not like us. He is different. He can be dangerous.”

Lana sniffed, and the ship heaved a sigh of cold climate control. “But who will teach me history?”

“I…I will…?” Ashir stammered as Lana’s question befuddled him.

“Really? And I can play with the kythers?” she asked, wiping her eyes.

Ashir smiled as calm had returned to his ship-child. “We’ll talk about it. Last time you played with a pod of kythers we were quadrants off course. Now, be good and find Zan for me.”

Lana nodded mutely, and her image dissolved into glittering puffs of pixels, leaving Ashir alone in his confused contemplations.

Zan? The Tol priest? Teaching Ashir’s ship history? How could Lanalee, a living colossus of a ship with the mind of a seven-year-old, understand that the anara evolved from primates? As a ship was the size of a small moon, Lana didn’t have the context.

He had other matters to consider, and his rounds needed his attention. Ashir put his anxiety aside, and Lana’s misgivings, to carry out his morning duties.

Edania winked maliciously at him from every broad window he passed.

Zan was leaving.

Copyright © Lex Chase 2015. All Rights Reserved.

Disney Dreamer: Once Upon A Dole Whip…

Hello Internet! Thanks for joining us on this fine Wednesday. Charlie Cochet and Kim Fielding join me for our blog series Disney Dreamer, where we are recapping our recent Disney World vacation. First, it was strictly business, as we were in Orlando for the Dreamspinner Press Workshop. But Elizabeth North had the bright idea to hold the workshop in Orlando. It was very bright.

In this series, Charlie, Kim, and I are recapping our most memorable bits of the trip, and today we’re kicking things off with the food. Hold me.

Lex Chase and Akershus Royal Banquet Hall

As you may know, I wrote a particular book about dude princesses called Americana Fairy Tale. Needless to say, I’ve been a bit princess crazy for the past year. Where was five year old me that didn’t give a crap about this stuff?

At my mother’s suggestion to live a little, I booked a princess dinner at Akershus Royal Banquet Hall. Charlie Cochet came along with me, and I gotta admit, as a grown-ass adult, it was indeed magical.

The place is set up to look like a classic storybook castle, and Belle receives you as you walk in for autographs and pictures. I carried a copy of Americana Fairy Tale with me, determined to get it signed by the princesses. In my head I was like “This woman is an actress. She has a life outside the parks. She probably has kids and a husband that doesn’t appreciate her. He’s probably been hassling her to get a real job.”

But let me tell you, when Belle told me to come read to her and Beast in the library some time, I about melted down. And Charlie Cochet, being the amazing friend she is, caught it all on camera.

I’m a total deer in the headlights. Just. OMG IT’S BELLE.

But let’s talk about the food! I was actually quite surprised that the plating comes out looking like it was served at a four star restaurant. Of course, it’s part of the ambiance. I had the Swedish meatballs that come on a bed of super buttery and creamy potatoes with green beans and lingonberry jam.

But I really couldn’t concentrate on eating, because one by one, the princesses came around to the table and I was all failing. The two of course that I wanted to meet the most were Snow and Aurora. For Author Reasons. Snow came to the table doing the squeaky voice and everything. I had a moment of “Do I tell her she’s a badass dude princess ice paladin with a big assed frozen axe?” But good sense prevailed. But just once I wanted to see her reaction. My reaction in the photo was an attempt at a smile that looked more like terror.

Snow smiles so kindly while I look like I’m about to faint.

And then Aurora came by, and seriously. I lost it. I had perfected my cover story of “Princesses going on a quest to save the world.” Which wasn’t entirely untrue. I gave up trying to smile, and instead looked goofy, goofy worked a lot better. Also Princess Kitty Taylor got to mug for the shot. We also totally had the “Pink or Blue” conversation. I was such a dork.

Lex and Princess Kitty Taylor meet Aurora. SO EXCITE.

Sadly, I didn’t get a photo of desert, but thanks to DeAnn Okamura at Foodspotting, I can share it with you all.

Akershus Desserts!

Served family style, they are a chocolate mousse cake, an apple cake with a sugar butter icing, and a rice pudding type of dish that was more like eating Cool Whip. There was no way Charlie and I could finish it all. We pretty much decimated the chocolate mousse cake and half of the fluffy rice pudding. Neither of us were loving the apple cake.

We left full, fat, and happy. And decided to go easy on any rides because you know the drill when you eat rich foods….yeah. But my entire takeaway was a very special souvenir just for me:

Americana Fairy Tale signed by Princess Aurora, Snow White, Ariel, Cinderella, and Belle.

Yup. That happened.

Charlie will take it from here as she discusses the Be Our Guest dining at Magic Kingdom and the wonders of Dolewhip. Yeeeeessss. Dole Whip.

Charlie Cochet and Be Our Guest

Hello all! A big thank you to Lex for having me here on her blog and letting me share my Disney dining experience. I love travelling, even if by the end of a trip I’m dying to get back to my little office and cozy bed. One of the fun parts of taking a trip is getting to treat yourself to some tasty food. You might try new dishes or just throw caution to the wind and indulge a little. I actually didn’t indulge as much on my trip to Orlando as I thought I might. With the author’s workshop there was a schedule, so it helped me avoid any unnecessary snacking. At the Disney theme parks, I did indulge a little more, but I was still pretty good. We all know how dangerous theme parks can be with all their yummy sugary treats.

At the it wasn’t so much the food that was awesome as the experience. We stopped at some great little places to eat, but one of my all-time favorites was Beauty & the Beast’s castle (the Be Our Guest Restaurant). Maybe because this was always one of my favorite Disney movies growing up, next to the Little Mermaid. Also, the last time I’d visited the Magic Kingdom, they were still building this part of the park, so it was all new to me. The castle was gorgeous, and just being inside it made me feel like a little kid again. I loved the attention to detail, making the castle look just as it did in the movie. It was stunning. I took [many] pictures.

The main dining area is the Grand Ballroom where Belle dances with the Beast in her signature yellow ball gown under a ceiling of heavenly clouds and painted cherubs. Just look at that chandelier! You picked your own table with elegant chairs and even the soda dispenser matched with its bronze coloring and engraved roses.

I ordered a yummy meal of pork, green beans, and mashed potatoes with some kind of vegetable gravy thing, and it came with the most amazing chocolate cupcake.

Our food was also delivered in the most amazing food carts served by the castle’s staff.

There were two other “rooms” in the castle where you could dine. This is part of the second room, the Castle Gallery, which had the most amazing centerpiece. The large statue of Belle and the Beast turned while music played. Like a giant music box. The room has paintings of the two together along the walls and is meant to resemble Belle’s private library.

The next room was just as amazing, dark and atmospheric. The West Wing where the Beast’s human portraits hangs torn to shred and where the enchanted red rose floats in its jar while eerily haunting music plays.

And of course as you walk through the blistering heat, waiting in lines for rides, what theme park visit would be complete without something cool and refreshing. Now I’d heard it mentioned before, but I have to admit I’d never had a Dole Whip until then. It’s probably a good thing, because it was SO good. I’m a fan of pineapple and frosty treats, so this was just amazing. I fell in love at first sip. What’s the tastiest treat you’ve had away from home?

Dole Whip photo credit: O’ahu: Kailua, N. Shore, and Central O’ahu via photopin (license)

Next up, Kim Fielding takes it away with the awesomeness of tasty tasty offerings of Morocco in Epoct’s World Showcase.

Kim Fielding and the Spice Road and Tangerine Cafe

Spike visits the Spice Road!

So my biggest accomplishment for my Disney days was eating in Morocco three times. There were other triumphs too, like some sort of frozen passion fruit drink thing and an enormous cup of vanilla ice cream, but Morocco was the pinnacle. Mint tea. Shawarma. Stuffed grape leaves. Baklava. And some really delicious tangerine couscous. Um, not all at one meal.

One day at Epcot, I had lunch at Spice Road Table and dinner at Marrakesh (which has a belly dancer), both with a friend from the Evil Day Job. Then on another day I shared a delicious lunch at Tangierine Café with lovely company: Lex Chase, Charlie Cochet, and Eli Easton. If I recall correctly, we spent most of the meal discussing fanfic.

Truth be told, the Morocco pavilion at Epcot is short on attractions. There are some shops (I bought a scarf which turned out to be the same style but different color as one that Amy Lane bought in Sacramento) and a place where you can stand in line to see Aladdin. There’s a room with displays of traditional Moroccan clothing and things. And that’s about it. Which is perfectly fine with me, because as far as I’m concerned, the food more than makes up for the lack of a roller coaster or 3D movie. Who needs thrill rides when there’s lemon saffron custard?

The town where I live has a large Assyrian population, which means I don’t have any trouble buying things like lavash bread, hummus, or meat on skewers. But the nearest Moroccan place is in San Francisco, where foodwise I generally get distracted by Asia and Italy instead of North Africa. So three culinary visits to Morocco in one week was a special treat.

Oh, and on one of my days at Epcot I logged 21K steps on my Fitbit—that’s almost 9 miles—so figure I earned that couscous.

Photo courtesy of Madison Parker Photography.

Lex Chase once heard Stephen King say in a commercial, “We’re all going to die, I’m just trying to make it a little more interesting.” She knew then she wanted to make the world a little more interesting too.

Weaving tales of cinematic, sweeping adventure and epic love—and depending on how she feels that day—Lex sprinkles in high-speed chases, shower scenes, and more explosions than a Hollywood blockbuster. She loves tales of men who kiss as much as they kick ass. She believes if you’re going to going to march into the depths of hell, it better be beside the one you love.

Lex is a pop culture diva and her DVR is constantly backlogged. She wouldn’t last five minutes without technology in the event of the apocalypse and has nightmares about refusing to leave her cats behind. She is incredibly sentimental, to the point that she gets choked up at holiday commercials. But like the lovers driven to extreme measures to get home for the holidays, Lex believes everyone deserves a happy ending.

Lex also has a knack for sarcasm, never takes herself seriously, and has been nicknamed “The Next Alan Moore” by her friends for all the pain and suffering she inflicts on her characters. She is a Damned Yankee hailing from the frozen backwoods of Maine now residing in the burbs of Northwest Florida, where it could be 80F and she’d still be a popsicle.

 

Charlie Cochet is an author by day and artist by night. Always quick to succumb to the whispers of her wayward muse, no star is out of reach when following her passion. From Historical to Fantasy, Contemporary to Science Fiction, there’s bound to be plenty of mischief for her heroes to find themselves in, and plenty of romance, too!

Currently residing in South Florida, Charlie looks forward to migrating to a land where the weather includes seasons other than hot, hotter, and boy, it’s hot! When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found reading, drawing, or watching movies. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.

Website | THIRDS HQ | Facebook | Facebook Author Page | Twitter | Pinterest | Tumblr | Instagram |Charlie’s Newsletter

Kim Fielding is the bestselling author of numerous m/m romance novels, novellas, and short stories. Like Kim herself, her work is eclectic, spanning genres such as contemporary, fantasy, paranormal, and historical. Her stories are set in alternate worlds, in 15th century Bosnia, in modern-day Oregon. Her heroes are hipster architect werewolves, housekeepers, maimed giants, and conflicted graduate students. They’re usually flawed, they often encounter terrible obstacles, but they always find love.

After having migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States, Kim calls the boring part of California home. She lives there with her husband, her two daughters, and her day job as a university professor, but escapes as often as possible via car, train, plane, or boat. This may explain why her characters often seem to be in transit as well. She dreams of traveling and writing full-time.

[Monday Spark] “Between the Stacks” a Darkmore Saga Short

Hello Internet! Welcome to the inaugural Monday Spark! As you know, I’ve had other authors participate in Flash Fiction Friday, but why let them have all the fun? Every Monday I’ve decided I’ll pick my own prompts and run with it. What can you expect? Often strange, sometimes sweet, other times challenging, and explosions sprinkled in. Because you know me, it isn’t a party until something explodes into a magnificent fireball.

Please enjoy today’s Monday Spark featuring Jack and Sevon of the Darkmore Saga.

Between the Stacks

by Lex Chase

Genre: Horror

Prompt: While flipping through a fashion magazine, a man finds himself on a list of fashion victims.

 

Jack had humored Sevon by taking him into the human bookstore. Sevon wandered the aisles, his eyes wide in wonder of the books conceived by the human mind. In Darkmore, they were nothing more than livestock, a source for food, but Sevon sensed something more about them. The humans could reason, were capable of complex thoughts and emotions, and outstanding creativity as evidenced by the shelves overstuffed with colorful volumes.

Sevon timidly reached out to run his fingers over the spines of cookbooks. He jerked away as if he had been caught being inappropriate. He smiled weakly at Jack, waiting on his approval.

“They don’t bite.” Jack laughed. “If Bianca reads them, I’m sure it’s safe.”

Jack had a point about that. Bianca’s fixation on reading anything printed on paper written by anyone, human, aisa, or shifter, didn’t matter. From religious texts, fine literature, to dimestore pulps, and trashy romances with too much fuchsia on the cover, Bianca was unrepentant about her love for the written word.

“We should get something for her while we’re here,” Sevon said, tucking a long blonde curl behind his ear. The curl flopped forward across his eyes, and he grunted.

Jack thumbed his chin as he watched the customers come and go. Some gathered at the café and typed away on strange glowing books that Cassandra had told him were called laptops. Such an odd nonsense word. Sevon and he liked enchanted book better.

“Cassandra and Xo said I need to try something called a Frappuccino.” He pointed at the café. “I think they’re over there.”

Sevon blinked as he untied his hair ribbon, and then retied his hair into a fluffy tail. He stood on his tiptoes to get a better view over Jack’s shoulder. “Is that it?” He nodded toward the menu board and the tall frothy glass of a brown slush with some kind of cream on top. “It doesn’t look very appetizing.”

Jack shrugged. “Cassandra said it was awesome.”

Sevon smirked. “Cassandra says a lot of things are awesome. I think she needs to have further education on the meaning.” He tugged on his arm. “Come on. Let’s pick something out and then you can try that… Frappah-chee-no thing?” The word was foreign on his tongue. Humans had such a complicated language that was always changing.

“What about that pink book over there?” Jack pointed at the magazine shelf.

The neon pink Cosmopolitan magazine stood out on a shelf like a hair in Sevon’s marrow soup. The gold foil letters against the gaudy cover contrasted in such a way, the light values played tricks on Sevon’s vision.

“It’s a bit…much.” Sevon tried to be polite.

Jack picked up the Cosmo and casually flipped through the glossy pages. “Bianca reads anything, right?” He slipped his fingers through two pages that had stuck together. His eyes widened, and then narrowed, his feline pupils contracting into slivers. “Sevon.”

The warning weighed heavy on his name.

“Is it too much?” Sevon asked. “It is…very pink….”

Jack’s expression darkened. He held out the open page.

Splattered with sticky, still drying blood, Sevon’s photograph had been pasted onto the paper under the heading Fashion Victims. His eyes had been scribbled out with a black marker, and his mouth had been scribbled over with a blob of red ink.

Sevon’s skin flushed with a cold, anxious sweat. His stomach churned and the bile of panic rose in his throat. He reached out, his fingers trembling as he took the magazine.

Under the defaced picture, a declaration had been scrawled:

I SEE YOU.

 

Copyright © Lex Chase 2015. All rights reserved.

Want to see more of Jack and Sevon? Check out Chasing Sunrise, Book 1 of the Darkmore Saga!

Thanks To 500+ Twitter Followers!

508 Twitter followers to be exact! How did this escape my notice? It took me two years just to get 50 followers. I remember that day when I was celebrating and running around the house that gasp 50 people thought I was cool enough!

I want to thank each and every one of you for following me. You guys are troopers with putting up with my constant Instagram posts of my cats (srynotsry), my #TypoOfTheDay, my Live-Tweeting of prime time TV, and long out of context streams of how my boys are going to drive me to drink, or how often they break my face.

So, as a token of my deep appreciation. I present to you a sneak peek at the first 2,500 words of Bayou Fairy Tale, Book #2 in Fairy Tales of the Open Road. You guys deserve to see what I’ve been ranting about, or crying about, or laughing about any given day. Or any given moment. As you know, my feelings about this book change every five minutes.

Thank you. Please enjoy. To the next 500!

-Lex

Bayou Fairy Tale (Fairy Tales of the Open Road #2)

Chapter 1: A Very Merry Unbirthday

Into Darkness…

The blistering cold assaulted his skin. Naked and afraid, he shivered in the darkness. The wind screamed and scraped against his raw back, threatening to swallow him again into the rabbit hole he had climbed out.

“Hello?” he howled into the torrent. His bones rattled from the cold.

His teeth chattering; his only answer.

“Hey!” he yelled again.

Overhead, thunder boomed in reply.

His pulse quickened, and his face flushed with a clammy sweat. He had to get out. He couldn’t stay here.

His heart hammered, and his joints creaked like warping knife blades, squealing and sharp. He’d die here. The realization came with another clap of thunder.

He turned from the wind and ran blindly into the dark. His bare feet sank into the wet mud and mashed between his toes.

“Hey?” he called out desperately into the darkness. “Hey!”

His chest clenched against the cold as he struggled for breath. The panic came just as unrelenting as the hailstone right between his shoulder blades. He toppled forward, sliding through the thick muddy gravel. Giving up wasn’t an option. But the tempest overhead seemed to disagree.

He had heard once, when one cannot run, to walk. When one cannot walk, they crawl. And crawl he did. He would not lose himself in the storm. The rain, ice, and hail wouldn’t conquer him.

As he scrambled over the sludge, the hail pelted into the mud, exploding like cannon fire. He had to get out. There had to be an end to this. There had to be!

He flailed forward for a grip, and his hand fumbled over a wet, pebbly wall. Clamoring to his feet, he felt blindly along the surface, looking for a way around. His bones throbbed, and his fingers burned from his blood freezing in his veins.

Coughing, he concentrated on exploring the wall’s texture. A blinding flash of lightning maliciously pointed out his predicament…

He had never escaped the rabbit hole after all.

***     ***     ***

May 3

Sullivan, Maine

He gasped a choking breath, and then coughed twice. He lay still, confused by the soft warmth of a bed at his back, and the distant smell of pumpkin pie and bacon.

Was that bacon?

How does pumpkin and bacon go together? He didn’t understand.

“Someone’s waking up…,” he heard a giddy whisper of a young man.

“I think my frittata’s burning,” said another man. This time an older, more grizzled tone.

“Hold on!” the young man whispered urgently. “I’ll need you here for a few more minutes.”

The older man let out an exasperated sigh. “Here. Just let me inch that damned book over in pinky touching range. It’s your own damned fault you can’t touch it.”

“How the hell is that my fault?” the young man said and seemed irritated. “I’m a fucking princess. I can’t touch dark magic. You know that.”

“Oh, you touch a lot more than dark magic, if you know what I mean,” the older man said with a tone of sarcasm. Was there some innuendo? Something about the banter was familiar. Comforting.

He feigned sleep as he felt something hard nudge his fingertips. Perhaps this was the book the old man mentioned? His wrists itched, and he ventured the slightest of peeks through his eyelashes only to find himself tied to the bed with sparkling pink garland.

What. The. Fuck?

He ran it over in his head. The garland could be easily broken with a flick of the wrist. The young guy sounded maybe early 30s. The tone however suggested he was somewhat small. Perhaps slight. What’s with the princess thing? The older guy was hard to get a bead on. His voice gave away he was a big bear of a guy, but there wasn’t footsteps to suggest his weight, or where he was.

The sheets at his back had been laundered with lavender scented detergent. Over him was an electric blanket set to a cozy temperature mingled into a sandwich with other fuzzy blankets. The pillow at the back of his head was the perfect mix of down and cotton stuffing and smelled of primrose. Someone had taken the time to see to his comfort. The garland? Puzzling.

And then there was the pumpkin pie and bacon. And the old man mentioned a frittata. Cooking a frittata indicates someone needs patience and time to prepare. Someone doesn’t cook a frittata when holding someone hostage. Was he a hostage? He was tied up. In garland. But garland couldn’t even hold a disgruntled housecat hostage.

He decided to chance it and slowly open his eyes….

The young man grinned with barely restrained excitement over him. This was a good sign. Or so he thought. The young man had long, dark hair styled into a ragged ponytail, and wore a sparkling pink party hat topped with a silver puffball.

Okay. The party hat was one thing. But holy shit, was the guy’s eyes pink? And where was the old guy?

A quick glance to the left, and he found him. He was old for sure with bushy gray-blonde hair and a shaggy goatee, but not big. More like the size of a tubby tabby, who hovered in the air via enormous glittering pink butterfly wings.

What was with all the pink? He was more confused by all the pink than a little old man with wings. Somehow that seemed somewhat acceptable.

The nightmare of the tempest and the rabbit hole put a whole new perspective on what was believable. Was this the bottom of the rabbit hole? Did he go so far down that he ended up in some new world all together? Whatever it was, this was nice. He would do anything not to go back to that icy hell.

“Happy Birthday!” they shouted in unison and then blew noisemakers. From behind his back, the winged man threw multi-colored confetti.

“B’rdeh…?” he finally asked and then swallowed. He didn’t sound like them. The young guy’s accent had an uppercrust Southern twang. He, on the other hand, was more Deep South with something else. French? Haitian? Creole? Creole, he decided.

As they watched him, he took a quick scan of the quaint bedroom. Warm wooden walls, a TV in the corner, an open window looking out onto a lake with tall pines in a sunny morning. A banner hung across from him reading “Happy Birthday!” with smiley faces on each end of the lettering. Was it his birthday? Maybe? He drew a blank. Was this a trick of the rabbit hole? He tried to keep his composure. These two seemed kind, and he wanted to play it cool until something suggested otherwise.

The décor wasn’t to a guy’s taste. It wasn’t his that’s for sure. The colors and fabrics indicated feminine touch, or at least someone that knew something about interior design. Was there someone else here? A handful framed pictures with him and the young man together hung on the walls in a tidy arrangement. They looked happy and in each other’s arms.

In one photo, they posed in front of a donut shop boasting a gigantic fiberglass donut on top painted with the name Randy’s Donuts. And another photo of him carrying the young man over the threshold of a concrete teepee, the sign reading the Wigwam Motel. There were others, from the World’s Largest Pancake Bake-Off, to Biosphere II, to the Corn Palace. He blinked. They seemed to have a rather wacky sense of fun. They both looked happy, and the way they looked at each other in the photos told him how deeply in love they were.

They were lovers? He glanced to the young man again, and he smiled eagerly. He moistened his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. His stomach clenched with the slight arousal.

Oh. Well. Maybe?

He cleared his throat, and then averted his gaze, trying to hide the flush in his cheeks.

All the while the young man remained silent, seeming to wait for him to get his bearings and make his own decisions.

Their gazes met again. He swallowed with the realization that he didn’t imagine the pink eyes.

“Your eyes are pink,” he finally said despite sounding slightly unsure.

The young man gave a slight shrug and a grin. “I know. Weird, right?”

A kitchen timer buzzed through the silence, and the old winged man jolted. “Okay. My frittata is totally burning.” He fluttered off in a drunken curlicue path into the kitchen. “I’ll let you kids get reacquainted. Don’t forget you have work in an hour, boyo,” he called behind him.

The young man snorted. “There’s a lot you can do in an hour!”

“Yeah, yeah,” the little man called. “Like catch up on those two weeks of Survivor we missed.”

Before he could say anything, the young man puffed a sigh that seemed like humored impatience. “It’s like living with your dad and an obnoxious roommate all in one,” he said.

Okay. This rabbit hole of absurdity was getting far too deep. Was he still asleep? This dream was strangely appealing. The young man was kind of cute. He didn’t seem like a threat.

“I’m sorry,” he said slowly to the young man. “But…um…I’m tied up in garland for some reason.”

The young man tilted his head with a sly smile. “You like it?”

“Am I supposed to?” he asked. “It seems we—” he tried to find the words, but the more he watched the young man the more his cheeks heated. “—seem to enjoy each other’s company.” He bit his lip and his stomach clenched at the admission. “Is the garland—”

“A kinky thing?” the young man asked as he reached out and then traced circles across his chest. The young man’s touch made him shiver.

“I’d say calling yourself a princess is a kinky thing,” he said with a smirk.

The young man gave an incredulous expression. “But I am a princess.” He pointed to his party hat. “See my princess hat?” He seemed to beam with pride.

The humor of the situation brought much needed comfort from the rabbit hole nightmare. He liked this young man, and the little old man with the wings seemed okay too. If this was a dream, it was reaching levels of being too real. He could feel, smell, and even read not only the happy birthday banner, but the tags on the pictures. He read them again to make sure the letters didn’t dissolve into squiggles, or the pictures didn’t turn blank.

No. They still stayed vibrant, and he could still read. Was this real?

The young man ran his teeth over his bottom lip.

His mouth ran dry. Something about that young man’s mouth begged to be touched. If they were lovers, why couldn’t he remember his name? Moreover, why couldn’t he remember his own? This had to be a trick of his nightmare. His heart thumped. He swallowed again. The panic bubbled in his stomach.

Everything was too nice. Too safe. Too perfect. None of it was real. It couldn’t be real.

The young man’s eyes rounded in fear, he seemed to sense his own panic. Reaching out toward one of his garland-bound hands, the young man said, “I’m going to untie you, okay?”

He nodded without a word.

“The book is right next to you,” the young man said. “You need to read it. It’ll explain everything.”

“Book?” he asked. He glanced to his right, and found what the young man seemed to think what qualified as a book.

A monstrous stack of composition notebooks duct taped together sat next to his hand. Covered with stickers, from biohazard symbols, to a girlish cartoon cat, to flowers, to a rhinestone sticker of a tiara? What was with the tiara? Tabs of every color of the rainbow had been pasted into the pages, and a mishmash of papers stuck out making the strange tome unable to close without the aid of a bungee cord. There were even little sparkly things that looked like party favors. And was that bits of yarn and colorful tags off of clothing?

He didn’t understand how he knew, but he knew the weird journal of mementos was his.

The young man untied him and stepped away from the bed. He folded his hands and waited in silence.

He nodded his thanks, and then sat up as he slipped the book into his lap. He snorted a laugh. “This thing is twenty pounds of paper easy. It’s going to take me a while to read this.” He smirked at the young man, gauging his reaction.

The young man gave an impish smirk of his own. “Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re a speed reader.”

He arched a brow. The young man who called himself a princess seemed to trust him. And for now, he trusted him as well. The first thing that caught his attention when he opened the mishmash of notebooks was the chicken-scratch handwriting. Names, numbers, details from physical features, to what was said, to who said it, to mini maps scribbled into the margins. Every space of the pages was filled. Every space. And when there wasn’t, the spaces between the previously written letters had to do.

None of it made sense. The paper was practically illegible. Sets of notes all written different colors of ink. And then rents in the paper where the ink was running out. Smears from fingertips. Coffee rings. Strange splatters ranging from brown to pink. What was with the pink?

None of it made sense, and looked like notes from a madman with no purpose but to not only document everything in the world but down to when he last took a shit. He assumed that was in the mess of scrawls somewhere. But when he relaxed his eyes, words began to shift up from the noise of multi-colored pen scribbles and rise to the surface.

His name is Taylor. He read. Taylor Hatfield. You love him. He makes you good.

Makes him good? Who was he that he needed to be made “good”?

Copyright 2015 © Lex Chase. All rights reserved.

[Flash Fiction Friday] Anne Barwell with a Dragons of Astria Short

Thanks for hosting my story for Flash Fic Friday, Lex.

 

I’ve adapted the prompt a little so it works within my Dragons of Astria series.  I’m writing book 2 in that series next, and this was a great way to get back into that universe again.

 

Prompt:

While in the post office buying stamps, a man sees a picture of his husband on a Most Wanted poster.

 

Wanted

A Dragons of Astria short story

by Anne Barwell

 

Denys held the arrow in his hand, testing the balance of it.  “This will do nicely,” he told the arrowsmith.  “I’ll pick up the rest of my order tomorrow.”

 

Although he now had other ways in which to protect himself and Aric, Denys still found himself falling back on his archery.  With a price on his dragon’s head, the last thing they wanted was confirmation there was one.  The stories had grown since their narrow escape at Woodleigh, and people grew nervous. After all, dragons were supposed to be extinct and it was the first sighting in many years.

 

“I look forward to it. Of course.”  The arrowsmith seemed pleased with the arrangement they’d made. “My wife will be grateful for the herbs you promised in exchange for them.”

 

“I will enclose directions as to the use of them,” Denys told him. Although the arrowsmith’s wife had some experience, Denys preferred to ensure they were used properly, especially as most also had the potential to cause harm if not used correctly.

 

He felt his husband’s presence brush against his mind, and smiled.  The longer they’d been together and the more Denys embraced the dragon within himself, the stronger their connection became. It comforted him knowing he’d have a sense of whether Aric was in danger even when they were apart.

 

Aric, on the other hand, was concerned that Denys was not embracing his dragon as much as he should. He still fought the physical change, despite being warned that he needed to change at least once between new moons or he would be left with no choice.  The longer between transformations, the harder it was to remain human after he and Aric made love too.  The passion between them created heat in more than one way. They’d fled several villages because of it, and both men were tired, especially as they had no choice but to make their way on foot.  Horses and dragons did not get along.

 

One of the king’s men strode into the smithy. He approached the arrowsmith, glanced at Denys, then dismissed him.

 

“This poster needs to up in here,” the soldier said. “I have already placed one outside.” He didn’t wait for the arrowsmith to answer. “Have you seen this man?”

 

The arrowsmith looked at the poster, then shook his head. “What’s he wanted for?”

 

“That is the king’s business, not yours. If you see him you will report it at once. Understand?”

 

“Of course.  It’s a decent reward. Whatever he’s done to deserve it, I’m surprised the king wants him unharmed.”

 

“Are you questioning your king?” asked the soldier.

 

“No! Of course not.” The arrowsmith backed away quickly although the soldier hadn’t drawn his weapon. “And if I see him, I’ll be certain to let you know.”

 

“Good.” The soldier nailed the poster to the wall.

 

Denys edged forward, curious, but was unable to see the poster with the soldier still in front of it.

 

“Do you know this man?” asked the soldier, turning quickly as though sensing someone behind him.

 

“No—” Denys started to say, although he hadn’t got a good look. He glanced at it. Then froze.

 

A drawn likeness of Aric stared back at him.

 

That couldn’t be right. Surely the king wouldn’t put a price on the head of his son?  There was no name on the poster, no hint of Aric’s true identity as Brandric, crown prince of Astria. Not many knew his likeness as their father had not allowed either Aric or his sister to venture far from their home. Since the queen’s passing, he’d become obsessed about keeping his children safe.

 

It did explain why the reward would only be paid if Aric was delivered unharmed. The king might be desperate for his son’s return, but he wouldn’t risk his wellbeing.

 

“Are you sure about that?” The soldier eyed Denys suspiciously. “I think your reaction suggests you have.”

 

“I haven’t seen him,” Denys said calmly. He felt familiar heat start to build inside. His vision whitened. He swayed on his feet.

 

Please no. Not now.

 

He shoved the dragon down. He had to get to Aric, to warn him before he was seen.

 

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” Denys took a couple of steps toward the door.  Instinctively, he reached for the bow he carried on his back, but stopped himself just in time. Perhaps if he kept to the illusion he wasn’t a threat, he couldn’t persuade the man to leave him alone.

 

The soldier blocked his way. “I don’t believe you. I think you should answer a few questions before you leave. The king is very keen to find this fugitive.”

 

“Let him go,” a familiar voice ordered from the doorway.  Aric stood there, the hood of his cloak down but his face in shadow. He held a sword in his hand.

 

The soldier drew his own sword and turned to face the intruder.  “Who are you to argue with the wishes of the king?”

 

“Tell the king that this particular fugitive does not wish to be found,” Aric continued as though the man hadn’t spoken. His tone boded no argument.

 

Denys sighed. Aric had a lot to learn about keeping a low profile, but now wasn’t the time to argue about that.

 

The soldier gasped when Aric stepped into the light. His sword wavered and he dropped to one knee. “Your—”

 

“So you have no issue in putting up posters and questioning others in order to find me, but it’s a different matter when we come face to face?” Aric shook his head. “Leave this man alone, Roul. The king has no argument with him.”

 

“The king….”  Roul quickly got to his feet, and gripped his sword with both hands. “I do not wish to fight you, but I will.”

 

The arrowsmith ducked under a nearby table, sensibly keeping out of the argument.

 

“No, you won’t,” Denys said, his dagger against Roul’s throat.  He’d slipped behind the man while he was distracted by Aric. “We are both leaving now. You haven’t seen either of us.”

 

“But—”

 

Denys put pressure on the sharp edge of his knife. A thin trickle of blood ran down Roul’s throat.  “I don’t think you heard me,” he said.

 

Roul didn’t move.

 

“Good.”  Denys glanced at Aric and shook his head. They would be discussing this incident later. “I don’t need rescuing,” he said.

 

“It didn’t look that way to me,” Aric said. He grinned, then reached for the hood of his cloak. “Are you with me?”

 

“Always.” Denys removed his knife from Roul’s throat, pushing him forward onto his knees in the same motion.  With his other hand he pulled up his own hood, knowing its magic would prevent him from being seen.

 

Quickly, he followed Aric.  He’d always felt Aric’s presence, even when he was cloaked by enchantment. Aric’s hand gripped his, and together they ran through the streets.  He’d have to find another source of arrows.

 

Not only that, but now that Aric also had a price on his head, they were running out of places to hide.

Welcome Brynn Stein and Ray of Sunlight

This is the seventh stop on my blog tour. I’m having such fun, as I always do on these tours, talking about various aspects of writing in general, and Ray of Sunlight in particular and getting to know all of you. Thanks so much for following the tour. If this is your first stop, feel free to go back and comment on the others, listed below, to be entered to win one of five prizes. More about that later.

Thanks so much for having me on your blog today, Lex.

Research and the fiction story.

I absolutely love to research. I always have. Back when ‘Google’ was a set of dictionaries, I used to keep them prominently placed in my room. Anything that caught my interest, I’d come home and research. If nothing new had caught my interest that day, I’d close my eyes, spin around and point. Then take the volume I was pointing to off my shelf and open it at random. Then just start to read.

Yeah, I was a weird little kid.

But I guess I’ve grown into a weird adult because I still love to research. It’s just easier now. But still, any time anything catches my interest, off to Google. One really cool thing about Google is it sort of does my random point and pick for me. Every time I research something, all those other somethings are there to be clicked upon. I can spend entire nights just researching.

Now, as fun as random research is, it’s not real conducive to writing. I’ll go to research one fact I need for my story and see something else and think “oh that looks interesting” and I’m off and gone. Three hours later I emerge, victoriously clutching my new mental treasures and realize, “Oh damn, what was I supposed to be looking for?”

So yeah, Google is a double edged sword, but I wouldn’t trade it. It’s fun.

For this story though, I didn’t need a lot of research. Russ reminded me a lot of my students. And CJ…well, I’ve had a lot of experience with cancer. (More on that in a future post in the tour). So all the medical stuff and side effects of chemo, etc…I researched it to make sure I was remembering correctly, but I didn’t have to start from scratch.

But I still researched details. What kinds of car might Russ be able to save enough to buy? What are typical names for art institutes? What is the full name of that blasted One Direction song that absolutely refused to get out of my head, and more than that, insisted it needed to be in the story?

So this story didn’t need nearly the research as did Living Again, (about an amputee and a little boy with no legs, and a man who had to leave medical school and became a nurse – yeah, lots of research right there), and Through the Years (which spanned five decades – when did they start using this or that word or this or that product). Nowhere near the research. But I still had fun.

What about you? Do you enjoy research? Be it for a story or just because you found something you’re interested in and want to know more. Do you Google for hours?

Comment below for a chance to win.

Here’s how the giveaway will work. Visit as many sites as you want, as often as you want. Each comment will enter you to win one of the following prizes: 1st) An autographed paperback copy of Ray of Sunlight, 2nd) An electronic copy of Ray of Sunlight, 3rd) Your choice of audio or electronic copy of Living Again, 4th) An electronic copy of Through the Years, and 5th) an electronic copy of Haunted. The takeovers for Harmony Ink’s blog and Facebook page will be part of the tour, so comments on there will count. I will draw the winners during the FB takeover and will announce them then, but will come back and announce it to all the sites too. So, you don’t have to leave your email address here if you don’t want to, just remember to check back. You’re also welcome to leave your email in the comments if you’d rather or email me at brynnstein2@gmail.com with the subject heading of “just in case”, so I can contact you if you win, if you don’t want to have to stop back by the blog sites. You don’t have to be present at the FB takeover to win.

Thanks for playing.

Blog Tour Stops

3/3/2015 – Bike Books Review – http://bikebookreviews.blogspot.com/

3/4/2015  – Grace Duncan  – http://www.grace-duncan.com/

3/5/2015 – Susan Laine – https://www.goodreads.com/author/show...

3/6/2015 – Jo Ramsey – http://www.joramsey.com/blog/

3/7/2015 – Alicia Nordwell – http://ciasstories.blogspot.com/2015/...

3/8/2015 – Jana Denardo – https://www.goodreads.com/author_blog...

3/9/2015 – Lex Chase – http://lexchase.com

3/10/2015 – Sean Michael – http://seanmichaelwrites.blogspot.ca/

3/11/2015 – Charley Descoteaux – http://cdescoteauxwrites.com/

3/12/2015 – Anne Barwell – http://anne-barwell.livejournal.com/

3/13/2015 – Karenna Colcroft – http://www.karennacolcroft.com

3/14/2015 – Anna Butler – http://annabutlerfiction.com/2015/03/...

3/15/2015 – Nic Starr – http://www.becausetwomenarebetterthan...

3/16/2015 – Shae Conner – http://shaeconnorwrites.com

3/17/2015 – Jessica Davies – http://jessicaskyedavies.blogspot.com/

3/18/2015 – Aidee Ladnier – http://www.aideeladnier.com.

3/19/2015 – Emma Tett – http://emmy-j.blogspot.co.uk/

3/20/2015 – Harmony Ink Blog – http://harmonyinkpress.com/

3/21/2015 – Harmony Ink Facebook Page – http://facebook.com/harmonyinkpress

Ray of Sunlight

Brynn Stein

 

Russ Michaels has his whole life ahead of him but no plans beyond dropping out of school as soon as he turns eighteen. He’s been in and out of juvenile detention for the last four years and thoroughly expects to end up in an adult penitentiary at some point. He hates life and everyone in it, especially this latest community service that he earned in lieu of juvie yet again.

CJ Calhoun has big plans. He wants to bring joy and happiness to sick and injured children for as long as he can by performing as a clown. The problem is, he has stage-four cancer and a horrible prognosis.

When circumstances throw these two polar opposites together, they find they have more in common than they imagined. CJ discovers Russ’s talent for art and arranges for Russ to create a mural in the hospital foyer, which leads to a tentative scholarship to the Art Institute. As life changes in ways neither of them could have expected, Russ must work harder than ever to better himself as CJ struggles with his deteriorating health.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=6176

http://www.harmonyinkpress.com/books/ray-of-sunlight-by-brynn-stein-261-b

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/25005560-ray-of-sunlight

Brynn Stein

Brynn Stein has always loved to write. Fan fiction, original fiction, whatever. While Brynn wrote in numerous genres—everything from mystery, to contemporary, to supernatural—she had always tended toward strong male characters. And then she discovered “slash,” male/male romance, and all those strong male characters were finally allowed to express their love for one another. It seems that there are always at least two characters clamoring to tell Brynn their story.

Brynn lives in Virginia near her two grown daughters who encourage her writing and provide a sounding board for fledgling stories. When she isn’t writing, Brynn teaches children with special needs. In free time, when such a thing exists, she reads anything she can get her hands on, and haunts bookstores. She draws and paints, and enjoys the outdoors—especially if she can get to the beach—and is always thinking about her next story.

Please feel free to contact Brynn at any of the following:

http://brynnstein2.wordpress.com

https://www.facebook.com/brynn.stein

brynnstein2@gmail.com

[Flash Fiction Friday] T.A. Venedicktov presents Bones

Hello Internet! Lex here. And today we have up and coming DSP Publications author duo T.A. Venedicktov presenting their entry for Flash Fiction Friday asking the question: “Will you help me hide a boooodddyyyy~” Enjoy!

Bones by T.A. Venedictov

 

The world streaked by in a blur of yellow street paint, glowing from the headlights, before blending into a stream of gray as they entered the desert. Evan didn’t register the bumps or dips. The F350 truck cabin was cold from the A/C and the stereo poured out some satellite rock station. He still felt the sides of the truck crushing in on him, trying to tell himself it was nerves.

“You’re quieter than normal.” Apollo said chipperly from the driver’s seat, interrupting the internal cinematic film that had been playing over and over inside Evan’s mind since the ‘incident’. They both rose up in their seats and were rocked involuntarily side to side as the rumbling truck went through another dip in the desert sand. They were no longer on any sort of road or path that Evan could tell, but heading straight out into the mountainous, geological, day time death trap.

 

“You still haven’t told me what happened.” Evan’s fire-haired BFF with bennies still sounded overly cheerful, especially when it came to their current situation. The attractive man had his nearly every present smile on his lips, his eyes locked onto the scenery around them, not once looking over at Evan.

 

Evan tossed his hands up in the air and they came slapping down into his lap. “What do you mean what happened? I killed a guy!”

 

Apollo finally took his eyes off the darkness to quickly look at Evan with a quirked eyebrow, the smile still present.

 

“Considering there’s a stiff rolling around back there, I think I got that part. I’m asking you how it got that way. When I talked to ya earlier this evening, you sounded pretty up about tonight. Bragging even. So what happened between then and bloody DB?”

 

“You didn’t ask me any questions back at the apartment and you didn’t ask anything the last hour, but now you want the story?” Evan slammed his head back into the headrest. “I thought it was going to be a good night. He’s been paying me well and I thought it would be like the last two times we met up.”

 

“When dealing with a corpse, you generally don’t have time to ask questions. You gotta move quickly. Besides, you were too freaked out to talk to. You’ve had a little bit to chill. So ya, askin’ now.” Apollo sounded all too reasonable. “So what changed? He decide that he wanted a freebie?”

 

Evan’s leg started bouncing up and down. “He hit me, okay?”

 

The truck swerved abruptly to the right as Apollo looked sharply over at Evan, the smile finally gone. Evan had only seen the deadly, cold look in his best friend’s dark green eyes a few times and it had scared the shit out of him, even though it had never been directed towards him. This was another one of those times.

 

“He hit you?” Each word Apollo spoke was pronounced slowly, a slight growl flavoring every syllable.

 

Evan shook his head and looked at his hands. “Look, a client hitting me isn’t that big of a surprise. Happens time to time. But this was different.”

 

He tried to think back to a few hours ago, but it was similar to watching an old, choppy, 8 millimeter movie.

 

Phil had been drinking. Evan knew a closet alcoholic when he met one. Gay closet and habit closet looked similar on the inside. Phil paid well, and for a forty year old married man, he fucked surprisingly well.

 

Phil put the empty bottle down on the coffee table and smacked his lips. He had been on a diatribe about his younger years. He finished it with, “My brother, his girlfriend, and I were going to a Rolling Stones concert. I was sitting in the back of the car reading Aristotle and Imagination of the Soul. We smoked so much fucking pot. Changed my life.”

 

Evan laughed because he had never heard anything more ridiculous. Phil had not seen the humor.

 

“What the fuck? It’s true! It was then that I knew what I needed to do with my life,” his hands curled into fists.

 

Evan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his naked chest. “I’m not one to judge, but sleeping around on your wife is never a life aspiration of most men.”

 

Phil unfurled from the sofa, pointing a finger toward Evan, making jabbing motions as he ranted. “You little piece of shit! You know nothing about my life! What I’ve had to do to get where I am.”

 

Evan bit his tongue. He wasn’t paid to have an opinion. Evan thought the man was full of shit, but he paid up front and never argued against using a rubber.

 

Evan held up his hands placatingly. “Let’s not fight. Let me take care of you. That’s why you hired me right? To help you relax?”

 

Evan walked forward, expecting anything but a meaty hook to his jaw.

 

Evan looked over at Apollo as he paused his story. “But he didn’t stop there.”

 

There was still no returning smile on Apollo’s face, however his fury filled eyes had moved back towards the dark desert scenery.

 

“Of course it didn’t.” Apollo said lowly as he maneuvered the truck around a large boulder and finally stopped the vehicle, turning it off with a rumble. “Tell me,” he practically ordered.

 

“Why? Does it matter at this point?” He countered.

 

“Tell. Me.” Apollo ordered again.

 

He frowned at Apollo. Evan was embarrassed and freaked out and Apollo was no therapist he’d ever spill his guts too.

 

“Fuck you,” he snapped. “Are you still going to help if I don’t?”

 

Apollo’s cold expression melted a little at his best friend’s words. Reaching over, he brushed the now visible bruise on Evan’s cheek gently with the back of his fingers.

 

“I’ll always help you, no matter what. You know that.” he said softly, a small, warm smile briefly appearing on his face before he dropped his hand, opening his door. “Come on.”

 

“Come on what? Here?” Evan looked around, unable to see much in the dark desert.

 

“Of course,” the other man stated blandly as he stepped out into the cool night air. Deserts had the distinct honor of killing people by the heat of the day. However, at night, it could turn icy cold.

 

“The desert is the perfect place to chuck a body. By the time it’s found, if ever, the large portion of evidence has been stripped away by the sun and sand,” Apollo explained as he reached into the back cab of the truck and grabbed a black duffel bag, dropping it in the seat he had previously occupied and unzipping it. He paused for a moment, his brow furrowing as he looked up and peered at Evan who was lit by the interior cab light. “Wait, don’t tell me you’ve never tried burying a body before?!”

 

“Of course not, you homicidal idiot!” Evan screamed, turning away as he exited the cab, heart hammering in his chest.

 

Apollo was next to Evan as soon as the man slammed the truck door shut. The smile was gone from the his lips as he put his hands on Evan’s shoulders. “Calm down Ev. I know you’ve had a shit of a night. I apologize for assuming that you’ve done this before. I should have known otherwise by the way you were acting. I’m just used to being around people who have.”

 

Gently, Apollo moved his hands from Evan’s shoulders and down his back, pulling the smaller man into a warm, comforting hug. It was odd, the contrast. One moment Apollo was talking casually about burying a body as if it was as normal as going to the grocery store. The next, he was hugging Evan and it felt wonderful. The most amazing embrace he had ever experienced. Hell, he and Apollo had fucked more times than Evan could remember. But he couldn’t recall Apollo ever hugging him before.

 

“Why don’t you stay in the truck and rest? I’ll take care of the fuckhead.” Apollo suggested softly in Evan’s ear before releasing him and stepping back.

 

“No. I did this. I need to do this.”

 

The movie began to play again. Him on the floor holding his jaw. Flashes of scenes. Another swing. Venomous words cutting deep. Large hands around his neck. Evan realizing he wasn’t fighting off being raped, but being killed.

 

The knife had been right there.

 

Apollo opened his mouth, obviously about to debate Evan’s decision. However, he just said, “Alright,” giving his friend another quick hug before walking back around the truck. He pulled two pairs of black, latex gloves out of the bag before walking to the back of the vehicle.

 

There was a camper cover over the bed of the truck, which hid any contents that may be there. In this case there was a body rolled up in a thick, plastic sheet that prevented any fluids from slipping out and slopping all over the back of the vehicle. There were also two shovels, which Apollo grabbed first.

 

He choose a divot in the sand next to a shear plateau. The side Apollo had chosen faced East, the side the sun first hit when it rose. There was a small cave at the base of the plateau, where rock and sand didn’t quite meet. Dropping the shovels, he went back to the truck, pulling the body out.

 

Evan licked his lips and picked up a shovel. “I’m getting so drunk and high after this.”

 

Apollo chuckled softly as he dropped the wrapped body unceremoniously on the ground near the shovels. He grabbed one himself and began digging next to the small cave.

 

“You mind if I join ya?”

 

Evan wiped his hand across his forehead. “Fuck yes. Join in.”

 

It didn’t take them long to dig a deep hole. Once that was complete, Apollo grabbed the body, dropping it in.

 

Evan grabbed gas and matches to burn Phil’s wallet and baggage he brought to Phil’s place earlier.

 

“Burn the plastic sheeting as well.” Apollo began to stomp the body more into the hole.

 

Evan didn’t question his friend’s orders during this moment. He dug the hole, filled it up with the extra crap, and lit it ablaze.

 

Apollo finished up covering the body, trusting the elements more than fire to take care of it. He made sure the fucker was mostly under the plateau and the hole and divot was covered, looking natural.

 

It wasn’t long before they were done, packed up and ready to go. Before they got back into the truck, Apollo pulled Evan into his arms once again.

 

“You should quit doing tricks and move in with me. I can get you a gig with me that pays more, is safer, and where I can watch over ya.”

 

Evan punched Apollo in the side. “I can take care of myself,” he paused. “I’ll think about it.”

 

“Good,” the smile on Apollo’s face was practically beaming. He put a quick kiss on his best friend’s lips before walking to the driver’s side. “Let’s get out of here and have enough fun to get that fucker out of your head. I’ll call a buddy who owes me a favor to do the clean up so I can hang with you. Sound like a plan?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Evan climbed back into the truck. “Ya. Fine.” Evan looked out at the vast darkness in front of them. “Thanks Apollo.”

 

“Anytime, Ev.” Apollo replied softly. It was clear to Evan that when Apollo said anytime, he really meant it.

 

Then the smile widened again, mischief in Apollo’s eyes as he looked at Evan. “When else can I bury a body with the guy I love?”

 

Evan felt his jaw hit the floor. “What the fuck?”

 

Apollo tilted his head back and laughed at Evan’s shocked expression as they continued to drive back towards civilization – and perhaps more.

Rise & Fall: Interview with Charlie Cochet

Welcome Charlie Cochet and her much anticipated fourth THIRDS installment Rise & Fall!

Charlie was kind enough to have a sitdown with Mae Wynn Talley, co-administator of the official Darkmore Saga, Fairy Tales of the Open Road, and the newly launched Lost parody Fuck Yeah Swan Station on Tumblr.

So, sit back, relax, as Charlie dishes the details on what makes her tick.

 

Your well known trademark is the flower in your hair. What is the story behind it?

I love quirky retro style fashion, and the flower in my hair is something I’ve been wearing since my time in London a few years ago. I knew some fabulous folks who were part of the Rockabilly set and learned a great deal about the fashion. When I started going to conferences, I’d have a flower in my hair until soon folks started recognizing me by it. At first it was always a red rose. Soon it became part of my brand. Now I change it up with different styles and colors, but it’s always there.

Once you had said THIRDS was conceived as the book form of a blockbuster comic book movie and you yourself are a comics fan. How did you go about translating the over the top format to readers that may not be comic fans?

The THIRDS may have a sort of comic book/movie feel, but at the heart of the series are the characters. For me, the characters are what draw me to a good book or movie, and that’s what I try to capture with the THIRDS. There’s a little something for everyone, humor, drama, cheesy eighties music. It’s about having fun and getting lost in a different world. There are a lot of characters in the THIRDS and I think we can all relate to them in some way.

Where did you get the idea for THIRDS? What inspired it in the first place?

The THIRDS was inspired by my need for a mainstream style TV/ movie-like M/M romance with action, comedy, drama, and sexy guy with guns. I wanted a big cast, something as close to contemporary as possible but still paranormal with shifters. Something where readers could fall in love with the characters and have their favorite pairings. I already had a shifter series, but one based on myth and magic. I wanted a more scientific explanation for my shifters.

You recently became a new pet parent to Ollie. Care to share some of his puppy hijinks?

Ah, my little furry bundle of joy wrapped in mischief. I don’t think I’ve laughed so hard or so often since he was brought home. It’s been amazing watching him grow from this tiny pup who was just learning to pounce and play, to this mischievous pup who likes to climb onto my shoulder and hide under the covers. He’s too smart for his own good. He likes to steal socks, so those can’t be anywhere he can reach. He likes to pilfer things when he thinks you can’t see him, and if he knows he’s done something naughty, he’ll duck under the bed or my chaise lounge, but usually he gives himself away because his little butt will be sticking out or his nose. LOL.

What inspired you to take up writing as a profession in the first place? Was there an event in your life that changed everything?

I’ve been writing and drawing since I can remember. I was a freelance artist for a while, but I quickly learned that I enjoyed writing fiction far more. I love drawing, but it didn’t call to me the way telling stories did. I love creating characters. A few years ago I started writing a novel with the intention of having it published, and then after certain circumstances had me moving back to the US from the UK, I had the opportunity to really pursue writing as a career. It was a big risk and some sacrifices had to be made, but now I’m so happy I took the chance.

Many people now look to you as their writing idol. What advice would you give to someone telling their first stories?

Wow, I don’t know about idol. I would say don’t give up. If you want to be a published author, you have to work at it, and then work some more. It’s tough and very demanding, but you just need to keep writing, keep working on your story, and be open to growing as a writer. There’s a lot of determination involved. Find a supportive group of fellow writers or chat with published authors. You’ll find lots of folks are happy to help. The writing process is a lengthy one which requires patience, something I had to learn about the hard way. Follow your heart and see it through.

What would you tell 16 year old you?

Don’t be afraid and be yourself. I was so incredibly shy when I was 16. I had no idea who I was or who I wanted to be. I was afraid to speak up. It took me a long time to feel comfortable in my own skin, to grow into the person I am today.

Every writer has rituals. What’s yours?

I don’t think I have any set rituals. Every morning, I check my email on my phone in bed to see what I need to prioritize then I have coffee. Nothing happens before coffee. I’ll have breakfast, sort out my emails, and get to my work day. Some days are more chaotic than others, but everything starts after coffee.

What did you do with your very first royalty check?

I showed it to my mom. LOL. Then I tucked it in a plastic protective sleeve in my binder for all my important paperwork like contracts, copyright forms, and so on. That was after I stopped smiling like a dope. My first check was small since I started out writing short stories, but I still hadn’t gotten over the excitement of being a published author. I’m still excited.

You’ve been writing historicals for years, what inspired branching out into sci-fi and fantasy?

I always knew I would branch out into other genres at some point because I wanted the freedom to write whatever story popped into my head regardless of genre. The first non-historical was Mending Noel, a sweet little holiday romance about Christmas elves. It was quite the leap. I’ve always loved historical romance, but I’ve always loved fantasy, sci-fi, urban fantasy, and paranormal. When the idea for the THIRDS hit, I started developing it on the side, building the THIRDS world.

What other genres would you like to branch out to someday? Any that are a definite that you can share with readers?

I’m hoping to get stories out there in all genres. I’m wrapping up my first contemporary novella which is a romantic comedy of sorts. I have another big series I’m starting to world build that’s an urban fantasy/paranormal. My work in progress folder has a sci-fi m/m romance in it, a pulp-style mystery, and even a medieval fantasy style story. The urban fantasy/paranormal series is a definite. I hope to get that going after the THIRDS or toward the final books. There’s a huge amount of world building in that one, possibly more than the THIRDS. I’m very excited about it.

 

Rise & Fall 

(THIRDS Series, Book #4) 

by Charlie Cochet 

 
Blurb: 
After an attack by the Coalition leaves THIRDS Team Leader Sloane Brodie critically injured, agent Dexter J. Daley swears to make Beck Hogan pay for what he’s done. But Dex’s plans for retribution are short-lived. With Ash still on leave with his own injuries, Sloane in the hospital, and Destructive Delta in the Coalition’s crosshairs, Lieutenant Sparks isn’t taking any chances. Dex’s team is pulled from the case, with the investigation handed to Team Leader Sebastian Hobbs. Dex refuses to stand by while another team goes after Hogan, and decides to put his old HPF detective skills to work to find Hogan before Theta Destructive, no matter the cost.

With a lengthy and painful recovery ahead of him, the last thing Sloane needs is his partner out scouring the city, especially when the lies—however well intentioned—begin to spiral out of control. Sloane is all too familiar with the desire to retaliate, but some things are more important, like the man who’s pledged to stand beside him. As Dex starts down a dark path, it’s up to Sloane to show him what’s at stake, and finally put a name to what’s in his heart.




Availableforpurchase at
   

 

Excerpt

Dex sorted out all of Sloane’s pillows, fluffing them up and arranging them before bringing the tray over.

Once Sloane was settled, Dex placed the tray over his lap and kissed him, tasting a faint hint of minty freshness.

 

Sloane stared down at the tray.

 

“Is it okay?” Dex asked. Had he forgotten something? “Eggs benedict and pancakes are your favorite,

right?”

 

Sloane nodded.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“You made heart-shaped pancakes.”

 

Dex held back a smile. “Are they too unmanly? Should I have made them grenade-shaped? I’m sure

Letty’s got a mold for those.”

 

Sloane chuckled. “No, hearts are fine. It’s real sweet. Thank you.”

 

Dex sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. He ran his fingers through Sloane’s hair feeling guilty

for having left him on his own last night. Sloane could take care of himself, even if he was injured, but

 

his partner was drugged up and obviously feeling a little out of it, considering his reaction to the heart

shaped pancakes. Maybe it was time he took care of his partner like he’d promised he would.

 

“Why don’t you eat your breakfast while I shower, and we’ll watch a movie or something together?”

 

Sloane gave him a wide smile. “I’d like that.”

 

Dex left Sloane to his breakfast and went off to shower as quickly as he could. Showering wasn’t as

much fun without his partner. As he lathered himself up, a naughty thought occurred to him. He’d also

promised he’d make his partner purr. Finishing up, he could barely hold back his smile or the heat

spreading through him. Easy there, Daley. Don’t get yourself worked up yet. He dressed in his comfy

cotton pajama bottoms and a loose faded Back to the Future T-shirt before heading out into the

bedroom. Sloane was smiling, his plate devoid of any evidence food had ever been on there. Wow, his

partner had been hungry. Really hungry. Starving. Sort of like after….

 

“Please tell me you didn’t.” Dex removed the tray and put it on the floor against the wall. He pulled the

blanket back and tried to lift Sloane’s T-shirt, but his partner slapped his hand away. “Sloane, let me see,

damn it.” He grabbed Sloane’s wrist with one hand and managed to pull up the cotton shirt, cursing

under his breath at the tiny beads of blood seeping through the bandage. “For fuck’s sake, did you try to

shift?” When Sloane looked away, Dex had his answer. No wonder his partner was out of it. It wasn’t

just the meds. Sloane hadn’t recuperated from postshift. Dex opened the minifridge and found it empty.

“When?” He slammed the fridge door shut.

 

“Last night. After you called,” Sloane mumbled.

 

“Last night?” Dex put a hand to his head. Veggies and hummus were all well and good for Sloane’s

Human side, but not for the Felid inside him. He needed meat, protein, and more than the packet of

sliced chicken Dex had left him in the fridge. “Fuck. Sloane, you know you’re not supposed to attempt

shifting. The doctor said so, and it’s in the packet. To make matters worse, you do it when there’s no

one here to perform postshift trauma care? With no access to the right foods? What were you

thinking?”

 

“I’m thinking I need to fucking heal, and if that’s the quickest way to do it, then it’s a risk I’m willing to

take!”

 

Sloane’s ferocity surprised Dex, and he took a step back. His partner’s pupils were dilated and his fangs

slightly elongated. Fuck, what the hell was going on? It was like Sloane was having trouble controlling his

feral side. Dex could see it. He could see the Felid inside Sloane staring back at him from behind glowing

amber eyes. Could the meds be doing this? The recovery packet the doctor had given them specifically

instructed Sloane not shift while he was healing, especially while on his meds.

 

“Okay, take it easy. It’s me.” Dex held his hands up in front of him and swallowed hard, aware of the

telltale signs. “There’s no hurry for you to heal, Sloane. It’s okay.”

 

“It’s not okay,” Sloane snarled, his fingers flexing against the sheets and his nails starting to grow. Fuck.

Oh fuck.

 

“Sloane, you need to breathe. Calm down.” Dex slowly edged away from the bed. Why was this

happening? Sloane had never lost his grip on his Felid side. Not to mention he’d yet to fully recover from

 

his first attempt. “Please, Sloane. Your body’s not healed from the first try. Who knows what asecond

attempt will do?”

 

There was no reply from Sloane. He was gritting his teeth, his face red, and his muscles straining.

 

“Sloane, you need to stop.”

 

“I can’t.” Sloane lowered his head, his fierce gaze on Dex.

 

“Why?”

 

“To protect you!”

 

Dex gasped as Sloane let out a roar, his body starting to shift. What the hell was Dex supposed to do?

He’d never faced a Therian who’d lost control of his Human side, much less an Apex predator. Quickly,

he backed up against the far wall, cringing as Sloane’s cries of agony filled the room. Sloane tore at his

clothes, pulling his T-shirt and pajama bottoms off before his mass shifted, bones popped, and fur

pierced his skin. Dex reached into his pocket and with shaky hands placed a call.

 

A gruff voice answered. “What do you want?”

 

“Ash, you have to help me.” The panic in his voice must have been clear, because Ash’s tone instantly

transformed from its usual gruffness to concern.

 

“What’s going on, Dex? Talk to me.”

 

“It’s Sloane. He’s shifting, but it’s not… not normal. He tried last night but couldn’t complete the transformation. Then we got into an argument, and it’s like he’s lost it. I don’t think he’s in control. How

is that possible?”

 

“Hide.”

 

“What?”

 

“Hide somewhere he can’t get to you. I’m on my way. I’ve still got my key to your place.”

 

Ash hung up, and Dex shoved his phone in his pocket. Where the fuck was he supposed to hide? When

he moved his gaze to the bed, he stilled. There was no time for hiding. The huge black jaguar lay in the

center of the bed, his tail thumping against the headboard. He sniffed the sheets, then the air before his

gaze landed on Dex.

 

About the Author



Charlie Cochet is an author by day and artist by night. Always quick to succumb to the whispers of her wayward muse, no star is out of reach when following her passion. From Historical to Fantasy, Contemporary to Science Fiction, there’s bound to be plenty of mischief for her heroes to find themselves in, and plenty of romance, too!

Currently residing in South Florida, Charlie looks forward to migrating to a land where the weather includes seasons other than hot, hotter, and boy, it’s hot! When she isn’t writing, she can usually be found reading, drawing, or watching movies. She runs on coffee, thrives on music, and loves to hear from readers.





You can find Charlie at

                       



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Presented By

[Flash Fiction Friday] Andrea Speed with Of Men and Monkeys

Hey Internet! The one, the only Andrea Speed has dropped by today with this week’s entry for Flash Fiction Friday! Men, Monkeys, Musicals? What is this?

Of Men and Monkeys
By Andrea Speed

Was he crazy, or a closet masochist? This was not the first time Ty had asked himself this question, but like always, he had no answer. It could have gone either way.

Casey came up to him, looking at her iPad, stylus poised over electronic pages. “Ty, Phil thinks we really need to work on our second act problem –”

“Not now, Casey,’ he told her. “I’m gonna have a ten minute vacation, and then you can bother me.”

She scowled. He knew she was a hard charger who felt she should have had been in charge of this thing, but it had been his bright idea. Well, his and Nick’s, and then Sara’s, and technically they ripped it off from the Simpsons, but who didn’t rip things off from the Simpsons? It was almost impossible not to. They’d done just about everything. “But Tara –“

“If she doesn’t like the mask, she can take one of the chorus parts, and we’ll give her role to someone else,” he snapped. It was days like these that made him want to throw himself in front of a bus.

Casey took a step back, surprised by the venom in his tone, and finally she believed his need for a break. “I’ll – um. I’ll check back with you in ten minutes.”

He nodded and walked to the secondary art room, which was his temporary office.

You’d think the biggest problem with a Planet of the Apes musical would be the songs, but oh no. It was the costumes.

While none of the songs were as brilliant as the snippets of the ones on that Simpsons episode, it really wasn’t all that difficult to come up with them. He, Nick, Sara, and Matt had some decent ideas, and Matt was quite musical, able to bang out a tune at the drop of a prop hat.

But singing in a full monkey mask was impossible. At best, the sound was muffled, and at worst, the singers almost passed out. It was hard to breathe through them, and sometimes they couldn’t get enough oxygen. It was a shame, too, ‘cause they were great. They had to settle for half masks, that covered the upper half of the performer’s faces, with make up attempting to camouflage the difference. They weren’t as good, and frankly looked more than a little ridiculous. Like they were all little kids who made the most half-assed Halloween get ups they could afford. And they couldn’t afford much.

If they were going for comedy or camp, it would be okay, but they were trying to treat this all seriously. In this instance, comedy would be easy, and drama seemed the bigger challenge, but maybe it was more than they could handle. Was it too late to switch it to a comedy?

Ty sat at the paint smeared table in the center of the room, and rested his head on it, like a kindergartener taking a nap. While he was weary, it was mainly so he didn’t attempt to break the table in two with his skull. He was really tempted. A concussion might get him hospitalized, and then it would be Nick, Sara, and Matt’s problem.

He heard the door open with a creak, and said, “I’ve seen enough monkeys for one day, thank you very much.”

“You know, if you’re doing this show, you should really learn the difference between monkeys and apes.” It was Matt, sounding irritatingly cheerful.

Ty moved just enough to blindly give him the finger. “Nobody asked for a pedant. Go away.”

Matt sighed, and there was a loud scraping noise as he pulled up a chair. As soon as he was settled, he ruffled Ty’s hair, which Matt knew he hated. “Don’t be this way. I think it’s shaping up nicely.”

“You’re joking, right?” Ty sat up, even though he didn’t feel like it. Like he suspected, Matt looked as irritatingly cheerful as he sounded.

Matt’s lopsided grin told him how concerned he was about all the setbacks. “Dude, why are you stressing out? We’re looking good.”

Ty snorted. “Really? Did you get a load of the masks? They’re terrible.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. If you’re really invested in the story, you’ll forgive a lot of shit, and that includes masks. The songs are strong, we have some good singers, no one’s died yet. We’re ahead of the game, as far as I can tell.” Matt grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him gently. “We are a community theater company putting on an all original Planet of the Apes musical. This isn’t Broadway, and there’s a better than even chance that, as soon as word gets around about this, we’ll be hit with a cease and desist order by whoever owns the copyright. So lighten up, huh?”

Those were all fair points. Was he actually expecting perfection from a musical that cost maybe fifty dollars to stage? (And that was an assumption of budget – really, they had no money to spend on this production, but they scraped some together from various sources.)

Ty couldn’t help but expect it. He wanted it to be perfect, just like he wanted everything to be perfect. But was anything, ever? It was a trap he set for himself, and he really had to stop that. He sighed. “I’m ridiculous, aren’t I?”

Matt smiled, but he quickly made himself stop. “You’re high strung. Which is okay. If we were all strung the same way, we’d never make music.”

Ty rolled his eyes at the corny expression, which was a specialty of Matt’s. He could make up a corny saying on the spot, one no one had ever heard of before, and make it sound like it had been around forever. It was a dubious gift. “I think I need to get out of here before the corn gets too high here.”

“Good, now we can work on the second act,” Matt said, a little too cheerfully.  Ty groaned, but Matt went on. “What if we cut the Zaius subplot, or move it to the third?”

Ty thought about it a moment. “Well …. maybe that could work. We could cut the ballad to make room for it.

Matt smirked. “You never did like the ballad, did you?”

“It slows things down too much.”

Maybe he could relax, and fix this damn thing. Besides, this was all about singing apes, right? That sold itself.

Now, if only Ty could tell his nerves to settle the hell down.

L. Blankenship Presents Hawks & Rams

Hawks & Rams

by L. Blankenship

a m/m fantasy romance novella

ON SALE NOW!

from Dreamspinner Press

Amazon • Dreamspinner

Back Cover

Heathric Felahóf never wanted to be a thief, but his cousinʼs scheme is the only option to keep the town’s children from being taken as slaves to cover the year’s taxes. So a few men slip over the border into the neighboring kingdom, steal a flock of sheep, and escape before the magically gifted Rangers learn of them. The second time, they’re not so lucky, and trouble follows the bandits home.

 

Adal Sperling has given up on finding a lover who truly wants him. One of the Rangers charged with protecting his people, he pursues the sheep thieves over the border and stumbles across Heathric, a gentle shepherd who only wants to take care of his family. But opposite sides of border incursions is a rough way to fall in love, and the laws of Adalʼs kingdom are clear: the border must remain closed to Heathricʼs people.

 

From Chapter 1

The meadow, sheep, and herding dogs looked familiar enough to Heathric, but the shepherds spoke the wrong language. He and his cousins crouched behind a knot of birches, waiting for Dunstan and Scéot to flank the field and shoot the dogs. Mother Love only knew what would happen then; folk on this side of the border hills were all kir-mages, it was said. Their saints made them, even if they were born without the gift.

 

One of the dogs leaped up from the tall grass, ears cocked toward the trees at the edge of the meadow. Heathric’s breath caught. The dog faced away from him, though. It had to be one of the two woodsmen. The elder shepherd noticed his dog and stood up too. His son, red-haired like him, called a question.

 

An arrow hissed. The dog cried out and fell. Heathric winced, squeezing his eyes shut. The second dog barked once and squealed in pain. It stabbed through Heathric’s ears and pricked tears to his eyes.

 

“Come on!” Athard cuffed Heathric as he rushed past. Athard whistled to his own dog, and a bark answered from the forest behind them.

 

Heathric took a breath to steady himself. It had to be done, or the strangers’ dogs would attack their own. He whistled the order to come and heard Clymp tearing through the ferns toward him.

 

Lunging to his feet, Heathric charged into the meadow with his shepherd’s staff in both hands. Wails from the dying dog hit his ears, along with men’s shouts. The sheep baaed and dithered under all the noise, some of them frightened enough to bolt toward the tree line. Heathric whistled a flanking command to Clymp and called the sheep together.

 

They didn’t know Suevi words, though, and he was a stranger. A gray and white mop of a dog burst from the forest and the sheep shied in unison toward Heathric. He spread his arms, with the staff held out long, to turn them back to the main flock. They veered away, crashing into their flock-mates in confusion.

 

Behind them, ounstan raised his bow as a club and struck the shepherd down. Heathric saw his cousin’s rage, clear as day, and felt it hot and prickly as a sunburn across his skin.

 

Running sheep caught his eye, and Heathric whistled again. Clymp raced past to herd them back. “Easy, easy,” Heathric said, pacing along the edge of the flock with his arms wide. “We won’t hurt you.”

 

The animals’ eyes rolled, and they bumped against each other in trying to huddle. Beyond, Dunstan clubbed the shepherd again, then put his hand on the hilt of the seax he wore strapped across the small of his back. The knife’s long, heavy blade flashed in the sun as he jerked it from the scabbard.

 

“No!” It burst from Heathric’s mouth.

 

Dunstan stabbed. Heathric broke into a run, hurdling the sheep that couldn’t scramble out of his way.

 

“No! You swore—!”

 

Dunstan swung around with the bloody seax at ready. Heathric skidded to a stop, barely keeping his balance. His cousin snorted and flicked blood off the blade. “No harm’ll come to us.” He put a sneering emphasis on the last word.

 

Hawks & Rams

ON SALE NOW!

Amazon • Dreamspinner

Also by L. Blankenship

Disciple, a six part gritty fantasy adventure

Download Disciple, Part I for FREE

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