Craig’s dad

A little late, but a Memorial Day snippet —

“I’d like to tell you about my father.”

Carl took his hand, curling their fingers together.

“Please do, my love, I‘m listening.”    Craig nodded, doing a slow blink—working up his courage. He hadn’t realized how hard this was going to be.

“He died in Vietnam before I was born. Mom found out she was pregnant with me after he had already shipped out. They had bought their wedding rings, and he took his with him so he could keep it close.”  Carl kept silent, still holding Craig’s hand.

“She had sent a wire, telling him about me, but she knew he wouldn’t be able to answer, they were just winding the war down, and they were trying to evacuate everyone.  My dad was trying to get a group of people on a bus, and–he was hit by some delivery truck, I–I don’t know, trying to get a place to get out.  He died in the hospital, two days after.”  He had an ironic grin on his face. “I always wondered if he was bitter about dying because of a traffic accident in the middle of a war zone instead of being shot by the enemy.  I never got up the courage to ask my mom that. She got the telegram about me back when one of my dad’s buddies brought it to her.”  Craig had a sad, wistful expression on his face.

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More Heart’s Embers

Here’s a little comic relief for the happy couple–before their world  comes crashing down —

Here’s a link to the blurb in case you need a clue:
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01940HKXQkathy-customdesign-Jayaheer2015-Finalcover

 

“Let’s jump in the shower, sweets. We have to wash off this man glue before I take off, don’t we?” he grinned, getting out of bed, then turned back to Jeffrey, that devilish grin still turning his lips.

“And what would old Mr. Evermeyer think if he smelled my spooge on you when you told him to turn his head and cough?”

Jeffrey, recovering, laughed then smacked Bruce’s bottom as he rolled over and jumped to the carpet.

“He’d want you to examine his testicles instead?” he snickered, grinning wildly.

“Why, you little shit!”

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Craig Shopping

Here’s a teaser with Craig shopping at the drugstore, deciding to pull a funny on an unsuspecting clerk:

“Can I help you find something?”

Craig raised his head, looking at the young stock clerk standing next to him wearing an eager grin.

“Well, yes, I was wondering about these cleanses, could you help me pick one?”

“Sure, I just need to know how long you want it to take and if you’d rather have juice or water, the water ones are best if you really want a good cleanse, though.”

Craig thought for a moment.      “Well, let’s see, I need it to work by Friday morning, and I definitely need a good cleanse.”  The clerk picked out a box.

“This one would be good.  You can start on it this evening, and by Friday morning, you’ll be clean as a whistle.  You can even eat protein and vegetables, but no gluten.”  He gave it to Craig, smiling.   “Why do you need a cleanse, may I ask?  Diet, turning vegan?”        Craig decided to have some fun.

“I’m bonding with a vampire, and my sire wants me to be clean.”

The clerk backed away with a wide fake smile on his face, shaking his head.  “Umm, have fun with that, then,” he murmured, the smile still in place.  He disappeared down the nearest aisle.  Craig shook his head, laughing, as he headed for the registers.

“Yup, Carl was right, nobody believes you when you tell the truth.”

Up His Alley

This is a six (plus two really small ones) sentence passage from a piece of flash fiction I did a while ago–something hot, steamy, and not a vampire in sight–maybe another kind of monster altogether (wink)–definitely 18+. The full story is on my blog.

I couldn’t take my eyes off that denim-clad monster, they way he was squeezing it, just putting it on display for me. I had to check my own package, giving it a squeeze that bordered on painful. It started filling my hand, and I rubbed it with the heel of my palm as I turned to face him. My mouth was dry (but not for long, I hoped), and I had trouble forming words.

“You—can I help you?” I managed to stutter out. He smiled at that.

“You sure can, beautiful. That’s the idea.”

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Alasdair’s History

It does not get any better.  As the days turn into weeks, then months, the food runs out and there is precious little water left.  The weakest of them dies first, and Aadargha takes a vote of the people to see whether their dead friends should be consumed.  There is not too much protest.  A few of their friends offer themselves as a sacrifice to the gods, and Aadargha dispatches them with his knife after dedicating them to the Mother.  They are then cleaned and sliced like the deer that had once roamed there, and their bones eventually thrown in the chasm.  Since the spring was poisoned and then disappeared, there is not even any water to make soup with, just barely enough good water for the dwindling members to have a mouthful a day.  The children die first, then are consumed, as are their parents in turn.

Very soon, only Aadargha and Mayra are left.  They are the healthiest, which is a curse as well as a blessing.      Aadargha turns his head and looks over at his spouse, his beloved helpmate.  She is lying on their pallet of skins, a bare shadow of her former self. He himself is weak, but still has a measure of strength left.

He reaches under the skins and takes the knife that he has made himself, crafted of bronze from his homeland.  The Mother has blessed it and he has guarded it carefully.  It has seen and tasted much blood in the past weeks, but from that blood has come life.  He runs the blade across his forearm, watching the warm red gift well out.  He holds it out to Mayra.

Sins Of The Sire

I finally shook myself out of staring at the blank page–and started the second book–the followup to Talk Of The Town 🙂

Craig sat in his dressing room alone.

Alone and exhausted.

He hadn’t had the chance to feed for almost three days, and as he lay his head down on his cluttered dressing table, not even caring if his stage makeup smeared, he knew that tastes from donors wouldn’t be enough. Carl usually went with him and they hunted together, but Carl was holed up in their Dakota sanctuary, deep in his writing fever.

Carl was old enough to get by on tastes from donors for weeks because, truth be told, he hated killing for his food, but if he was being honest, Craig didn’t mind it. In fact, he even liked it a little. He raised his head, sighing softly. Even breathing was getting hard. He needed oxygen-rich blood if he was going to keep talking above a whisper. He was lucky his part in the play was done for tonight. The way he was feeling, he’d have to skip the curtain call, and that wasn’t even a possibility. Not for the star.

Bruce wears Alasdair’s mark

This snippet is from the first time that Alasdair marked Bruce, and cast his spell–

. Bruce felt his hardness, and he brushed his thumb over the tip of his erection, bringing a small groan out of Alasdair’s throat, a primal animal sound of heat.  His breath quickened as Alasdair moved his lips to his chest, softly licking the skin on his breast. He felt a gentle pain– and he was undone.   He felt pleasure, incredible pleasure, coming out of him in waves.  His back arched and his head bent back. My God, what was this?

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