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I thought I’d share this memory here, today, because not only is it my earliest memory (that I can be reasonably sure of the date of, anyway), and one of the roots of my raving case of bibliophilia, it includes my dad, and today is my first Memorial Day without him. So, without further ado…

My parents didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up, back in the early 60s — Dad was a public school teacher, and Mom gave up working outside the home before I was born — but they both firmly believed that the greatest gift they could give any of their children was a love of reading. They started teaching me to read before I could talk, and according to my mom I was recognizing and reading the letters of the alphabet when I was 10 months old. (I still have a tendency to see words in my head as I speak them, and I have some interesting theories on the relationship between learning to read and learning a second language that some budding PhD in neurolinguistics might want to chat me up about. But that’s a story for a different day.)

The summer I turned two, my parents took me to the public library for the first time. This is where the memory starts. I can remember walking around among the stacks, and seeing them towering over my head. And then I remember looking down on them, and on my mom. Which tells me that I was on Dad’s shoulders (he was six foot four, and Mom’s always been just a little over five feet tall, except these days, when she’s a little less). At that point, I remember Mom explaining to me what a library was — that it was a place where you could come and look at books, and take home as many as you wanted.

Then they turned to leave.

Me? I pitched the one and only public temper fit of my childhood. I wasn’t going to leave without my books!

Dad finally managed to calm me down by explaining that in order to check books out of the library, you needed a library card. So I want a library card, I sniffled.

You can’t have one until you can sign your name, honey, Mom replied.

Naturally, as soon as we got home, I started bugging them to teach me to sign my name. And as soon as I could print the first two letters of my first name and my last initial, back we went to the library. I remember filling out the application for the card, and going to hand it to the librarian, and not being able to see her because I couldn’t see over her desk. I don’t remember the librarian laughing, but I’d imagine she did. I wasn’t quite two and a half years old at the time. And I was still a little ticked off, because they had a rule then (as I think they still do) that the first time you used a new card, you could only check out two books. But two books was a start.

Boy, was it ever…

Miss you, Dad. Maybe one of these visits to the cemetery, it’ll finally sink in that I’m saving all my Civil War stories and the news about my latest books for the next life, and not for the next time we get together for dinner.

Here’s a link to the fabulous video for HARD AS STONE (Soulshares #1)!

http://youtu.be/hVjg9hHMIMY

 

Thank you, Erin Kelley! Onward to GALE FORCE…

How about a teaser?

Who can tell me who said this, and to whom?

 

“Neither one’s going to happen.” The human’s grip tightened. “I run interference with the cops for pretty much all the shit that goes on around here, because my husband is about as diplomatic as a rhino with a rash. But I am not going to try to explain a fight between two Fae to D.C.’s finest. Whatever issues you two have, you can take them off the premises. Am I clear?”

TopTenBadge

 

 

 

 

 

In second place, for Best Erotica Novel of 2012 — HARD AS STONE!

Hard as Stone

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But wait! — there’s more!

TopTenEvernight

 

 

 

 

 

Top ten finisher, for Best Anthology of 2012 — EVERNIGHT 2 (with my short story, “Serpentine”, and many others!)

Evernight 2, released today by XoXo Publishing

Evernight 2, released today by XoXo Publishing

Would this make you want more?

I’m playing with a totally new magickal race — would this pique your curiosity?

He was alone, in darkness.
Which was more than he’d known a moment ago. For there to be darkness, there must be awareness, and a memory of light; to know one’s self alone, there must be a knowledge of self, and a memory of others. He had had none of that, until now.
How long had it been?
Ah, now he remembered time.
Time passed, alone in the dark.
He could feel his heart, beating. Or was it the heart of his darag, his oak?
The ancient tree was around him, was part of him. As he was part of it. It, too, was awakening, whispering to him in the old language of leaf and sap and wind. Whispering of the passing of centuries, centuries during which the darag had stood sentinel overlooking the loch far below, nothing more than mute wood.
That, too, was changing.
Magick, the darag whispered. Magick returns to the world. Felt first in root, and now in trunk and branch and leaf and bark.
He would have nodded, had he been real enough, yet, to move; the places where his eyes had been and would be glowed, alive with magick and memories. He remembered when the magick was taken away. Remembered what it had felt like, to become nothing.
He wept, in the heart of the oak, thoughts of tears falling from eyes as yet unreal. His darag murmured to him, with the breeze that stirred its leaves; caressed him, with the water welling cool from the earth; consoled him, with the magick rising from some unknown source.
Soon, it whispered. Alive soon.

Today is Release Day for GALE FORCE, the second Soulshares novel! Josh LaFontaine is the gorgeously self-inked owner of Raging Art-On, the tattoo and piercing parlor that occupies one of the storefronts over Tiernan Guaire’s Purgatory. When the man of his dreams literally falls at his feet, during the Pride march in Greenwich Village, he finds his life — his soul — entangled with Conall Dary, the greatest Fae mage in over two thousand years.  Conall has lost his magick, and before Josh can help him restore it, he suffers a terrible accident. And only Josh stands any chance of finding him before the Marfach — the ancient, implacable enemy of the Fae race — finds him, turns him, and ends him.

Buy it on Amazon  http://www.amazon.com/Gale-Force-Soulshares-ebook/dp/B00BSEDKB8/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1363057355&sr=8-1&keywords=Gale+Force+Rory+Ni+Coileain or All Romance eBooks https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-galeforce-1115136-140.html or straight from the publisher, Ravenous Romance http://www.ravenousromance.com/fantastica/gale-force.php! (And if you haven’t read the first book in the series, HARD AS STONE, you can pick that up at Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Hard-as-Stone-ebook/dp/B009SX91JQ/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1363060233&sr=8-1&keywords=rory+ni+coileain)

 

Gale Force Cover Final

An all-new, original short short story with Kevin and Tiernan, and their first Valentine’s Day as husband and husband. Enjoy! (And please be aware, this being Tiernan, and this being Kevin, it’s going to be a very HOT Valentine’s Day…)  And don’t forget, GALE FORCE, with more of Kevin and Tiernan as well as a new pair of Soulshares, will be available on March 12!)

 

Kevin eyed the plastic cup in his hand speculatively. Well, kind of a cup. A hollow hand grenade. And the bartender was watching him with an ill-concealed grin. Maybe I shouldn’t have admitted it’s my first time in New Orleans. Off to one side, the house band on the small stage was rocking out a zydeco song about what girls in the bayou they will do, won’t do.

Strange choice for Valentine’s Day. But, then, so was the Funky Pirate. Sighing, Kevin raised the cup, saluted the bartender, and took a healthy swig. Then, slowly, he set the cup back down on the bar, fighting the urge to cough. Holy shit.

The bartender laughed. “You let me know when you want another one.”

He moved off down the bar, stopping in front of what looked like a group of friends of the band, and Kevin’s gaze wandered. The front door of the bar stood open, and looked out onto the famous Bourbon Street. The street was closed to traffic, and was fairly crowded with pedestrians, most of them probably bar-hopping, carrying their take-away cups from one bar to the next. Probably nothing like it had been a few days ago, though.

The firm couldn’t have sent me here for Mardi Gras, no, they had to wait for Valentine’s Day. Kevin grimaced and had another go at the cup of death and delirium in his hand. Just let me get this down and I swear I’ll go back to civilized drinks. Nothing wrong with Jack and coke.

Nothing except the fact that he’d be drinking it alone. Damn, he missed Tiernan. Which was silly, because he’d be home in a couple of days. But he’d been looking forward to this Valentine’s Day, the first of his married life.

Almost on the thought, there was a pleasant buzz in his pocket. He pulled out his phone, saw the familiar number, and grinned as he slid the toggle to unlock the screen. “Hey, lanan.” He slipped off the barstool and looked quickly around; the Funky Pirate had a back courtyard, and he headed for it, phone in one hand and drink in the other.

“Hey, bodelafint.”

Kevin felt his cheeks flush even as he grinned. Only a Fae would turn ‘Elephant Dick’ into an endearment. “Are you at work?” He sighed with relief as he escaped into the courtyard; there was hardly anyone out here, and even though the music inside was being piped outside, it was a hell of a lot easier to hear.

“Hell, yes. Though I don’t know why, it’s not like there’s anything for me to do here.” Kevin thought he could hear the pounding bass of Purgatory’s sound system behind his husband’s voice. “Where are you? I hear music.”

“I thought I’d try the Funky Pirate. Great music, lethal drinks. I’m out in the courtyard now, though.” Kevin tried another pull at the oddly shaped glass, and this time there was no reason not to cough.

Tiernan’s laugh was pure wickedness. “You’re trying a hand grenade? When I’m not there to take advantage of you afterward?”

“You know the place?” A small staircase in a corner of the courtyard led up to a second story that was gated off; Kevin crossed to it and sat down on the stairs, balancing his drink on his knee.

“Yeah, I’ve been there a few times. I like the music. Though Bourbon Street Blues Company’s better for picking up guys.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too.” Kevin chuckled, but there was frustration in the sound. “I’d rather be at home right now. Especially considering that I wanted to dress to suit the day, but I don’t own anything pink, and the only red item of clothing I have is my red silk tie.” The tie that was his private signal to his husband that he was in the mood for breath play. Which he was. Damn.

“You don’t say.” The words were slow, drawn-out, and followed by a long silence. Then, just as Kevin was about to ask if the Fae was still there, “You say you’re in the courtyard?”

“Yes.” Puzzled, Kevin took another drink, held the peculiar glass between his knees, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Send me a picture.”

“Of me?” I am so not unconfused.

Another low chuckle. “No. Of the courtyard. That back corner, by the steps.”

Kevin opened his mouth to ask how Tiernan knew the layout of the courtyard, but one glance at the corner beside where he sat answered that question very nicely, supplying him with all sorts of images of his husband putting the semi-privacy to thorough use with a woman, women, a man, men… All of which thoughts were making him horny as hell. “Hang on.”

Switching the phone to camera setting, he snapped a shot of the corner and texted it off, then returned the phone to his ear. “Was that what you wanted, m’lanan?”

“That was fucking perfect.”

Tiernan’s reply wasn’t coming from the phone.

Kevin’s head snapped around, and his eyes went wide at the sight of the Fae, shirtless under a denim jacket, in jeans so tight they looked like they’d been tattooed on, blond hair curling around his shoulders. And wearing a smirk that brought the lawyer’s cock to instant and rigid attention.

“I needed the reminder.” Then, in a murmur that should have sent up tendrils of smoke, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Holy shit.” Kevin slammed down the last of his hand grenade, let the cup fall to the ground, and surged to his feet, to be caught up in Tiernan’s arms and turned and pushed back against the vine-covered brickwork, where the Fae’s mouth came down on his in a kiss that left him dizzy.

He felt one of Tiernan’s hands sliding up between their bodies, out of sight; long, strong fingers closed around his tie and slid up the silken length to fist just below the knot. “You weren’t kidding, I see.” Faceted ice-blue eyes held him spellbound, as his husband’s other hand undid his belt buckle, unbuttoned his trousers, and slipped inside to curl around his shaft. “Hold very still, lanan, and let me show you how much I’ve missed you.”

The only answer Kevin could manage was a faint moan, one that Tiernan kissed away before starting to twist the silken tie tight. Kevin’s pulse was like thunder in his ears; his breath came in soft, rapid pants against Tiernan’s lips, and his hips made little, tight jerks of their own volition as his cock was firmly, insistently stroked.

“You are so incredibly fucking hot.” He could feel Tiernan’s lips moving, breathed in his words, and shuddered in ecstasy from his touch. “I can’t get enough of you.” The Fae’s hot tongue traced a path back to his ear, probed; teeth nipped, and the tongue soothed. “Are you close? Are you ready?”

Kevin tried, and failed, to get a breath. And the failure sent liquid heat racing down his spine, to pool in his sac. He felt Tiernan’s hand tighten in anticipation – both hands, the hand twisting the tie as well as the exquisite vise around his cock. He had no voice to whisper with, all he could do was move his lips. “…don’t let me fall…”

Tiernan leaned into him, pinning him to the wall, as his knees buckled with the first thick white jet of his release. His eyes threatened to roll back, his hips jerked forward; darkness started closing in, his vision becoming a tunnel. Tiernan’s hand became slick, and the Fae was moaning now, too, along with him, with every pulse of hot fluid that welled up and spilled over.

And the joy. Oh, Christ, the joy. Pure bliss, the delight of being held, pleasured, cherished.

Scair-anam,” he whispered, as the last wave of pleasure rippled through his body.

Opening eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed, he saw his husband nod. “So fucking beautiful you stop my heart.” Tiernan’s lips parted, he leaned in, in a kiss that was as close to gentle as he ever came. “I love you, m’lanan.”

And before Kevin could answer, the faceted blue of the Fae’s eyes heated with a smile. “Let’s go back to your hotel room so I can do it some more.”

In celebration of Hard as Stone taking second place for Best Erotica Novel of 2012 in the Preditors & Editors Readers’ Poll — and to thank all of you for helping put it there! — I promised I’d give you a look at Deep Waters, Soulshares #3. If you haven’t been following me on Facebook (and why not, for heaven’s sake?), I’ve posted excerpts there from each chapter of Gale Force, Soulshares #2, which is in my editor’s loving hands even as we speak. That book introduced Josh LaFontaine, the owner of Raging Art-On, the tattoo parlor over Purgatory, and Conall Dary, the most powerful Fae mage since the Sundering. In Deep Waters, we meet Garrett Templar, an in-demand pole dancer at Purgatory, and Lochlann Doran, the first Fae to make the crossing from the Realm to the human world, over 2,300 years ago. Here’s a taste of Chapter Five:

He had just spotted the recessed doorway that would take him up to his own apartment, directly over Luigi’s Italian Ristorante with the missing “n” where a rock or a bullet had taken out the neon tubing two or three years ago, when he first heard the footsteps behind him. Not quite running, but coming up fast.

            Shit. His grip tightened on the strap of his bag, ready to swing it — or ditch it, if it looked like that would help him get away. And for one sick, sweaty, gut-wrenching moment, he was ten years old again, hearing the kids closing in behind him, knowing that there was no way in hell he was going to get away without another split lip, ruined shirt, blackened eye. Almost hearing his mother’s voice. Garrett Lee Templar, I swear, you find more trouble than any ten other boys ever dreamed of. Do you think I can just make new clothes appear out of thin air?

“Garrett?”

He recognized that voice from somewhere. Slowly, he turned. And stared up into eyes that gleamed blue even in the crappy light from the streetlight on the corner.

“Lochlann?” He hadn’t had to rent his ass out for a long time now, but the idea of a john following him home from the club still made his skin crawl. Yet there was something about those eyes, something different.

No. Fuck that shit. You get hurt the worst when you let yourself hope.

“Yes.” The guy looked almost as uncomfortable as Garrett felt, shifting from one foot to the other, hands plunged deep into the pockets of his heavy wool coat. “Look, I’m not stalking you, and I don’t mean to frighten you. I just wanted to see how you’re doing. And maybe talk to you for a few minutes.”

The john’s smile flashed briefly, transforming the beard-shadowed face above him into unexpected, breathtaking beauty. For a second, all Garrett could do was stare and hope his mouth wasn’t hanging open. Oh, Jesus. Ask me to do anything. Anything at all. Just smile when you do it.

Then the smile faded, and Garrett shook his head, trying to clear it. “I, uh, yeah. Sure.” He looked up, almost afraid to look in those eyes again. Way up. Guy had to be six-four at least, putting his five-nine at a decided disadvantage if things got rough. Here’s hoping they don’t. “You want to come in? It’s kind of cold out here.”

“Thanks, I’d like that.”

A Fae Christmas Eve

Tiernan cleared his throat, and Kevin’s father turned away from his perusal of the framed display on the fireplace mantel to take the tumbler of ice and Scotch he extended. “Thanks.” He turned back to the frame on the mantel as he sipped. “This is very nice.”

Thomas Almstead’s nod made it clear that he wasn’t talking about the Glenlivet in his hand. The frame held a set of dog tags, and a picture of a young man who had Kevin’s easy smile, but short hair closer to blond than to Kevin’s dark brown. He wore a uniform of desert camouflage, and posed against a wall of sandbags.

“I know Kevin appreciated you giving him Tanner’s tags.” Small talk was never easy for a Fae, but his husband’s father was as close to blood kin as he was ever going to have in the human realm, so Tiernan made the effort. Besides, it made Kevin happy to see his father and his husband get along. “He talks a lot about his brother –.”

“My ears are burning.” Kevin entered from the kitchen, balancing a Waterford crystal bowl brimming with eggnog and setting it carefully on the sideboard beside the dining table.

“That’s a hell of a lot of eggnog for three people.” Thomas eyed Kevin skeptically. “I’d rather not spend Christmas morning with a hangover.”

“Since when do you get hangovers?” Kevin laughed.

“I think my warranty ran out when I hit sixty-five. I spent the day after my birthday hiding from the horrible racket the birds were making.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. You’ll be fine.” Kevin winked at Tiernan.

Did you put honey in that? Tiernan mouthed.

All the answer he got was Kevin’s best mock-angelic smile – more like fallen angelic, actually. You’re asking for it. Tiernan arched a brow.

How nicely do I have to ask?

            Depends on what you’re asking for.

Thomas snorted. “You two are worse than Gloria and I ever were –.”

The doorbell rang, cutting off Thomas’ gruff chiding. “Were you expecting company?”

The color was high in Kevin’s cheeks, but his voice was even. “Yeah, we invited a couple of friends over. They don’t have family anywhere near, so we said they could stop by here.”

“Hence the extra eggnog.”

While they talked, Tiernan went to the door and opened it. On the doorstep stood two men. Both looked to be in their mid-sixties, but that was as far as any resemblance went. One was short, broad, and very bald, and looked every bit as soft and yielding as a knot of oak wood. The other was taller, leaner, and wore his gray hair in a military brush cut. Both men looked nervous, the taller one several orders of magnitude more than the shorter.

“Mac, Lucien.” Tiernan shook the hands of his early shift bartender and bouncer. “Merry Christmas, come on in.”

The bald man nodded and stepped inside; Mac looked about to follow suit, then stopped cold, staring into the living room at Thomas Almstead, who was staring back with the air of a man seeing his own ghost.

“Sarge?” Mac’s voice was nearly inaudible.

Tiernan’s gaze flickered to Kevin; to say that his scair-anam was watching anxiously would be a gross understatement. The surprise Christmas Eve reunion between retired Marine first sergeant Thomas Almstead and the member of his fire team in Vietnam who had twice saved his life, the second time at the cost of a leg – and subsequently received a dishonorable discharge for being gay – had been his idea.

“Sweet bleeding Christ,” Thomas murmured. Carefully, he set his Scotch on the fireplace mantel, then crossed the living room to where Mac waited. Time almost seemed to stop as the former sergeant looked the former rifleman up and down, his gaze pausing for a fleeting moment on the artificial foot protruding from the bottom of one trouser leg.

Even Tiernan found himself holding his breath, rather to his surprise. Mac’s story had played a huge part in his father-in-law’s acceptance – reluctant at first, but slowly warming – of his son’s marriage to another man.

And how strange was it, that the Fae had to swallow a lump in his throat as Thomas drew himself up to attention, and snapped off a crisp salute?

“Sarge, no, that ain’t right.” Mac was blushing, shaking his head.

“Neither was what happened to you.” Thomas wrapped the other man in an awkward but fervent bear hug; when he stepped back, there was a grin on his face shining brighter than the star on the tree. “I have no idea how you came to be here, but damn, it’s good to see you.”

“There’s a story behind that,” Kevin put in, before Tiernan could open his mouth.

“I’m sure there is.” Thomas looked from Kevin to Mac, and from Mac to Lucien, and then cocked an eyebrow at Tiernan, “Why don’t we start disposing of that eggnog while you boys tell it?”

 

*****

A very Merry Christmas to all, from Kevin, Tiernan, Thomas, Mac, Lucien… and me!

My favorite Christmas story ever!

I plan to have a Soulshares Christmas story up here by Christmas Eve, but I thought I’d share my own personal favorite Christmas story here in advance of the day.

It was Christmas Day, 1990. I had just moved to New York City from Minnesota that August; my brother got married in October, and so of course I went home for the wedding, and being a young lawyer in a big New York law firm, the vacation time I could claim was seriously limited. Which meant that I was alone in the big city for Christmas.

This didn’t particularly bother me, as I was head over heels in love with the city, and any time I spent there was like spending time with a dear friend. But I did want to do something to mark the day. And I noticed that Patrick Stewart was doing a Christmas Day performance of his one-man version of A Christmas Carol, so I got on the phone (this was pre-Internet, needless to say!) and bought a ticket.

 

The theater was packed, which surprised me a little – I was still thinking like a Minnesotan, and I think I’d assumed that every New Yorker who could ‘nest’ on Christmas would be doing so. And Patrick Stewart was absolutely brilliant. His ‘set’ consisted of a chair, a lectern with a book on it, and a trap door in the floor that sometimes had a light shining up through it; his ‘costume’ was a brown, slightly Dickensian suit.  With that much of a backdrop, and his amazing voice, he brought the entire story to life, without once stooping to caricature or imitation. We were like a cluster of enthralled children, watching a favorite uncle make magic.

And then he really did. With a little help.

There’s a scene near the end of the story – I’d imagine most of you know it – in which Scrooge awakens from the visitation of the final Spirit a transformed man, and is trying to figure out how long the visitation of the Spirits has lasted. Patrick’s Scrooge raced to the “window,” which in this case was a pantomime of a window being wrested open, and leaned on the windowsill to look out into the street. (And yes, we all saw the nonexistent window, and yes, he did lean on it.) He looked “down into the street,” that is to say, out into the audience.

“And he spied a young urchin, racing down the street, and he called out – ‘Boy! What day is it?’”

And someone in the audience called back, in pitch-perfect accent, “Why, it’s Christmas Day, sir!”

Everyone in the audience burst into applause. Patrick straightened and stepped back, and the smile on his face was like that of a six-year-old boy on Christmas morning, waking to find everything he ever wanted under the tree. He waited for the applause to begin to die down, then held out his arms to the audience and repeated, “What day is it?”

And the whole audience gave back, “Why, it’s Christmas Day, sir!”

 

There’s a post-script to this story, too. On the way out of the theater, I actually heard a few theatergoers commenting that the audience member must have been a plant. But a few years ago, Patrick Stewart came to Minneapolis, to perform at the Guthrie Theater. He did an op-ed piece for the StarTribune, a full page on the subject of his three favorite moments in a lifetime in the theater. That moment was one of them. And I was there for it!