I got some good news this week. Amber Allure's bestseller list for October came out, and guess who was at #3?
1. Love's Baggage - T. A. Chase (Gay / Dark Fantasy / Werewolf)
2. Tame - A. J. Llewellyn (Gay / Dark Fantasy / Werewolf)
3. Moon-Touched - Vivien Dean (Gay / Dark Fantasy / Werewolf)
4. Conway - D. J. Manly (Gay / Dark Fantasy / Werewolf)
5. Nathan's Angel - Melissa Bradley (Gay / Dark Fantasy / Werewolf)
6. Pushing The Envelope 2: RSVP - Kim Dare (Gay / Contemp. / BDSM)
7. Devotedly His - Shawn Lane (Gay / Contemporary)
8. More Than Anything - Shawn Lane (Gay / Contemporary)
9. The Institute, Book I: Healer - Cassandra Gold (Gay / Paranormal)
10. Blood On The Mountain - India Harper (Gay / Contemp. / Suspense)
I'm definitely chuffed about it, especially since it's been a slower writing year for me this year.
A few people have asked me about whether or not there will be a sequel. The answer is YES. With the pax collections, we have a 40k word limit, so I had to find a natural break in their story in order to meet that. However, there's more to be told, mostly because Andre and Thomas still have a lot to overcome. It's probably going to be novel-length, and it will be out at Amber Allure as early next year as I can manage it.
Showing posts with label moon-touched. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moon-touched. Show all posts
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
New release - Moon-Touched
On Sunday, my contribution to Amber Allure's werewolf pax came out. This one was a labor of love, because I tried to normalize the paranormal aspect by focusing on the contemporary issues with the couple, rather than the werewolf aspects. The result really got to me.
It's at new release prices this week, so head over to the publisher's page and take a look. There's an excerpt there to sample it, too.
Thomas Durling escaped his small-town upbringing for over ten years, until a single phone call draws him back. Told his mother has been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s, Thomas returns to the small northern Michigan town he once called home to find a mute stranger named Andre taking care of her in his stead. On the surface, Andre seems harmless enough, but Thomas has enough problems trying to deal with his mother’s illness. He doesn’t need a gorgeous young man to distract him, especially in a town that already drove him away once with its homophobia.
But Andre Nezat has nowhere else to go. A wolf without a pack, he’s been on the run since witnessing his father’s murder, always looking over his shoulder, never looking ahead. Taking care of Thomas’s mother has given him a welcome sanctuary, as well as a place he can call home for a couple months. He wants to stay, but more importantly, he wants to help, even if Thomas isn’t ready to accept that they can actually be friends...
It's at new release prices this week, so head over to the publisher's page and take a look. There's an excerpt there to sample it, too.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
New cover art
I got my cover art this week for my October m/m werewolf story. It's moody. I like. :)
I'll keep you updated on this as the release date approaches.
Thomas Durling escaped his small-town upbringing for over ten years, until a single phone call drew him back. Told his mother has been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s, he returns to the small northern Michigan town he once called home to find a mute stranger taking care of her in his stead. On the surface, Andre seems harmless enough, but Thomas has enough problems trying to deal with his mother’s illness. He doesn’t need a gorgeous young man to distract him, especially in a town that drove him away once already with its homophobia.
But Andre has nowhere else to go. A wolf without a pack, he’s been on the run since witnessing his father’s murder, always looking over his shoulder, never looking ahead. Taking care of Thomas’s mother has given him a welcome sanctuary, as well as a place he can call home for a couple months. He wants to stay, but more importantly, he wants to help, even if Thomas isn’t ready to accept that they could actually be friends…
I'll keep you updated on this as the release date approaches.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
WIP Wednesday
Sometimes I think I will never be done with this story. My family hasn't had the greatest week and my writing time has been severely curtailed. I have a ton of editing to do on this before I submit it, so I'm not even sure what's going to end up surviving, lol. Oh well, let's find something to share anyway.
*****
Mention of Amy drove Andre’s eyes to the house, giving Thomas valuable seconds to study him without fear of being caught. He’d worn his hair loose today, and the sunlight filtered through the ends, gilding his skin more golden than usual. His strong profile should’ve been captured on Roman coins, or something else equally magnificent. The more Thomas saw of him, the more convinced he became he belonged elsewhere, not in some backwater town that couldn’t see what it had. Even with the scars, he’d bet Andre could model. He was hotter than anybody Thomas saw gracing his magazines.
When Andre came back to him, a definite sadness pervaded the pale depths of his eyes. The hand that had been branding Thomas’s stomach lifted, and a shadow fell across his face when the same fingertips that had caressed his abdomen now fluttered over his brow.
Thomas closed his eyes automatically. A smart man would push the contact away. He knew what Andre was doing, this soothing of his torturous thoughts, and would have laughed at ever submitting to such vulnerability. He was stronger than that. He didn’t need another man’s gentleness.
At the same time, nothing had ever felt so good. The firm press of their bodies that morning had been exhilarating, the taste of Andre’s skin delightful, but this surpassed all of that. This opened a door in the back of his heart he’d locked the last time he’d been left alone. He’d vowed he didn’t need anyone else again, and he’d stuck to that promise for over a year now. Until the call from Pastor, he’d been content with the solitude he’d embraced.
Now he’d met a man even more lonely than him. Someone bearing the physical scars of fighting for what he loved. Someone who continued to walk along the fringe of the very thing that had nearly destroyed him and did so willingly, because he preferred it to the alternative. Andre’s strength in the face of that overwhelming force put Thomas’s to shame. After all, what kind of strength came in running from life?
A sigh escaped his lips. The strokes along his forehead went down the side of his face, tickling at the edge of his beard, to feather over his mouth. Just as gentle. Just as giving. His tongue darted out, and there was the salty skin he remembered, the heat more so because it had been warmed by the afternoon sun. He licked at the callused pad, picturing the long, slender fingers dancing across his body as he tasted it.
Hands like that were sinful. The things they could do. Pulling him apart. Putting him back together. Delving deep and deep and deep until the line of separation between them disappeared. Thomas topped more than he bottomed, but for this man, he’d crawl on his hands and knees to be taken and consumed. Something told him Andre would make it worth it.
*****
Mention of Amy drove Andre’s eyes to the house, giving Thomas valuable seconds to study him without fear of being caught. He’d worn his hair loose today, and the sunlight filtered through the ends, gilding his skin more golden than usual. His strong profile should’ve been captured on Roman coins, or something else equally magnificent. The more Thomas saw of him, the more convinced he became he belonged elsewhere, not in some backwater town that couldn’t see what it had. Even with the scars, he’d bet Andre could model. He was hotter than anybody Thomas saw gracing his magazines.
When Andre came back to him, a definite sadness pervaded the pale depths of his eyes. The hand that had been branding Thomas’s stomach lifted, and a shadow fell across his face when the same fingertips that had caressed his abdomen now fluttered over his brow.
Thomas closed his eyes automatically. A smart man would push the contact away. He knew what Andre was doing, this soothing of his torturous thoughts, and would have laughed at ever submitting to such vulnerability. He was stronger than that. He didn’t need another man’s gentleness.
At the same time, nothing had ever felt so good. The firm press of their bodies that morning had been exhilarating, the taste of Andre’s skin delightful, but this surpassed all of that. This opened a door in the back of his heart he’d locked the last time he’d been left alone. He’d vowed he didn’t need anyone else again, and he’d stuck to that promise for over a year now. Until the call from Pastor, he’d been content with the solitude he’d embraced.
Now he’d met a man even more lonely than him. Someone bearing the physical scars of fighting for what he loved. Someone who continued to walk along the fringe of the very thing that had nearly destroyed him and did so willingly, because he preferred it to the alternative. Andre’s strength in the face of that overwhelming force put Thomas’s to shame. After all, what kind of strength came in running from life?
A sigh escaped his lips. The strokes along his forehead went down the side of his face, tickling at the edge of his beard, to feather over his mouth. Just as gentle. Just as giving. His tongue darted out, and there was the salty skin he remembered, the heat more so because it had been warmed by the afternoon sun. He licked at the callused pad, picturing the long, slender fingers dancing across his body as he tasted it.
Hands like that were sinful. The things they could do. Pulling him apart. Putting him back together. Delving deep and deep and deep until the line of separation between them disappeared. Thomas topped more than he bottomed, but for this man, he’d crawl on his hands and knees to be taken and consumed. Something told him Andre would make it worth it.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
WIP Wednesday
So we've met both guys now. How about the first time Thomas sees Andre naked?
*****
He tried to shake it away to no avail. Of course he was going to find Andre attractive. Even with the scars. Thomas was a healthy gay man with an active sex drive, and Andre had a feral Adonis quality that would make straight boys look twice. But lusting after his mother’s caretaker was a complication he didn’t need. Andre was a nice enough guy, but he was clearly a loner—like you—with a tendency to skirt confrontation—like you. Thomas made him nervous, too.
Lots of reasons to let it go.
But his dick was hard when he turned back to the guest room, and a little demon in the back of his head was already running through the best scenarios to use as wanking material once he got back in bed.
He made it two steps when the shower clicked off. A moment later, the door opened and the lust object in question stepped out, drying himself off.
They both froze.
Andre hadn’t even bothered to wrap a towel around his waist. Water dripped down his wet skin, beading along his shoulders where it collected from the ends of his hair. In his left hand was the towel he’d been using to pat down his arms, but otherwise, the rest of him was as bare as the day he’d been born.
His upper body was tanned all over, taut skin stretching over finely hewn muscles, light hair covering his pecs. It narrowed to a slender trail, straight to a limp but still impressively thick cock. Heavy balls hung beneath, brushing against hard thighs which slimmed to shapely calves. Thomas’s mouth suddenly watered to sink his teeth into the firm flesh, test the muscle’s resilience, its strength. The scars at his throat, made more vivid by the contrast of his otherwise healthy skin, didn’t mar the overall effect. They enhanced it, hinting at a barely controlled ferocity.
*****
He tried to shake it away to no avail. Of course he was going to find Andre attractive. Even with the scars. Thomas was a healthy gay man with an active sex drive, and Andre had a feral Adonis quality that would make straight boys look twice. But lusting after his mother’s caretaker was a complication he didn’t need. Andre was a nice enough guy, but he was clearly a loner—like you—with a tendency to skirt confrontation—like you. Thomas made him nervous, too.
Lots of reasons to let it go.
But his dick was hard when he turned back to the guest room, and a little demon in the back of his head was already running through the best scenarios to use as wanking material once he got back in bed.
He made it two steps when the shower clicked off. A moment later, the door opened and the lust object in question stepped out, drying himself off.
They both froze.
Andre hadn’t even bothered to wrap a towel around his waist. Water dripped down his wet skin, beading along his shoulders where it collected from the ends of his hair. In his left hand was the towel he’d been using to pat down his arms, but otherwise, the rest of him was as bare as the day he’d been born.
His upper body was tanned all over, taut skin stretching over finely hewn muscles, light hair covering his pecs. It narrowed to a slender trail, straight to a limp but still impressively thick cock. Heavy balls hung beneath, brushing against hard thighs which slimmed to shapely calves. Thomas’s mouth suddenly watered to sink his teeth into the firm flesh, test the muscle’s resilience, its strength. The scars at his throat, made more vivid by the contrast of his otherwise healthy skin, didn’t mar the overall effect. They enhanced it, hinting at a barely controlled ferocity.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
WIP Wednesday
I'm in the climax of my current WIP, Moon-Touched, and I'm so eager to get it done so I can clean it up and submit it. Not much longer before it's due!
Since I introduced Andre last week, I figure Thomas deserves a chance now...
*****
Thomas Durling’s arrival made him wonder if his last option had just been taken away from him.
He’d seen pictures but they were all a decade old, evidence of more youthful times. The image he’d learned was a tall, rangy young man, dark hair a little too long, blue eyes laughing as much as his ready smile. Not a single picture where Thomas wasn’t smiling. Even the candids had dancing eyes, a small quirk of lips, like he responded to some inner joy when the outside world was less bleak.
That wasn’t the man who confronted him in the back yard. Thomas Durling in the flesh was bulkier than his photos suggested, arms finely muscled in the stiffly ironed T-shirt, thighs straining against the new denim of his jeans. The hair was shot through with gray, shorn almost militaristically short. The same gray stippled the trimmed moustache and goatee he wore, but none of the facial hair hid the laugh lines bracketing his wide mouth, or the tiny lines at the edge of his cheekbones where endless smiles had forever marked his skin.
But something had happened in the years since he’d left Mellowbush to steal away his joy. Or perhaps, leaving had done it. Because the distrustful, angry man who questioned his motives was not the one he’d expected to arrive.
The smile at the end had startled him. He’d gone off as Thomas had suggested, but the memory of the deep dimple, an echo from the fading photographs Amy pulled out almost every day, had slowed his exit. He couldn’t decide which was the real Thomas. Both? Neither? Sometimes the mask a person chose became permanent.
He certainly understood about that.
Since I introduced Andre last week, I figure Thomas deserves a chance now...
*****
Thomas Durling’s arrival made him wonder if his last option had just been taken away from him.
He’d seen pictures but they were all a decade old, evidence of more youthful times. The image he’d learned was a tall, rangy young man, dark hair a little too long, blue eyes laughing as much as his ready smile. Not a single picture where Thomas wasn’t smiling. Even the candids had dancing eyes, a small quirk of lips, like he responded to some inner joy when the outside world was less bleak.
That wasn’t the man who confronted him in the back yard. Thomas Durling in the flesh was bulkier than his photos suggested, arms finely muscled in the stiffly ironed T-shirt, thighs straining against the new denim of his jeans. The hair was shot through with gray, shorn almost militaristically short. The same gray stippled the trimmed moustache and goatee he wore, but none of the facial hair hid the laugh lines bracketing his wide mouth, or the tiny lines at the edge of his cheekbones where endless smiles had forever marked his skin.
But something had happened in the years since he’d left Mellowbush to steal away his joy. Or perhaps, leaving had done it. Because the distrustful, angry man who questioned his motives was not the one he’d expected to arrive.
The smile at the end had startled him. He’d gone off as Thomas had suggested, but the memory of the deep dimple, an echo from the fading photographs Amy pulled out almost every day, had slowed his exit. He couldn’t decide which was the real Thomas. Both? Neither? Sometimes the mask a person chose became permanent.
He certainly understood about that.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
WIP Wednesday
My current project is my entry for the werewolf pax coming this fall at Amber Quill. It's called Moon-touched, and it's about a werewolf on the run who ends up helping a small-town woman with Alzheimer's whose son comes home to see if she needs long-term care, only to discover this stranger in the house he grew up in. This is a snippet from the first chapter:
*****
At the first line of pink along the horizon, the shift began.
It started in his bones, in the very marrow, the core of who and what he was. When he’d been young, his father had terrified him with stories about how their kind was captured so scientists could harvest their marrow for their vicious experiments. It was better to be killed than to be caught. That was the lesson learned. He still lived by that creed, though these days, it was more out of certain terror of what Perry would do to him should he slip and get captured again. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he always wondered if there was truth in the old tales. Because when he changed, whether from wolf to human, or human to wolf, it always began in the same deep pits of his being.
It hurt, too. Both ways. Whether bones had to shrink or muscles had to stretch, the eruptions beneath his skin burned away everything else until he thought he’d die from the transformation. The pain was the reason so many of his kind howled as soon as the change was done. Baying at the demonic moon responsible for the rhythms of their bodies released all the pent-up anguish to make the night manageable.
The fact that Andre couldn’t had forced him to find other ways to cope with the pain. Not all of them were healthy. None of them banished the aches like howling did for the others.
But he managed. Reverting to his human form was easier, if only because he could turn to pharmaceuticals to help deal with the residual pains.
It wasn’t swift. He often wished for the magic of Hollywood, where glittery dust would shower down upon the writhing beast and transform him into the naked hunk of the month within the blink of an eye. How much better would his life had been if he could have withstood the change with more grace, more efficiency? Instead, he was trapped in this endless game of hide and seek, waiting for the jaws to snap one final time. There were only two ways to end it, and he wasn’t strong enough to make the necessary kill.
So he endured the transformation. The rising sun bled over the edges of the world, rousing both beast and beauty, and quelled the silent howls trapped inside his skin for another cycle. He lay curled into a tight ball beneath the bushes and focused on his breathing. In. Out. Another day to live. Another night survived. Whether he liked it or not.
*****
At the first line of pink along the horizon, the shift began.
It started in his bones, in the very marrow, the core of who and what he was. When he’d been young, his father had terrified him with stories about how their kind was captured so scientists could harvest their marrow for their vicious experiments. It was better to be killed than to be caught. That was the lesson learned. He still lived by that creed, though these days, it was more out of certain terror of what Perry would do to him should he slip and get captured again. But somewhere in the back of his mind, he always wondered if there was truth in the old tales. Because when he changed, whether from wolf to human, or human to wolf, it always began in the same deep pits of his being.
It hurt, too. Both ways. Whether bones had to shrink or muscles had to stretch, the eruptions beneath his skin burned away everything else until he thought he’d die from the transformation. The pain was the reason so many of his kind howled as soon as the change was done. Baying at the demonic moon responsible for the rhythms of their bodies released all the pent-up anguish to make the night manageable.
The fact that Andre couldn’t had forced him to find other ways to cope with the pain. Not all of them were healthy. None of them banished the aches like howling did for the others.
But he managed. Reverting to his human form was easier, if only because he could turn to pharmaceuticals to help deal with the residual pains.
It wasn’t swift. He often wished for the magic of Hollywood, where glittery dust would shower down upon the writhing beast and transform him into the naked hunk of the month within the blink of an eye. How much better would his life had been if he could have withstood the change with more grace, more efficiency? Instead, he was trapped in this endless game of hide and seek, waiting for the jaws to snap one final time. There were only two ways to end it, and he wasn’t strong enough to make the necessary kill.
So he endured the transformation. The rising sun bled over the edges of the world, rousing both beast and beauty, and quelled the silent howls trapped inside his skin for another cycle. He lay curled into a tight ball beneath the bushes and focused on his breathing. In. Out. Another day to live. Another night survived. Whether he liked it or not.
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