Monday, January 25, 2016

Really, I'm Not Slacking! Death Mask Excerpt

The blog has been quiet lately. Even my weekend wishlist has been absent. I've been really busy editing Werewolf's Tale and a Druid Sword, the second book in the ION series. The publisher sent the manuscript to me right before the New Year and it's sucked up all of my time.

This must be a writer thing, because there was a point where I wanted to print out the ms and have a bonfire in the backyard. ...okay, so there wouldn't have been that much paper for a true "bonfire", but still, the action would've been cathartic. I was very dissatisfied with the prose, but it was fixed and sent back recently.

Now, I'm working fast to finish up my Roughouse Raiders submission. Then, I can move on. But like I was telling a friend this past week, I'm now in the mood for the ION world. I have a partial standalone waiting for me. It is on the, "What Else I'd Like To Squeeze In" list. And if I'm in the mood, then perhaps it will be written faster, and it is already partially written... Hmmm. I'll see after I finish with the sub call. Right now, it feels like a very big, yes.

Actually there are a lot of projects that I would like to work on r.i.g.h.t. n.o.w. and unfortunately, I'm just not that talented to get it all done together. Plus, I promised myself that I would work in more family time, which makes me feel like I'm a slacker for not always working on something. :)

Saturday's wishlist posts will go back up this coming weekend. There are a couple of guests on the blog in February. Soon, I should have an update on Darksoul. In the meantime, I'll leave you with an excerpt from Death Mask. Enjoy!

Death Mask
© Lexi Ander

When I went to ask what the fuck he was waiting for, Night placed a pale finger over his lips, biding me to listen. The sound was faint, but the soft whines of some kind of dog or… Well, fuck me sideways.

"Someone find Hog and Lalios." My request was made in a low voice, but the brothers jumped to it as if I had yelled. Perhaps they could feel the tension coming off of me or they too scented the blood wafting from the back of the truck, now that the door had been raised.

More than one person drew a weapon. Grabbing the handrail on the side of the door, I readied to climb into the back.

"Misery," Night called to me softly, but I ignored him.

Even if werewolves had hidden in the truck, I didn't worry about my safety. The sound of the pitiful tiny snarls and growls intensified when my heavy boots struck the bed. Pausing to listen, I couldn't hear an adult werewolf voice among the pups. With the scent of blood heavier in the confines of the cabin, I could only surmise the parent was severely injured. A werewolf in pain was a dangerous creature, more animal than man. Blinded by the agony, instinct would take over, and he, or she, would attack first to protect their young. If that were to happen, then I was the only one of the brothers best equipped to handle the werewolf. Sure, I could be hurt like anyone else, but I was very hard to kill. Living for over two hundred years had proven that.

Listening intently, I could make out three, perhaps four distinct voices which was surprising. Nowadays, werewolves lived much longer than they did five hundred years ago. When they became the stuff of folklore, instead of legends, people stopped hunting them. Living a more peaceful existence, the number of litters they had dropped off to where now pups were born singly to couples every hundred years or so. Now more than ever, the young were precious to the packs. That there were four together here made my skin crawl with foreboding. This just kept getting fucking better and better.

Gabbing a box, I crouched and handed it over to Nightingale. Several brothers jumped forward to help. Before Hog and Lalios hurried onto the loading dock, I had removed several rows of merchandise, uncovering a pocket. When I removed a box near the ceiling, instead of another box behind it, there was only darkness. The scent of blood was stronger, sharp and metallic…and fresh.

The angry frightened growls didn't sound menacing, but I still moved with caution, alert to any additional noises to tell me whether or not the adult was conscious. I didn't want to lose fingers—or an arm—while removing the last of the barrier between me and the werewolves.

Hog, the club's doctor, and the only hedge witch, hopped into the bed, his nose wrinkling in distaste. His short dark hair dripped as if he jumped out of the shower and neglected to dry off. He wasn't wearing his cut, the leather vest that held motorcycle club's patch. Hog was a big man whose lazy rolling stroll and the size of his gut caused people to underestimate him. Lord help the poor bigot who called him fat. The last arsehole who did spent two months in the hospital.

"What the—"

Hog didn't get to finish because Lalios leaped and landed in a crouch in the back of the truck. With hair almost as red as my own, but whereas mine was long and wiry, his was short and artfully spiked. The visible scars on his person and an intensity of power made humans and preternaturals alike give the half-werewolf a wide birth. The only exception were full-blooded werewolves who felt they had to test the alpha power rolling off the "half-breed". Lalios never lost. Even so, the packs shunned him because of his mongrel status, but neither could he build a pack of his own.

The tiny snarls turned to high whines which Lalios answered with one of his own. "Well, shit," Lalios rumbled when the pups went quiet. "Let me, Misery."

I stepped back and Lalios removed the last two layers of boxes to reveal a fucking nightmare. There on the floor lay a man, not an adult werewolf. His back was to us, but the blood pooled around him and soaking his clothing allowed no doubts where it came from. The pups paced between us and the man, tripping over the long dreads, tracking the blood all over the front of the end of the box truck. With that much blood loss, the man should have been dead, but I could see the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Then I felt the hint of passive magick, sensed several threads of life intertwined. "Motherfucker," I said under my breath. The club didn't need this kind of trouble knocking on our door. The packs would demand a life for this broken law.

"Lalios, did those little ones do what I think?" After all of these years being away from the land of my birth, the Irish accent I worked hard to hide emerged when my emotions ran into overdrive—like now.

He crouched, but the pups didn't make a move toward him. Instead, they huddled closer to the unconscious figure. In fact, inhaling deeper, I caught the whiff of a specific magick I hadn't run across in quite some time—with good reason.

I smelled a warlock.

Thank you for stopping by and reading!!

Saturday, January 23, 2016

Guest Post: LM Brown for her new release Destiny & Dragons

My Favourite Dragons on Film

First of all, thank you for having me here today to talk about one of my obsessions – dragons – and my brand new book, featuring one such creature.

If a TV programme or a film has a dragon in it, you can pretty much guarantee it will grab my attention.  The best example of this is probably the Game of Thrones TV series.  I was only half watching series one – then I saw the cute little baby dragons and I was hooked. Played catch up until series two was on and then devoured the books as well.  I am now one of the masses waiting for the next book and the return of the show.

Then there is The Hobbit, which I didn't enjoy as much as The Lord of the Rings trilogy, but the dragon made it much more interesting for me.  I know I am not the only one who was cheering for Smaug in the series. 

One of my other favourites is Dragonheart, where the dragon effects are not quite as modern, but this is more than made up for with personality.  Unlike the other dragons mentioned above, Draco is not an out of control animal or a monster. Draco is a dragon who is talks – voiced by Sean Connery, which is always a bonus – and is far more sociable.  For those, like me, who love dragon shifter stories, this is more like it.

Unfortunately, I can't think of any movies where the dragon is a shifter – I think Hollywood is missing a trick there.  Of course, if I am wrong and you know of one, be sure to let me know so I can check it out.

In the meantime, if dragons with human forms are your thing too, please meet Runt.


When Lord Marcus set out on his quest, it seemed a simple enough task to accomplish. Slay the dragon and rescue the princess, securing his father's approval and earning his happily ever afteronly the princess is a witch and the dragon is nowhere to be seen. Instead he finds a young man who has a very big secret and is in far greater need of rescuing. Marcus's well planned quest might have taken an unexpected turn, but his happy ending could still be within his grasp, if he can earn the trust of a dragon who has been betrayed and hurt by everyone he has ever known.


Once the servants had departed, Marcus went to fetch Runt from the bedroom so he could take a bath. As Runt stripped out of his borrowed clothes, Marcus tried not to stare at his body. When he caught Robert's knowing glance, he scowled and set about scrubbing at Runt's hair with a little more force than was necessary. When Runt cringed at his ministrations, he mumbled apologies and made an effort to take more care. He tried to keep his touches business-like, but he didn't fool anyone and certainly not himself. As he washed away the layers of dirt, bruises upon bruises were revealed, along with more scars than Marcus had ever seen on another living being. Marcus's heart ached when he saw the abuse the poor dragon had suffered.

He was vaguely aware of Robert and Aiden leaving the chambers, but he couldn't take his eyes off Runt. A thin scar, several years old, stretched down the length of his arm. Marcus traced the raised flesh with his finger.

"One of the princes did that," Runt whispered. "I was lucky. If I hadn't moved just in time, he would have pierced my heart. Sometimes I used to wonder whether I might be better off if one of them had."

"No!" Marcus took Runt into his arms, cautious not to hold him too tightly. "Never say that. You're safe now."

"I'd given up," Runt cried. "When you came to the castle, I'd given up hope of ever being free again. I longed for the pain to end. I just wanted everything to be over."

Marcus carried Runt to the rug in front of the fire. He held the dragon while he sobbed and Marcus murmured nonsense words into his ear. He vowed the witch would be dead before the end of the year. No one else would suffer at her hands.

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L.M. Brown is an English writer of MM and MMM romances.  She believes there is nothing hotter or sweeter than two men in love with each other… unless it is three.

L.M. Brown loves hearing from readers so don't be shy.


Where to find L.M. Brown
Twitter - @LMBrownAuthor

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Guest Post: Life is a Stevie Wonder Song by V.L. Locey #interview #giveaway



TITLE: Life is a Stevie Wonder Song

AUTHOR: V.L. Locey

PUBLISHER: Torquere Press

COVER ARTIST: Brandon Clay

LENGTH: 24,600 words

RELEASE DATE: December 30, 2015

BLURB: Authors know that their muse is a fickle creature. Best-selling spy novelist Stephen Ramsey has been in a hate-hate relationship with his inspiration for months. When Stephen's publisher lays a legal ultimatum upon him, with a rapidly approaching deadline, he knows he must do something to kick-start his creativity or face the unemployment line. His daughter comes up with a possible answer: a summer camp for the creative soul. With nothing to lose, Stephen packs up his laptop, phonograph and beloved record albums and heads from Greenwich Village to the Catskill Mountains.

There, among a horde of college students attending for extra credits, is Declan Pomeroy, a photographer of fey creatures who is twenty-two years younger than Stephen. The woods are a magical place, and he quickly finds himself falling under the spell of the free-spirited photographer. Confusion wars with desire inside Stephen as he succumbs to the feelings welling up inside. But, sadly, summer camp always has to end. Can a man who has just found himself really leave the person that makes his heart sing?


Then he appeared from the tree line, a lithe, pale creature of the Finnish goddess Mielikki’s woods if ever I had seen one. Yay for that semester of world mythology back in college finally paying off. Declan wore nothing but a scrap of linen tied around his lean waist and a camera around his neck. I swallowed and stepped down off the porch, anxious to get closer to him. He waited patiently for me. As I drew closer, I could hear him humming. A smile tweaked my lips. It was Stevie Wonder’s Signed, Sealed, Delivered.

"You look like you have too much on," Declan announced when I stood in front of him. I glanced down at my attire. Gym shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers sans socks. "How would you feel about doing this nude?" My sight knifed back from my clothes to my guide into the Twilight Zone.

"You’re not naked," I pointed out once I could speak around the knot of desire clogging my throat.

"I usually am, but I figured you’d be far too uptight to not have clothes on, so, I fashioned a makeshift chiton to cover my goodies."

"Okay. Yes, I'm not comfortable with our goodies hanging out." He glanced up at the fat moon over our heads, then sighed dramatically. "I can do no shirt and no shoes, however."

Declan’s gaze returned to me from Madame Luna. He made a sort of cooing sound then rose to his tiny toes to press his lips to mine. It was a soft peck, our mouths touching for a mere second, but it did things to my perceptions of who Steven Ramsey is that I still cannot fully explain.

"I think I'd like to see you without a shirt," he whispered over my lips.

"What are you doing?" I croaked. He shrugged a shoulder, then dropped back down to stand flat-footed. "Stop it, okay? I'm old enough to be your father."

He smiled then spun around, his bare back gleaming pure white. I wanted to touch his skin, trace the knobs of his spine with my tongue. This whole thing was pure insanity, yet I hurried to strip off my old T-shirt and kick off my sneakers. Declan glanced over his shoulder, smiled again, and then rushed off into the night, the coquette. I followed because what else could I do? Not traipsing after the kid was impossible. The grass was cool and wet under my bare soles. The high whine of a mosquito zipped past my ear. I would be nothing but a massive bug bite in the morning. I walked behind Declan, swatting at the air, hoping I didn’t step on something that would require stitches or a tetanus shot. We stepped into the woods. I debated going back for my shoes.

"We have to be as silent as possible," Declan, standing on my right, whispered.

"Shoes are quiet," I replied, my hand resting on the scraggy bark of an old pine.

"Shoes don’t allow you to touch the earth."

"They also don't allow thorns to penetrate your flesh," I parried. My guide grunted in consternation then set off once again. A million questions bounced around my head as I tenderly placed one foot down then the other. What kind of camera did he use? Was there a special ethereal film for capturing fey? Did I need therapy? Did I just step on a slug?

We walked deeper into the woods. The farther we traveled, the more I wanted to speak up or at least scoff. I was working on a good zinger when I ran into Declan’s bare back. He threw up a hand to silence me. My body tightened from a weird combination of fear and desire. The kid felt wonderful pressed against my chest, his clammy skin resting against mine. I peered over his head, my hand coming to rest on his left hip. Declan leaned back into me just the slightest bit. My cock began to swell. My eyelids drifted down as he wiggled enticingly closer still.

"Look at the hazy ring around the moon," Declan whispered. My fingers dug into his bony hip. I opened my eyes and looked up. We were on the edge of a small glen. He lifted up his camera and snapped several images as I stared at the milky white fingers of magic tickling the moon. "Now look at the ground." I did. There, in the center of the small glen, was a small, perfectly circular ring of mushrooms perhaps ten feet wide. "That's known as a fairy ring."

"Huh," I grunted, my body trying desperately to take over the show. Declan had to feel my erection resting against his pert ass. He seemed perfectly as ease with a hard dick between his buttocks. I, on the other hand, was slowly going mad. I longed to lower my mouth to his neck and lick the sweat from his skin. I also wanted to run away screaming to the world that I was not a faggot, but was I? It certainly looked it. Declan lowered his camera and took a few shots of the white mushrooms.

"I've heard tales of the fey blessing those who stand in a fairy ring under a full moon. Would you like to go stand in the ring, Steven?" he asked. I nodded. He slid out of my grasp and reached back to find my hand. His fingers were thinner than mine. He pulled me into the glen. I glanced up, then back. "Are you afraid that someone will see us cuddling in the fairy ring?"

"At the moment," I stepped carefully over several large mushrooms," I'm afraid of everything, mostly you."


Author Pic

V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, two dogs, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and three Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and GoodReads.

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Winner’s Prize: Digital Copy of Life is a Stevie Wonder Song


Monday, January 11, 2016

Spotlight: Moonlit Escapades (Moonlit Wolves 7.5) by Bronwyn Heeley w/Excerpt

I want to welcome Bronwyn Heeley to the blog today. She has a fun excerpt from her new release, Moonlit Escapades. :)

Moonlit Escapades (Moonlit Wolves 7.5)

TITLE: Moonlit Escapades
SERIES: Moonlit Wolves
AUTHOR(s): Bronwyn Heeley
PUBLISHED: 15/December/2015
PUBLISHER: eXtasybooks
ISBN #:978-1-4874-0539-7
COVER ARTIST: Carmen Waters
WORD COUNT: 12,484
CATEGORY/TAG: Paranormal LGBT+ Romance
COUPLING: male male


There is never a time when a visit from old friends isn’t comforting.

Ever wonder how Jex and Matt ended up in that compromising position in book 4? Or what the fight between Phil and Craig was about? Or how about how they all became so close and ended up living together?
Well, here’s your chance. All the missing pieces that were linked but not fully explained are bundled together in this heart-warming anthology, and just in time for Christmas, because who doesn’t like to visit from family at this time of year.

Note: series must be read in order, but these shorts can be read separately, they’ll just be enjoyed more as companions.



Jex let out a sigh of relief as he sat back into the lounge. Matt and he hadn’t been in this house for a long time, but he had definitely felt more at home quicker than at any of the other place his father took him.

However, his dad hadn’t been the kindest person, and they’d moved from one town to the next, leaving many people hating him because of what his father had done. Matt, with a quick kidnapping and a much-needed getaway, brought Jex to this lovely little town out in the boondocks, an unlikely place his father would never bother to look.

They’d reached town and a house full to the brim with men. Matt’s cousin and a bunch of mates had taken them both in and treated Jex like no one had done before Matt.

Jex loved the freedom of being himself, even if they all turned out to be a werewolf every time the moon was full. A lot to take in, but he had seen a lot of violence and bullshit in his life, so the werewolf factor seemed like a cakewalk.

In addition, he’d personally seen Matt change, so who was he to say something didn’t exist?

A cold bottle tapped on his shoulder, making Jex look over his shoulder. He took the bottle.

Taking a long drink of this piss-shit that the bottle label said was beer, he studied Matt. His lover rounded the couch and sat down next to him. Jex wasn’t a fan of Tooheys, he was more a VB man, but beggars couldn’t be choosers—or, more for him, lazy arses deserved to drink horse piss. He was, however, a fan of the man—tall, blonde, with deep-set eyes. He was like a walking wet dream. Someone who needed to be naked and fucking so everyone would see his true beauty.

He was a fucking dream. Jex’s dream. Even if it had taken the guy a couple of turns to realise just how Matt liked it when Jex fucked him and then give him more than he’d ever understood he wanted. Jex reckoned it came from the fact that he hadn’t ever been free to actually fuck another person before Matt.

 “Taste like shit?” Matt chuckled next to him.

For the first time in a long time—and yet not a first for the thought—Jex wondered what he saw in a man who actually liked this shit.

 “Why ask when you know the answer,” Jex spat back at him around another mouthful of beer. He was hoping if he drank it fast enough and got the buzz of beer in his system, it might actually start tasting nice.

Matt shook his head really slowly. That you’re fucking crazy shake, though the twitch of his lips held the joke.

 “Fucking arse,” Jex muttered, finishing off his first bottle with a cringe—Fuck! This shit was bad.

Matt chuckled again. “Ah, but that’s what you love ‘bout me.”

Jex shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips at the words, only his mouth hadn’t even completed the move before Matt’s lips covered his. The move Jex had been waiting for finally came. He snickered softly into Matt’s mouth. They were alone after all.

 “It makes me feel all gooey inside to see you smile like that, and knowing it’s all mine... gets me hot as hell,” Matt whispered, a breath away from Jex’s lips.

Jex’s back arched at the scrape of whiskers against his upper lip. “Gooey?” Jex tried to make it a joke, not being able to deal with the softer sides of love.

 “Oh, yeah,” Matt moaned theatrically. “It’s like melted lava inside me, mate.”

 “So you’re a cooked marshmallow?” Jex muttered between the light kisses Matt was giving him. He needed more than the teasing. Already his skin was hot, his cock throbbed. He hated the teasing. Jex needed more... rubbing, thrusting, harder!

 “Cooked Marshmallow?” Matt pulled back, apparently, finally, thinking around his own cock to what Jex had said.

 “Shut up, man.” Jex laughed. “How can I think with my cock this hard?”

Matt burst out into laughter. Jex shifted back as Matt’s weight transferred onto his knees, since he’d straddled Jex sometime during the kiss.


I'll show you mine, if you'll show me yours... da da da da dum, author of MM romance

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Sunday, January 10, 2016

Guest Post: Boys of Summer by Sarah Madison #giveaway


Welcome Sarah, to my blog! Congratulations on your new release, The Boys of Summer. Whoot! Today she is talking about rooting for the underdog and why heroes need flaws.

My boyfriend and I frequently have this conversation whereby we discuss our favorite superheroes and the pros and cons of the Marvel vs the DC Comics universes. We have a lot of material right now—both Marvel and DC Comics are bringing out a multitude of shows and movies. I admit to leaning a bit more on the side of Marvel vs DC Comics, but then I am a huge fan of Captain America and Agent Carter. We watch The Flash, Supergirl, and Arrow, however, as well as Agents of Shield and all the Avengers movies. The Batman franchise leaves me cold (though I have watched the movies in the past) and I had some real issues with the Man of Steel movie, but I am looking forward to a possible Wonder Woman movie. Hey, if Marvel can have a talking raccoon, surely DC can make a movie with a female star, right?

Though we watch Supergirl, he has a real problem with the invulnerability of both Supergirl and Superman. I can see his point. From what I’ve seen in various movies and shows, the kids from Krypton are bulletproof (and impervious to pain and illness), can fly (and leave the atmosphere without their lungs exploding), and in general seem pretty undefeatable. Which, as far as my BF is concerned, makes them less interesting as characters, Krypton notwithstanding.
I see his point.

They’ve released the trailer for the upcoming movie Batman vs Superman, and I have to ask, is there any question of the outcome? Seriously? And while I’m here, what is it with movie trailers giving away 90% of the film? I feel as though I’ve seen the whole thing already, just from the trailer alone… but I digress. Right. Regardless of how much of a Bruce Wayne fan we might be, the fact is, Superman as portrayed on film and in the comics is nigh-on invincible. Unless Bruce has a shaft of Kryptonite in his pocket (and is not just happy to see Superman), then it is unlikely he’s going to win this one.

Which brings me to the point of this post: your hero has to have vulnerability for the reader to identify with him or her.

I read a story recently in which the heroine was utterly fearless, competent, and seemingly without self-doubt. I hated her. I’d like to think it wasn’t because of some inherent self-loathing, in which I’m incapable of liking a strong female character. In fact, I know this not to be true, as there are many strong fictional heroines I adore. I disliked this character because she was too perfect. Even in her tiniest moments of self-doubt, she didn’t feel real to me. In the end, I didn’t care what happened to her, either. Blame it on the lack of tension, or the lack of connection with the character, but I just didn’t care. She had too much: too many resources, too much money, too many connections, too much respect. In fact, there was no reason to suspect she wouldn’t solve the case from the get-go, and I yawned my way through the story. When the killer was revealed, I didn’t believe that either, I’m afraid.

So my advice to you is this:  remember that your reader wants to identify with your characters. The joy of reading for many people lies in self-insertion into the story, and this is difficult when the main character bears little resemblance to a human being. Be cautious of loving your character so much you elevate them to godhood. Give them relatable characteristics. Show the soft underbelly. Make them vulnerable. Maybe they aren’t cool under pressure, or maybe they get a little too carried away when they’re in charge. Make sure they grow during the course of your story. Don’t set them on a pedestal at the beginning. Show us the progression towards heroism. Your readers will love you for it.


TITLE: The Boys of Summer
AUTHOR: Sarah Madison
PUBLISHER: Dreamspinner Press

LENGTH: 200 Pages

RELEASE DATE: December 21, 2015

BLURB: 2nd Edition
David McIntyre has been enjoying the heck out of his current assignment: touring the Hawaiian Islands in search of the ideal shooting locations for a series of film-company projects. What’s not to like? Stunning scenery, great food, sunny beaches… and Rick Sutton, the hot, ex-Air Force pilot who is flying him around.

Everything changes when a tropical storm and engine failure force a crash landing on a deserted atoll with a WWII listening post. Rick’s injuries and a lack of food and water mean David has to step up to the plate and play hero. While his days are spent fighting for survival, and his nights are filled with worrying about Rick, the two men grow closer. David’s research for his next movie becomes intertwined with his worst fears, and events on the island result in a vivid dream about the Battle of Britain. On waking, David realizes Rick is more than just a pilot to him. The obstacles that prevented a happy ending in 1940 aren’t present today, and David vows that if they survive this stranding, he will tell Rick how he feels.


“I don’t think we’ve got much choice.” Sutton’s voice was grim. “We’re lucky to have that much. Hold on, these trees are coming up faster than I’d like.”

Still fighting to keep the nose of the plane up, Sutton guided the recalcitrant aircraft toward the so-called clearing, the ground rising up to meet them far faster than was comfortable. David found himself leaning back in his seat, bracing his hands on the console as the tops of trees scraped the underside of the plane. Branches swiped at the windshield, and David had the sudden impression of being in a car wash scene as written by Stephen King.

“Duck your head!” Sutton barked. “Wrap your arms around your legs!”
“And kiss my ass goodbye?” David shouted, raising his voice over the increasing noise as he obeyed Sutton’s orders.

Incredibly, Sutton laughed. It was an oddly comforting sound. Like everything was somehow going to be all right because Sutton was at the controls.

The moment of humor was gone in a flash. The plane screamed with the sound of tearing metal and the sharp, explosive crack of tree limbs and breaking glass. David kept his head down and his eyes closed, praying to a God he was pretty sure had more important things to do than to keep up with the well-being of one David McIntyre. Despite being strapped in his seat, his head and shoulder thumped painfully against the passenger side door as the plane thrashed wildly. There was a moment of eerie, blessed silence, and for an instant, the assault on the plane seemed as though it had lifted. Eye of the storm, David thought, just before the plane hit the ground.

Someone had left the window open and it was raining on him. How incredibly annoying. He shifted, intent on reaching for the offending window, when a jolt of pain ran through his shoulder and he gasped. When he opened his eyes, nothing made any sense at first. Then he remembered the crash, and realized that his side of the plane was pointing up at the sky. The rain was coming down in a steady stream through the broken windshield. The sound of the rain on the metal hull of the plane was nearly deafening.

He winced at the pain in his neck when he turned to look over at the pilot’s seat. Sutton was slumped to one side in his chair, unmoving. His sunglasses were hanging off one ear.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” David murmured, hastily undoing his seatbelt so he could reach across to Sutton. His skin was cold and damp where David touched it, and adrenaline pounded through David’s veins as though he could jumpstart Sutton’s heart by sending his own pulse beating through his fingertips. “Sutton! Rick!”

David fought to free himself of his seat, twisting for greater access to the other side of the cockpit. When the seatbelt came open, he fell half across Sutton. Sprawled practically in his lap, David could now see the nasty cut on the left side of Sutton’s temple. The pilot’s side of the plane had taken a lot of damage, and David yelped as he encountered a sliver of glass. Bits of the windshield and console were scattered like confetti over Sutton’s jacket. “Sutton!” The lack of response was unnerving. He tossed aside the sunglasses and worked a hand down into Sutton’s collar, feeling frantically for a pulse.

He could have kissed the man when Sutton suddenly groaned.



Sarah Madison is a veterinarian with a large dog, an even bigger horse, too many cats, and a very patient boyfriend. An amateur photographer and a former competitor in the horse sport known as eventing, when she's not out hiking with the dog or down at the stables, she's at the laptop working on her next story. When she’s in the middle of a chapter, she relies on the smoke detector to tell her dinner is ready. She writes because it’s cheaper than therapy.

Sarah Madison was a finalist in the 2013 Rainbow Awards and is the winner of Best M/M Romance in the 2013 PRG Reviewer’s Choice Awards.

If you want to make her day, e-mail her and tell you how much you like her stories.

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Winner’s Prize: E-copy of The Boys of Summer


January 6: Louise Lyons

January 7: Diverse Reader

January 9: Susan Mac Nicol

January 12: Divine Magazine

January 13: BFD Book Blog

January 17: Bayou Book Junkie

January 18: Drops of Ink