To participate in this contest, you must answer me in some manner, and spamming me doesn't count. You can answer me in my blog (http://depravedduchess.bogspot.com/), the Contact Lena page of my website, or via the Comments in my Notes on Facebook.
You must have Romance Week Contest Question # 1,2, 3, 4 or 5 (depending on which question you're answering) in the subject line. This is how I'll sort the different questions. If there's no place to put it, type it into the top of your answer like this:
Romance Week Contest Question #1-- My top romantic places are:
1. Paris
2. The Catskills
3. The beach at night
This contest in its entirety will run all week, and I'll close it for all answers on February 14, 2011 at my bedtime, EST in America. I'm over 50, so don't procratinate.
I'll post a new question each day of this week, Monday through Saturday. I'll give you Sunday off to catch up, and Monday the 14th is for me to total and sort before I do the random drawings for each question.
All non-Changeling Press authors and all readers are eligible. In fact, to sweeten the pot, let's see how many of you are paying attention. I'll offer a discount code for the entire contest: Use the code Romance to buy any Changeling Press ebook from the Changeling Press website (http://www.changelingpress.com/) and you will get 5% off your total order. I won't even make you buy one of mine to get the discount.
What's the prize? Why, something that ties back to my latest release, of course! I have a beautiful and expensive pen shaped and painted like a red dragon. That's the Grand Prize. In addition, I'll draw a name from each set of answers and each will get their choice of a Changeling Press ebook. Then everyone who didn't win an ebook gets a chance at the dragon pen. Now, just in case the winner is in a foreign country or doesn't want the pen, I'll give them an ebook, too.
Okay, so you've seen the first question: What are your three top romantic places. (Bonus would be to tell me why.)
Good Luck!!
Lena
Showing posts with label GLBT. Show all posts
Showing posts with label GLBT. Show all posts
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
PG13 Excerpt 1: Blue Rose by Lena Austin (Paranormal, Erotica, GLBT, Menage)
One of my rare full-length stories...
Blue Rose
Author: Lena Austin
Artist: Renee George
Author: Lena Austin
Artist: Renee George
Buy Link: http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/fantasy/fantasy/blue-rose/prod_213.html
Ever read Dante's Inferno? The old boy must have a new nickname—Pinwheel—for all the turning over in his grave he's doing.
Synopsis:
This time the tourists in Hell are a poisoned warrior princess and her two suitor princes, both of whom have secrets of their own. Their guide is not a gentle philosopher-poet, but a sassy demon with his own reasons for being their escort through all nine levels. They have to find the blue rose in the deepest part of Hell and make it into an antidote potion before the next full moon or the princess dies.
Things have changed a little—okay, a lot—since old Dante made his visit. Hell is timeless, existing in all times simultaneously. Along the way they'll meet the Furies, a little thief named Dodger, a few gods and goddesses, and step over Satan's chewing gum and they're getting quite an education in the process. But time is running out for the princess....
Excerpt:
At long last, her father stood, signaling with a wave that the dancing would begin. Servants rushed to obey, but Zara rescued the bowl of grapes and hid it in a niche behind a tapestry. It would serve her well to have a cool, sweet treat to see her through the hours of dancing ahead.
Defiantly, she popped another into her mouth and grinned like a conspirator at Prince Kennit when he hid a large goblet in the same niche. He leaned over to whisper, "I shall share my water, if you share your grapes."
Nodding agreement, Zara allowed her father to sweep her into his arms for the opening dance. At least dancing quickened the heart and brought a flush to one's cheeks. She would take what she could get in the way of exercise. Undoubtedly by now the stablemen had their orders to tell her that her stallion had a rock in his hoof, a sprain in his foreleg, or any other lie to forestall her riding him away, even for an hour.
No sooner did her father relinquish her hand than a dance slate was pressed into her palm by the seneschal, who'd kindly–he thought—taken a list of partners for her. She glanced down, and read quickly. No prince was permitted more than two dances in a row with her, though there were conspicuous empty spots left on the list for her to discreetly signify her choice by permitting more than two dances with any prince that caught her eye.
Naturally, Prince Bram the Perfect was first on the list. King Ragnar was making his preferences perfectly clear. She was beginning to hate that word.
Zara handed the slate back to the seneschal with a nod of thanks, and raised her arms for Prince Bram to take her back out on the floor. She ignored the tremble in her stomach, and told her fears to settle. He may be boring, but he was the best choice so far.
But her stomach did not settle. It rumbled and grew worse. Her face felt flushed and her fingertips felt as if they were ice cold. She could no longer feel her feet, and every step became an agonizingly icy stab. Zara persevered, knowing it was likely she'd caught some small illness from all the newcomers. Tomorrow, she promised herself a morning of rest.
Many of the older courtiers retired, including most of the contenders after one dance with her. The drunkards stumbled through a dance with her before being discreetly removed by the staff, and the oldsters confessed themselves quite worn out and retired from the field. Only one contender had to be threatened with being fed his balls before he stopped fondling her, so Zara thought she got off lucky.
Finally, only Prince Bram and Prince Kennit remained. Kennit took pity on her feverish face and asked that a small table be set near one of the open windows, permitting a cool breeze to dry the sweat pouring from Zara's brow.
Prince Bram, not to be outdone, fetched her grapes from their hiding place and fed them to her one by one, pausing only when she turned and shared Prince Kennit's goblet.
Finding a common subject to discuss had been difficult, for they, all three, had vastly different interests. The three of them settled on a card game made fashionable in Bram's kingdom the previous summer, and he taught them to play "Bell and Candle" with enthusiasm.
Zara noted their differing styles with interest. Bram played with reckless abandon, bluffing and making daring plays to get desired sets of matches. Kennit played with care and precision, rarely making a bluff but devastating when he did because it was unexpected. She counted the cards and noted the matches already made, and could guess at what would be dealt next. Between them, they rang the bell provided by the staff equally well.
Soon, Zara's illness began to tell upon her. She fought her wavering eyesight and surreptitiously wiped the sweat pouring from her brow, using the ruse of setting the water and grapes on the ledge of the open window to cool them as an excuse for sticking her face in the wind as much as possible, even if the breeze seemed to stick a thousand icy needles in her skin. It dried her sweat and made her appear less like an apple-cheeked peasant, didn't it?
Kennit had escorted her to the window, ostensibly to get a drink for himself from the goblet. He leaned close and whispered, "You are ill, Zara. End this charade and stop teasing. Pick Bram and have done. Go to bed. Your wedding and bedding of his perfection can wait a few more days."
Zara planted her trembling hands on the ledge and ate another grape for its cool sweetness in her hot, dry throat. The floor seemed wreathed in smoke. How odd. Was there fog and the window allowed it entry? Shame washed over her as she realized that's what both the princes thought–that she was teasing and being coy. How wrong they were! "I'm not teasing, Kennit. I can't decide." The fog rose higher, swirling around her thighs. She reached up to close the shutter, and her hand met only air.
Bram's chair scraped. "Watch her. She's going out the window!"
Kennit's hand closed about her wrist. "Stop, Zara. Stop. If you can't choose, then go to bed. None of us will die before the morrow."
Zara swayed and fell into Kennit's arms. "Pardon. Are you sure, Kennit? Why can't you be perfect too?" The fog wrapped around her and enveloped her.
His soft voice was the last she heard. "I am. I'm perfectly me, and that's all I want to be."
Buy Link: http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/fantasy/fantasy/blue-rose/prod_213.html
Excerpt:
At long last, her father stood, signaling with a wave that the dancing would begin. Servants rushed to obey, but Zara rescued the bowl of grapes and hid it in a niche behind a tapestry. It would serve her well to have a cool, sweet treat to see her through the hours of dancing ahead.
Defiantly, she popped another into her mouth and grinned like a conspirator at Prince Kennit when he hid a large goblet in the same niche. He leaned over to whisper, "I shall share my water, if you share your grapes."
Nodding agreement, Zara allowed her father to sweep her into his arms for the opening dance. At least dancing quickened the heart and brought a flush to one's cheeks. She would take what she could get in the way of exercise. Undoubtedly by now the stablemen had their orders to tell her that her stallion had a rock in his hoof, a sprain in his foreleg, or any other lie to forestall her riding him away, even for an hour.
No sooner did her father relinquish her hand than a dance slate was pressed into her palm by the seneschal, who'd kindly–he thought—taken a list of partners for her. She glanced down, and read quickly. No prince was permitted more than two dances in a row with her, though there were conspicuous empty spots left on the list for her to discreetly signify her choice by permitting more than two dances with any prince that caught her eye.
Naturally, Prince Bram the Perfect was first on the list. King Ragnar was making his preferences perfectly clear. She was beginning to hate that word.
Zara handed the slate back to the seneschal with a nod of thanks, and raised her arms for Prince Bram to take her back out on the floor. She ignored the tremble in her stomach, and told her fears to settle. He may be boring, but he was the best choice so far.
But her stomach did not settle. It rumbled and grew worse. Her face felt flushed and her fingertips felt as if they were ice cold. She could no longer feel her feet, and every step became an agonizingly icy stab. Zara persevered, knowing it was likely she'd caught some small illness from all the newcomers. Tomorrow, she promised herself a morning of rest.
Many of the older courtiers retired, including most of the contenders after one dance with her. The drunkards stumbled through a dance with her before being discreetly removed by the staff, and the oldsters confessed themselves quite worn out and retired from the field. Only one contender had to be threatened with being fed his balls before he stopped fondling her, so Zara thought she got off lucky.
Finally, only Prince Bram and Prince Kennit remained. Kennit took pity on her feverish face and asked that a small table be set near one of the open windows, permitting a cool breeze to dry the sweat pouring from Zara's brow.
Prince Bram, not to be outdone, fetched her grapes from their hiding place and fed them to her one by one, pausing only when she turned and shared Prince Kennit's goblet.
Finding a common subject to discuss had been difficult, for they, all three, had vastly different interests. The three of them settled on a card game made fashionable in Bram's kingdom the previous summer, and he taught them to play "Bell and Candle" with enthusiasm.
Zara noted their differing styles with interest. Bram played with reckless abandon, bluffing and making daring plays to get desired sets of matches. Kennit played with care and precision, rarely making a bluff but devastating when he did because it was unexpected. She counted the cards and noted the matches already made, and could guess at what would be dealt next. Between them, they rang the bell provided by the staff equally well.
Soon, Zara's illness began to tell upon her. She fought her wavering eyesight and surreptitiously wiped the sweat pouring from her brow, using the ruse of setting the water and grapes on the ledge of the open window to cool them as an excuse for sticking her face in the wind as much as possible, even if the breeze seemed to stick a thousand icy needles in her skin. It dried her sweat and made her appear less like an apple-cheeked peasant, didn't it?
Kennit had escorted her to the window, ostensibly to get a drink for himself from the goblet. He leaned close and whispered, "You are ill, Zara. End this charade and stop teasing. Pick Bram and have done. Go to bed. Your wedding and bedding of his perfection can wait a few more days."
Zara planted her trembling hands on the ledge and ate another grape for its cool sweetness in her hot, dry throat. The floor seemed wreathed in smoke. How odd. Was there fog and the window allowed it entry? Shame washed over her as she realized that's what both the princes thought–that she was teasing and being coy. How wrong they were! "I'm not teasing, Kennit. I can't decide." The fog rose higher, swirling around her thighs. She reached up to close the shutter, and her hand met only air.
Bram's chair scraped. "Watch her. She's going out the window!"
Kennit's hand closed about her wrist. "Stop, Zara. Stop. If you can't choose, then go to bed. None of us will die before the morrow."
Zara swayed and fell into Kennit's arms. "Pardon. Are you sure, Kennit? Why can't you be perfect too?" The fog wrapped around her and enveloped her.
His soft voice was the last she heard. "I am. I'm perfectly me, and that's all I want to be."
Buy Link: http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/fantasy/fantasy/blue-rose/prod_213.html
Monday, January 3, 2011
PROMO Excerpt: Coyote Non-Grata X version-- by Lena Austin
Cover art by Bryan Keller
ISBN: 978-1-59596-851-7
Genre(s): Paranormal
Theme(s): Shapeshifters
Length: Novella
ISBN: 978-1-59596-851-7
Genre(s): Paranormal
Theme(s): Shapeshifters
Length: Novella
Blurb:
The Creator laughs at human plans...
Dr. Jeff Gleason rejected his Comanche heritage and became a volcanologist studying the giant magma chamber beneath the National Park. Until his modern job and his Medicine heritage crossed paths. Rody, wounded and rejected from his coyote shifter pack, seeks refuge and medical help from the human in the ranger shack, then joins his new friend on a sexual romp that will lead to a new mating of coyote and man that hasn't happened since the white man came to the park.
...because the Creator has plans of his own.
Excerpt:
Lena Austin
http://www.lenaaustin.com/
http://depravedduchess.blogspot.com/
Thursday, December 9, 2010
New Release!! Sugarplums: Make the Yuletide Gay by Lena Austin
New Release Today!!
Sugarplum: Make the Yuletide Gay
by Lena Austin
Cover art: Reneé George
ISBN: 978-1-60521-520-4
Genre(s): Guilty Pleasures (Contemporary), Hot Flashes
Theme(s): Christmas, Seasonal Themes, Gay and Lesbian
Series: Sugarplums
Length: Hot Flash
http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1507
Blurb:
Dr. Gary Lord was comfortable and out in his homosexuality anywhere but his southern hometown and certainly not at his parents' house. But, in Yulee, Florida, secrets are very hard to keep when the folks across town know how you season your greens the minute you say, "Pass the salt."
And there's an old high school classmate who's been waiting patiently for Gary to come home... and he plans to crash Gary's Yuletide celebration in a big way.
Excerpt:
Adam stood right behind him, trapping him with his arms, one on each side of Gary’s head. Adam looked a little like a cowboy Phantom of the Opera, with the light only illuminating one side of his face and his hat still on his head. “Only mine are gone, and they don’t need to know their son is gay. You’re still in the closet to yours, too, I guess.”
Gary admitted nothing. He didn’t care how much he wanted those firm lips on his or how much he’d fantasized about those rough, weathered hands on his body, Gary still didn’t want to believe his high school crush was within reach and offering. Somewhere, down deep in his soul, Gary dredged up one word. “Why?”
“You mean why am I doing my damndest to get you to do a horizontal tango with me? Hell, Gary.” Adam lifted his arms away from the wall and backed off. His left hand scrubbed at his forehead. Gary’d forgotten Adam was a southpaw. “I wish I knew what attracted me to you, but I’ve been running scared from you since our sophomore year, when I finally came to grips with my sexuality. You kept pushing those damn glasses up on your nose and sticking your chin in the air when you were outclassed in gym, and… aw, hell, you drove me nuts.”
“I had laser surgery on my eyes three years ago.” So maybe it wasn’t the most intelligent thing to say and in some ways was cowardly, but Gary just couldn’t accept what Adam was saying. “I don’t get it. You could have anyone. Why the nerd?”
Adam chuckled under his breath. “Finally, I get a real question. Best answer I have is that opposites attract. I’ve been waiting all year for you to come home for the holidays so you could make my Yuletide gay.”
“Very funny, Adam.” No one had popped out of the woodwork with a camera, yelling how they’d caught him in the act and were going to tell his parents and ruin their holiday, so Gary got a little bolder. “You realize I’ve no reason to trust you? Right?”
“Ye-up! I know.” Adam’s voice deepened, torturing Gary just a little more. “Guess I’m just gonna have to prove I’m serious.” His right hand touched Gary’s shoulder and gently pressed him against the wall. His left caressed the outline of Gary’s cock. “Leastways one part of you believes I ain’t lying.”
Gary had held fossils that were less hard than his dick was. So much blood had left Gary’s brain he was light-headed. Gary’s ass craved what Adam could give, and Gary let the ex-jock push him up against the chilly wainscoting for fear he’d do something stupid like beg if he opened his mouth. Hell, he’d dreamed about Adam for the past fifteen years, and now Gary was afraid to accept what Adam offered. “Fifteen years ago, I’d have been on my knees thanking Upstairs if you’d so much as blinked in my direction. I kinda idolized you.”
“I was a wuss.” Adam tossed off that statement and leaned in until Gary could feel his breath on his right cheek. “I took the easy road and let everyone believe I was the Marlboro Man, all perfect and shit. I wasn’t. Far from it.” Adam’s lips brushed his, and then Adam backed off to study Gary’s face for an objection. “Instead of all those squishy girls, all I wanted was a skinny nerd more interested in amphoras and some weird-ass device from Anti-something Greece.”
“Amphorae. The plural is amphorae. And the place is Antikythera.” Gary’s correction was automatic, considering how Adam was scrambling his brain and his pulse. “I… I can explain.”
“Later.” Adam reached around and yanked him right up to him for a little tongue duel.
Was Gary a sucker for a little domination? Okay, yes, he was. Working around Egypt, knowing his work could be yanked away at the least provocation, was stressful. Gary craved letting go and allowing someone else to take over, so he could stop thinking even for an hour. With Adam, that part was easy. Gary’s brain clicked offline as soon as Adam’s hand slid from his waist to cup Gary’s ass. Fortunately for him, Gary had a subconscious with more sense than intelligence. In response to Gary’s rising lust levels, one of his hands reluctantly slid around Adam’s waist and completed their clinch.
How long they locked lips was anyone’s guess, but eventually Adam broke off. Adam studied Gary’s glazed eyes and nodded. “’Bout time you stopped fighting me. Mind if I just bend you over the sofa? It’s the right height, I think.”
He wasn’t a shrimp, but Gary was about an inch or two shorter, so Gary gave the big leather-backed sofa a glance. “Looks pillow soft, but I won’t break if it isn’t.”
All Gary could hear was Adam’s breathing. Then Adam released him entirely. “Get naked. I want to see you. All of you.”
“Same goes, cowboy.” Gary lifted his chin and dared Adam like they were still in the schoolyard.
Adam nodded. “Fair enough.”
http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1507
Monday, November 1, 2010
Humor of the Day: DADT 1917
Okay, so even I have moments of weirdness...
They made a cute couple, didn't they?
They made a cute couple, didn't they?
Monday, September 13, 2010
On September 16, Werewolves Bite@ TRS Party
On the evening of September 16th, I'll celebrate at the TRS Release Party, and I'll be giving away a "Werewolves Bite!" necklace.
Here are some pictures. (I'm an author, not a photographer, okay?)
Lena Austin
http://www.LenaAustin.com
Do you love my work? Then don't download from pirates.
When you steal what I've earned, you're hurting me.
Here are some pictures. (I'm an author, not a photographer, okay?)
http://www.LenaAustin.com
Do you love my work? Then don't download from pirates.
When you steal what I've earned, you're hurting me.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
PG13 ADULT Excerpt: Blue Rose by Lena Austin (erotic, GLBT, Menage)
Blue Rose
Author: Lena Austin
Artist: Renee George
| ISBN: | 978-1-60168-183-6 |
| Genre: | Paranormal Erotic Romance |
| Publisher: | Aspen Mountain Press |
| Publication Date: | 02/06/09 |
| Sexual Content: | Erotic/M/M/Menage |
Buy Link: http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/fantasy/fantasy/blue-rose/prod_213.html
Synopsis:
Ever read Dante's Inferno? The old boy must have a new nickname—Pinwheel—for all the turning over in his grave he's doing.
This time the tourists in Hell are a poisoned warrior princess and her two suitor princes, both of whom have secrets of their own. Their guide is not a gentle philosopher-poet, but a sassy demon with his own reasons for being their escort through all nine levels. They have to find the blue rose in the deepest part of Hell and make it into an antidote potion before the next full moon or the princess dies.
Things have changed a little—okay, a lot—since old Dante made his visit. Hell is timeless, existing in all times simultaneously. Along the way they'll meet the Furies, a little thief named Dodger, a few gods and goddesses, and step over Satan's chewing gum and they're getting quite an education in the process. But time is running out for the princess....
Excerpt:
At long last, her father stood, signaling with a wave that the dancing would begin. Servants rushed to obey, but Zara rescued the bowl of grapes and hid it in a niche behind a tapestry. It would serve her well to have a cool, sweet treat to see her through the hours of dancing ahead.
Defiantly, she popped another into her mouth and grinned like a conspirator at Prince Kennit when he hid a large goblet in the same niche. He leaned over to whisper, "I shall share my water, if you share your grapes."
Nodding agreement, Zara allowed her father to sweep her into his arms for the opening dance. At least dancing quickened the heart and brought a flush to one's cheeks. She would take what she could get in the way of exercise. Undoubtedly by now the stablemen had their orders to tell her that her stallion had a rock in his hoof, a sprain in his foreleg, or any other lie to forestall her riding him away, even for an hour.
No sooner did her father relinquish her hand than a dance slate was pressed into her palm by the seneschal, who'd kindly–he thought—taken a list of partners for her. She glanced down, and read quickly. No prince was permitted more than two dances in a row with her, though there were conspicuous empty spots left on the list for her to discreetly signify her choice by permitting more than two dances with any prince that caught her eye.
Naturally, Prince Bram the Perfect was first on the list. King Ragnar was making his preferences perfectly clear. She was beginning to hate that word.
Zara handed the slate back to the seneschal with a nod of thanks, and raised her arms for Prince Bram to take her back out on the floor. She ignored the tremble in her stomach, and told her fears to settle. He may be boring, but he was the best choice so far.
But her stomach did not settle. It rumbled and grew worse. Her face felt flushed and her fingertips felt as if they were ice cold. She could no longer feel her feet, and every step became an agonizingly icy stab. Zara persevered, knowing it was likely she'd caught some small illness from all the newcomers. Tomorrow, she promised herself a morning of rest.
Many of the older courtiers retired, including most of the contenders after one dance with her. The drunkards stumbled through a dance with her before being discreetly removed by the staff, and the oldsters confessed themselves quite worn out and retired from the field. Only one contender had to be threatened with being fed his balls before he stopped fondling her, so Zara thought she got off lucky.
Finally, only Prince Bram and Prince Kennit remained. Kennit took pity on her feverish face and asked that a small table be set near one of the open windows, permitting a cool breeze to dry the sweat pouring from Zara's brow.
Prince Bram, not to be outdone, fetched her grapes from their hiding place and fed them to her one by one, pausing only when she turned and shared Prince Kennit's goblet.
Finding a common subject to discuss had been difficult, for they, all three, had vastly different interests. The three of them settled on a card game made fashionable in Bram's kingdom the previous summer, and he taught them to play "Bell and Candle" with enthusiasm.
Zara noted their differing styles with interest. Bram played with reckless abandon, bluffing and making daring plays to get desired sets of matches. Kennit played with care and precision, rarely making a bluff but devastating when he did because it was unexpected. She counted the cards and noted the matches already made, and could guess at what would be dealt next. Between them, they rang the bell provided by the staff equally well.
Soon, Zara's illness began to tell upon her. She fought her wavering eyesight and surreptitiously wiped the sweat pouring from her brow, using the ruse of setting the water and grapes on the ledge of the open window to cool them as an excuse for sticking her face in the wind as much as possible, even if the breeze seemed to stick a thousand icy needles in her skin. It dried her sweat and made her appear less like an apple-cheeked peasant, didn't it?
Kennit had escorted her to the window, ostensibly to get a drink for himself from the goblet. He leaned close and whispered, "You are ill, Zara. End this charade and stop teasing. Pick Bram and have done. Go to bed. Your wedding and bedding of his perfection can wait a few more days."
Zara planted her trembling hands on the ledge and ate another grape for its cool sweetness in her hot, dry throat. The floor seemed wreathed in smoke. How odd. Was there fog and the window allowed it entry? Shame washed over her as she realized that's what both the princes thought–that she was teasing and being coy. How wrong they were! "I'm not teasing, Kennit. I can't decide." The fog rose higher, swirling around her thighs. She reached up to close the shutter, and her hand met only air.
Bram's chair scraped. "Watch her. She's going out the window!"
Kennit's hand closed about her wrist. "Stop, Zara. Stop. If you can't choose, then go to bed. None of us will die before the morrow."
Zara swayed and fell into Kennit's arms. "Pardon. Are you sure, Kennit? Why can't you be perfect too?" The fog wrapped around her and enveloped her.
His soft voice was the last she heard. "I am. I'm perfectly me, and that's all I want to be."
Buy Link: http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/fantasy/fantasy/blue-rose/prod_213.html
"Write Drunk..., Edit Sober..." Ernest Hemingway
Lena AustinFriday, September 10, 2010
New Release! Excerpt : Dire Wolves: Silence (GLBT, Shapeshifters, Vampires, AA, Humor. Adults Only)
It's out! It's finally out! Yaaay!
"One funeral wasn't enough for you?" said the kidnapper's note…
http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1447
Blurb:
"One funeral wasn't enough for you?" said the kidnapper's note…
Deafened in an attempted murder, Detective Cameron Douglas is involuntarily retired from the force, despite his willingness to continue with the investigation of the murder of the mayor's secretary. Now, it's personal.
ENT therapist Noel Miller is a vampire with a few scars of his own. He wants to be more than Cam's interpreter and instructor in deaf culture. He could help Cam, if only the werewolf will let him into his life and heart.
Then the murderer strikes again. Right at Cam.
Excerpt:
"Danse Macabre" was a lousy choice for a ring tone, but Detective Cameron Douglas always thought about it when he had the least amount of time to change the ring to something else. The tune was the last he'd ever hear. Cam didn't know that sad fact, or he'd have changed the ring sooner. Cam snatched the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open as soon as he saw it was his boss, Lt. Kraynak. "Hey, Mark! You caught me just leaving the mayor's office." "Yeah?" Mark's voice always sounded nervous, but at that moment, he sounded as squeaky as a girl. Cam always wondered if Mark was as closet gay as Cam himself. "How'd it go?"Cam sighed. The investigation into the death of the mayor's secretary, Margaret Lund, was supposed to be kept very quiet and low-key. "We got the blood from her apartment at the lab, looking for DNA. They seem to be consistent with the defensive marks found on her body despite floating around in the St. John's River for a while. I've got a few good leads." He had to be vague. Cam couldn't exactly tell his boss he was a werewolf and he'd caught an odd, masculine scent in Margaret's apartment. He knew any sort of masculine odor didn't belong in that apartment because Margaret and his mother had been lovers for over twenty years. Not exactly what you want the whole world to know. Mom had been in the closet all her life, and he wasn't about to out her when she was mourning "Aunt Maggie's" death. Dad would turn over in his grave, the day care she'd run for fifteen years would close, and her life would be in ruins. What she and Maggie had enjoyed just wasn't ever going to be public, and that wasn't admissible evidence anyway. He could see it now. Him, on the witness stand. "Yes, Your Honor. I'm a werewolf you see, and I sniffed this odor…" He winced, even to himself. "I don't like it, Cam. You shouldn't be on this case. Ms. Lund was your mother's best friend. You could be called prejudiced in court." Mark popped another gumball in his mouth. Cam heard it rattle against his teeth before it crackled as he chewed it into oblivion. Mark'd been trying to quit smoking again, and kept a gumball bank on his desk. "I don't like it, either, Mark. Where His Honor got the idea I'd be the only detective who could do the job is beyond me." Cam was in sight of his car at last. The covered parking garage across the street from City Hall was a piece of shit like all the rest of downtown. Half the security cameras didn't work at the best of times, and the roof leaked whenever it rained. So where was he parked? On the roof. In the rain. Of course. So he was wet. It was Florida. Not like he would melt. He was a werewolf, not a witch, and this wasn't Hollyweird. The beep in his ear made him jump, and the caller ID told him it was Mom. "Hey, I'm at my car. Hang on a sec." Cam flipped over to his mother's call and sat down on a bench about fifty feet from his car, in the shelter covering the elevator. "Hi, Mom." He frowned and noticed the hood of his car was slightly ajar. That was odd. He distinctly remembered changing the oil the previous Sunday and slamming the hood closed because he hated working in the hot sun. He never heard her answer. Hell, he never heard anything except the biggest boom on the planet.
Excerpt:
"Danse Macabre" was a lousy choice for a ring tone, but Detective Cameron Douglas always thought about it when he had the least amount of time to change the ring to something else. The tune was the last he'd ever hear. Cam didn't know that sad fact, or he'd have changed the ring sooner. Cam snatched the phone out of his pocket and flipped it open as soon as he saw it was his boss, Lt. Kraynak. "Hey, Mark! You caught me just leaving the mayor's office." "Yeah?" Mark's voice always sounded nervous, but at that moment, he sounded as squeaky as a girl. Cam always wondered if Mark was as closet gay as Cam himself. "How'd it go?"Cam sighed. The investigation into the death of the mayor's secretary, Margaret Lund, was supposed to be kept very quiet and low-key. "We got the blood from her apartment at the lab, looking for DNA. They seem to be consistent with the defensive marks found on her body despite floating around in the St. John's River for a while. I've got a few good leads." He had to be vague. Cam couldn't exactly tell his boss he was a werewolf and he'd caught an odd, masculine scent in Margaret's apartment. He knew any sort of masculine odor didn't belong in that apartment because Margaret and his mother had been lovers for over twenty years. Not exactly what you want the whole world to know. Mom had been in the closet all her life, and he wasn't about to out her when she was mourning "Aunt Maggie's" death. Dad would turn over in his grave, the day care she'd run for fifteen years would close, and her life would be in ruins. What she and Maggie had enjoyed just wasn't ever going to be public, and that wasn't admissible evidence anyway. He could see it now. Him, on the witness stand. "Yes, Your Honor. I'm a werewolf you see, and I sniffed this odor…" He winced, even to himself. "I don't like it, Cam. You shouldn't be on this case. Ms. Lund was your mother's best friend. You could be called prejudiced in court." Mark popped another gumball in his mouth. Cam heard it rattle against his teeth before it crackled as he chewed it into oblivion. Mark'd been trying to quit smoking again, and kept a gumball bank on his desk. "I don't like it, either, Mark. Where His Honor got the idea I'd be the only detective who could do the job is beyond me." Cam was in sight of his car at last. The covered parking garage across the street from City Hall was a piece of shit like all the rest of downtown. Half the security cameras didn't work at the best of times, and the roof leaked whenever it rained. So where was he parked? On the roof. In the rain. Of course. So he was wet. It was Florida. Not like he would melt. He was a werewolf, not a witch, and this wasn't Hollyweird. The beep in his ear made him jump, and the caller ID told him it was Mom. "Hey, I'm at my car. Hang on a sec." Cam flipped over to his mother's call and sat down on a bench about fifty feet from his car, in the shelter covering the elevator. "Hi, Mom." He frowned and noticed the hood of his car was slightly ajar. That was odd. He distinctly remembered changing the oil the previous Sunday and slamming the hood closed because he hated working in the hot sun. He never heard her answer. Hell, he never heard anything except the biggest boom on the planet.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
PG13 Excerpt: Spaceport-- Time Bomb by Lena Austin (futuristic, GLBT, Menage, SF)
I already have an Inspector Gadget, sorta. Kade Starke was a cyborg with multiple extensions. (VBEG) Since the hero has his first sexual encounter while still tied down, I guess this has a little BDSM, too.
Spaceport: Time Bomb
by Lena Austincover art by Zuri
ISBN (13): 978-1-59596-691-9
Genre(s): Futuristic, Sci-Fi
Theme(s): Ménage, Bisexual and More, Spaceport
Series: Spaceport Multi-Author
Length: Novella
Blurb:
Pepper and her cyborg ally, Kade Starke, scavenge space junk hoping to find that one-in-a-million hunk of rock that will make them rich. Then they find the sad wreck of an old shuttle, and a hunk inside named Dr. Logan MacDonald. Oh, and several billion credits worth of long-lost artifacts and art. Now everyone from pirates to Imperial forces want Logan and his treasure. To get the artifacts to where they can be shared by all humanity and not just a wealthy few, Logan and his scavenger friends may just have to turn the treasure ship into a literal time bomb.
Excerpt:
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
Captain Pepper Corstorphine drummed her long fingers on the ship's console and glanced listlessly at the running vid game she was playing with her partner and friend, Kade. As usual, he was winning. He beat her nine out of ten times, but playing games was better than sitting in her chair staring at the stars of space while they hunted space junk. "Why do I bother trying to beat a cyborg?"
Kade turned his sober and scarred face to look at her, but his hookup to the console kept the game running. His face, one of the few human things visible on him, was enough to scare small children, but laser blasts did that to you. The only things untouched by his former profession of Imperial soldier were his big brown eyes. "Because you're bored out of your mind. However, it pays the bills to scour the sector for occasional hunks of debris and the rare metallic meteor worth hauling in for a few credits."
Pepper knew that. Even their conversations had become an endless loop on replay. She sighed and stood. "Give me the damn helmet. I need some virtual exercise."
"Shall we play naked and vulnerable?" Kade pretended to leer at her. They'd served as each other's sexual release often, but diddling with a cyborg's extensions wasn't much of a turn on for her. "We haven't gone without our armor in a few cycles."
"You're bored, too, aren't you?"
Kade shrugged. "Tired of being half-man and half-machine. Half a life is what I call it. I'd welcome a bit of danger right now."
Pepper reached for the virtual helmet, but the console proximity alarm beeped the warning sequence. Instantly, she was diverted. Either they had a collection to make, or they'd be arguing with another space junker for rights to the immediate sector. Either way, it was better than boredom. "Woohoo! What have we got?" Pepper hopped back into her chair, shut down the game, and called up extra power for grapplers or a boost to the engines of her ship, the Tor.
It may have looked like a patchwork of technology and corrosion, but the Tor was hers. Okay, it was the creditors' until she achieved payoff. Her ship looked like the junk they collected, but that ugliness was deliberate. Even the corrosion was fake, but would pass casual scans.
"Metal, Pepper! A big hunk of it. Barest trace of an energy signature, and it's not photon propulsion. It's -- I don't believe I'm saying this -- nuclear fission and fossil fuel." Kade's eyes lit up in greed and joy, even if the screen gave his face an eerie green cast. "I think we have a whole derelict, and it's bigger than a satellite or probe. It may be a ship!"
Her heart raced, and Pepper dove to look for herself. Hope flared in her greedy heart. A whole ship could get them darn close to payoff and much closer to freedom than either had thought possible. She and Kade discussed endlessly what they'd do if they ever got to payoff without ever believing it could happen before they were too infirm to enjoy it. "Dollavera's Nuts! Let's get over there and confirm."
The wedge-shaped hulk hove into view, beautifully framed by a nearby nebula. The white hull gleamed and winked, belying the pocked appearance of a hull that wasn't meant for deep space. "What's the inscription on the side there? I can't read it, and I thought I was pretty good with the common trade tongues."
Kade focused on the side of the ship and captured an image as well as deploying the grappling magnet. The magnet attached to the nose cone with ease, assuring their claim over the entire bulk. "Accessing the data. Hmm. It's Old Earth French, Pepper. The name of a museum called the Louvre, but that's odd. The registry number is for another ship called Enterprise. The Enterprise was supposedly destroyed during the reign of the dictator Amin in the early twenty-first century."
"Louvre? Weird name. So is it the Enterprise or the Louvre?" Pepper leaned forward to study their prize. Their big, hulking ticket to freedom. She did a tiny jig behind Kade's chair. While historical dating could place the ship and give them clues as to what types of saleable items it might contain, they could explore for themselves. It would just take longer, and longer meant more time for pirates to find them. A pulsing light caught her eye on Kade's console. "What's the energy readout blinking for?"
Kade's extensions were busy and his voice absent. "Weak energy pulse. I haven't identified the source yet. One question at a time, Captain Greedy." Images flipped at rapid speed on his screen, slowed and stopped. An image of a ship identical to their prize stood against a pale blue sky. "That thing was never meant to be here in deep space, Pepper. It was called a shuttle, meant only for flights of short duration between nearby objects of a planet, like to orbiting space stations and back to the ground. Our prize was one of only twenty shuttles ever created, and all were presumed destroyed." Kade gestured out the window. "What we have there isn't supposed to exist."
"So, no chance of knowing what's on board. Delia's tits. Okay, so we suit up and go look." Pepper sighed. "Does the pulse come from the nuclear power? I don't want a radiation leak contaminating my best power suit."
"No leaks that I can find." Kade clamped down his helmet, sealing his vulnerable face behind a smoky mask. His voice issued from the radio speaker on the console, and would until Pepper tuned in to his channel from her own suit. "I'll go see to the jet packs while you primp."
Pepper laughed and jumped into the bottom half of her suit. Since she wore a singlesuit coverall unless she was sucking up to some officious government type, primping like a sex slave was out of the question. Not that such action did her much good. Pepper fingered the scar that ran from her hairline over her eye to her jaw. No male would look at her without wincing, and that was the way she wanted it. She hit the button that lowered the top half of her suit and fitted herself inside.
By the time they jetted over to the ship, Kade had already located a hole in the hull large enough to let them enter, just behind the command module. He dove right in, and Pepper was seconds behind. They both fought with the odd wheel that opened the door to the next portion, labeled crudely "Cargo Bay."
There was no sound in space, but Pepper could imagine the creaks and groans emitted by the old mechanism when it finally gave way and spun freely. The door opened into a darkened area where strange shapes floated in the zero gravity. All were packaged, some crudely, to protect them, and many showed signs of collision with other objects.
"I'm going to cut this one open." Kade changed his left appendage from scanner to knife, and scored along the textile covering a very tall and long object. After several attempts, the wrapping fell away revealing a human female figure made of stone, starkly white in the darkness. "This looks familiar. Let me access the ship's database."
Pepper waited, pushing away the occasional object floating too near for her comfort. She'd seen statues before in pictures, mostly in newsvids of the richest homes. This statue was beautiful in a way Pepper could not describe. Pity its arms had been broken off, though they weren't in evidence nearby.
"Holy Lextu! Pepper! Turn on your link. Take a look at this." She'd never heard Kade's voice have that tone of awe and excitement before.
Pepper tongue-switched on her access to the ship, and an exact picture of the statue appeared on the tiny screen in her hood. She listened carefully to the accompanying recording.
Last known picture of Venus de Milo statue, lost in 2015 during reign of dictator Amin. Presumed destroyed in his cultural purge, along with all contents of museums in major metropolitan areas of Europe, Asia, and parts of North America. Estimated value at time of destruction was incalculable…
Kade ended the transmission. "If this is the real thing…"Lena Austin
Http://www.LenaAustin.com
Http://www.LenaAustin.com
Sunday, September 5, 2010
PG13 Excerpt: Holiday Howlz- Haulin' Hawg by Lena Austin (Paranormal, BDSM, Shifters, GLBT, Seasonal)
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Blurb:
In the six months since Loren left his biker lover back in Barkus, Kansas, they've never said those three important words. Now Loren's coming back, and silent BD has plans that involve bungee cords and a motorcycle to prove his love.
Excerpt:
Holiday Howlz: Haulin' Hawg
Lena Austin
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2009 Lena Austin
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
Loren drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel of his eighteen-wheeler. Saying "his" even in his mind made him smile. After six months on the road without a break, save for a week's layover in El Paso while the company repaired his antenna, he was ready for a holiday at home.
Home. What a funny word for a guy who'd run away from his last foster home at sixteen and vowed never to be shackled to the system again. Now he was driving for Barkus, Kansas, making his semi scream down I-70 in the winter. Running back to the man of his dreams, Bad Dawg the biker.
The long-legged, slow-talking redhead with a voice like Sam Elliott at his finest was enough to distract Loren from the road and make him smile a shit-eating grin nothing could wipe off his face. Man, he had it bad for BD, and he didn't care about traps and being tied down to a place anymore.
Unfortunately, Loren hadn't given BD a definite arrival time. Naturally, as a low man on the hierarchy of truckers working for the company, he'd gotten all the shitty little jobs none of the others wanted. Loren had done his time and paid his dues, and now the truck he sat in was assigned to him, and him alone. He could customize the berth, up to a point, and had managed to acquire a refrigerator, coffee pot, and a specialized GPS system for truckers. Loren patted the GPS device, sitting atop the Qual-com computer. The luxury of never being lost had been worth every cent.
He hoped BD would stoop from his artistry with customizing motorcycles to help Loren outfit the berth for comfort and function. Eventually, if their relationship worked out for the long haul, Loren would send BD money for the down payment on a Harley to customize.
Loren dreamed of owning a Harley Hawg, customized in blue metallic paint. Not that Loren minded, but riding the bitch seat behind BD was murderous on the ego and the kidneys. Loren wanted his own bike to ride next to BD.
The exit to Barkus was nothing more than a tiny county road sign, but Loren's GPS beeped a warning in plenty of time for him to turn north and head toward the man he loved. The big blue semi made the turn with lumbering grace, considering Loren had dropped off the trailer in KC and was bob-tailing it home before the Qual-com lit up with another load and another delay on his requested holiday time. Four days of bliss with BD.
He hoped. Talking on the phone was fine, considering how the conversations went. BD had never been talkative, and Loren understood his private nature. Hell, a prairie dog shifter had to be cautious to survive, and BD made secrecy into a fine art.
Loren crawled his semi through the town of Barkus. Not only was the day getting on toward dusk, but the small town had strict speed limits. The last thing Loren wanted was a speeding ticket. Not a good way to meet your future father-in-law, especially since the sheriff might not approve of his son's human mate.
Loren winced to himself, still incredulous at the circumstances. A whole town of shifters, mixed with tolerant or ignorant human residents -- a gator shifter, among others! The still-pink scar on his hand reminded him of when BD had bitten him to prove the point.
He turned into the gravel and dirt driveway, which led to BD's home. The house was dark, meaning BD wasn't inside. Sure enough, the lights blazed out the window of the huge barn BD had converted into a workshop. Loren parked his rig in the parking lot mostly used by BD's biker buddies.
Loren sniffed himself cautiously when he got out of the cab. He'd bathed yesterday at a truck stop in Indiana, but he didn't want to offend BD's nose just in case. A guy got pretty darn rank when he could only stop to bathe and do laundry about once a week. Of course, BD had stated clearly when they spoke three days ago that Loren could have another religious experience in the cathedral to cleanliness BD termed a bathroom. Loren intended to take him up on the offer.
Loren walked around to the small side door of the barn and didn't bother to try to muscle open the big double doors. They were for when a bike needed to be driven in for custom work or minor repairs. A wailing scream of metal being ground -- or a tone-deaf banshee chorus warming up -- assailed Loren's ears before he even turned the doorknob.
Loren winced at the painful sound and seriously considered waiting in the truck. The sound was eardrum-shattering through the barn walls and made his skin crawl. Now he knew for certain you could kill with sound. His ears begged him not to open the door, but he had to see BD. He turned the knob, and when the door swung free, he clapped his hands over his ears and stepped into the cavernous barn.
BD was there, in a corner area where a welding setup and other metal-smithing tools stood. In front of him on a bench, clamped to a fare-thee-well, was part of a motorcycle's motor jugs, and BD made a grinder scream as he made minute adjustments to angles on the vanes of the jugs. He had a massive set of sound-deadening earphones on and, from the focused concentration on his face, was deaf and blind to anything but his work.
What Loren knew about customizing bikes would fit in a teacup in comparison to BD, but the way the already cut pieces reflected the lights was beautiful. Someone had undoubtedly paid BD a small fortune, because the Harley sitting nearby was a work of art in baby blue and silver chrome. Loren drooled on his steel toes to go admire, but he dared not.
Loren also recognized that disturbing BD in any manner while he used the grinder could destroy the bike's motor. Those finicky cuts were probably made on precise angles. If he startled BD, he could ruin a month's work. Since leaving BD there suited Loren, he backed out of the barn and shut the door softly. He hiked up to the house, found the spare key right where BD had told him the hiding rock would be, and let himself into the house. He had a little holiday surprise to prepare for one redheaded prairie dog.
Lena Austin
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2009 Lena Austin
This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
Loren drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel of his eighteen-wheeler. Saying "his" even in his mind made him smile. After six months on the road without a break, save for a week's layover in El Paso while the company repaired his antenna, he was ready for a holiday at home.
Home. What a funny word for a guy who'd run away from his last foster home at sixteen and vowed never to be shackled to the system again. Now he was driving for Barkus, Kansas, making his semi scream down I-70 in the winter. Running back to the man of his dreams, Bad Dawg the biker.
The long-legged, slow-talking redhead with a voice like Sam Elliott at his finest was enough to distract Loren from the road and make him smile a shit-eating grin nothing could wipe off his face. Man, he had it bad for BD, and he didn't care about traps and being tied down to a place anymore.
Unfortunately, Loren hadn't given BD a definite arrival time. Naturally, as a low man on the hierarchy of truckers working for the company, he'd gotten all the shitty little jobs none of the others wanted. Loren had done his time and paid his dues, and now the truck he sat in was assigned to him, and him alone. He could customize the berth, up to a point, and had managed to acquire a refrigerator, coffee pot, and a specialized GPS system for truckers. Loren patted the GPS device, sitting atop the Qual-com computer. The luxury of never being lost had been worth every cent.
He hoped BD would stoop from his artistry with customizing motorcycles to help Loren outfit the berth for comfort and function. Eventually, if their relationship worked out for the long haul, Loren would send BD money for the down payment on a Harley to customize.
Loren dreamed of owning a Harley Hawg, customized in blue metallic paint. Not that Loren minded, but riding the bitch seat behind BD was murderous on the ego and the kidneys. Loren wanted his own bike to ride next to BD.
The exit to Barkus was nothing more than a tiny county road sign, but Loren's GPS beeped a warning in plenty of time for him to turn north and head toward the man he loved. The big blue semi made the turn with lumbering grace, considering Loren had dropped off the trailer in KC and was bob-tailing it home before the Qual-com lit up with another load and another delay on his requested holiday time. Four days of bliss with BD.
He hoped. Talking on the phone was fine, considering how the conversations went. BD had never been talkative, and Loren understood his private nature. Hell, a prairie dog shifter had to be cautious to survive, and BD made secrecy into a fine art.
Loren crawled his semi through the town of Barkus. Not only was the day getting on toward dusk, but the small town had strict speed limits. The last thing Loren wanted was a speeding ticket. Not a good way to meet your future father-in-law, especially since the sheriff might not approve of his son's human mate.
Loren winced to himself, still incredulous at the circumstances. A whole town of shifters, mixed with tolerant or ignorant human residents -- a gator shifter, among others! The still-pink scar on his hand reminded him of when BD had bitten him to prove the point.
He turned into the gravel and dirt driveway, which led to BD's home. The house was dark, meaning BD wasn't inside. Sure enough, the lights blazed out the window of the huge barn BD had converted into a workshop. Loren parked his rig in the parking lot mostly used by BD's biker buddies.
Loren sniffed himself cautiously when he got out of the cab. He'd bathed yesterday at a truck stop in Indiana, but he didn't want to offend BD's nose just in case. A guy got pretty darn rank when he could only stop to bathe and do laundry about once a week. Of course, BD had stated clearly when they spoke three days ago that Loren could have another religious experience in the cathedral to cleanliness BD termed a bathroom. Loren intended to take him up on the offer.
Loren walked around to the small side door of the barn and didn't bother to try to muscle open the big double doors. They were for when a bike needed to be driven in for custom work or minor repairs. A wailing scream of metal being ground -- or a tone-deaf banshee chorus warming up -- assailed Loren's ears before he even turned the doorknob.
Loren winced at the painful sound and seriously considered waiting in the truck. The sound was eardrum-shattering through the barn walls and made his skin crawl. Now he knew for certain you could kill with sound. His ears begged him not to open the door, but he had to see BD. He turned the knob, and when the door swung free, he clapped his hands over his ears and stepped into the cavernous barn.
BD was there, in a corner area where a welding setup and other metal-smithing tools stood. In front of him on a bench, clamped to a fare-thee-well, was part of a motorcycle's motor jugs, and BD made a grinder scream as he made minute adjustments to angles on the vanes of the jugs. He had a massive set of sound-deadening earphones on and, from the focused concentration on his face, was deaf and blind to anything but his work.
What Loren knew about customizing bikes would fit in a teacup in comparison to BD, but the way the already cut pieces reflected the lights was beautiful. Someone had undoubtedly paid BD a small fortune, because the Harley sitting nearby was a work of art in baby blue and silver chrome. Loren drooled on his steel toes to go admire, but he dared not.
Loren also recognized that disturbing BD in any manner while he used the grinder could destroy the bike's motor. Those finicky cuts were probably made on precise angles. If he startled BD, he could ruin a month's work. Since leaving BD there suited Loren, he backed out of the barn and shut the door softly. He hiked up to the house, found the spare key right where BD had told him the hiding rock would be, and let himself into the house. He had a little holiday surprise to prepare for one redheaded prairie dog.
Lena Austin
Saturday, July 24, 2010
ADULT MM Excerpt: Berdache by Lena Austin (NWS!!)
WARNING!! Not Work Safe!
http://www.aspenmou ntainpress. com/manlove/ historical/ berdache/ prod_265. html
Title: Berdache
Genre/Line: Alternate Sexualities, Paranormal
Author: Lena Austin
Genre/Line: Alternate Sexualities, Paranormal
Author: Lena Austin
Content Warning: M/M and m/f/m
* * * *
With the swiftness of a badger, Red Wolf's hands clamped down on Lizard's arms. The dream-crazed warrior yanked the Berdache to his chest with total disregard for dignity. All Lizard managed was a gasp of surprise before Red Wolf's lips clamped down on his.
Lizard's mouth was open from his gasp, and Red Wolf forced it open further with his tongue. The violent kiss, full of an unspoken need, aroused in Lizard a burning heat. Tongues tangled and fought, each vying for supremacy. Some force in Lizard demanded he not submit, until he was sure it was truly a choice on Red Wolf's part, and not the dream that made him act thus.
With a moan, Red Wolf broke the kiss. "You with your maiden's hair and shaman's skills. You call to me like no other. I don't understand you or the battles you fight, but I know now that you make war with an unseen enemy. It is enough."
Shock made Lizard's eyes fly open wide. No one had ever explained what he did so simply. "Your dream showed you this?"
Red Wolf's hands roamed Lizard's chest, and even brushed a nipple that hardened in response. "Yes, and after I am done exploring what makes you call to me, I will tell you of it." He grinned, looking remarkably like his namesake. "I will see for myself what the differences are."
A hand calloused from holding bow and club tweaked Lizard's nipple none too gently, radiating pain and pleasure through Lizard's body. It was difficult to think, to remain a proud Berdache, when he wanted to lay back and give his body for study. But his chin jerked up. "Shouldn't you ask? I am no slave maiden to humbly submit to your desires without having wishes of my own."
The grin grew sly and Red Wolf's eyes challenged. "Oh, Lizard? And what is it you wish? We can trade, perhaps." His hand moved to brush and play with Lizard's other nipple. "I seem to remember you telling me you wanted this earlier."
"I do. I will show you what it feels like, while you make your decisions. You will abandon your warrior's silence and tell me what it feels like, or, if you cannot manage speech, simply that you like or dislike what I do." Lizard's own hand crept up to mirror all that Red Wolf did.
Red Wolf's eyes slowly became half-lidded. When he gently tweaked one of Lizard's nipples, the same was done to him. "Agreed. It is a bargain."
"Good. We will stop haggling like sharp old women bargaining with the trader." Lizard bent forward and licked the same nipple he'd pinched a moment before. "How does that feel?"
Drawing a shaky breath, Red Wolf seemed to savor the sensation. He swallowed. "Good. Very good. It is now my turn to taste."
He bent and suckled at Lizard's right nipple. Lizard felt himself harden, and begged the beast within for caution. Yet, when he glanced down after Red Wolf withdrew, he saw that he was not the only one whose chodis rose.
He would not ask for all that could be done in pleasuring one another. He would only give what Red Wolf would take, and no more.
"I want to do more, Red Wolf. Things you may not wish to do in return. You will decide." He bent forward to lick and nibble at the firm pectoral muscle, and felt it quiver in response.
"Yesss," Red Wolf hissed. "I will." He swayed, and his eyes shut.
"Let me know when you wish me to stop." Lizard pushed with his head until Red Wolf lay back on the mat.
"I will selfishly allow you all you wish, for now, " Red Wolf moaned. "What you do makes me harder than stone."
Lizard moved down his friend's body until his cheek rested comfortably on Red Wolf's thigh, relishing every muscle and the salt-sweet taste of his skin. His humming agreement made Red Wolf throw back his head and gasp for air.
The loincloth Red Wolf wore was no hindrance to his questing hands and tongue. The scent of pure male filled his nose, and Lizard drank in the heady richness. How much more would Red Wolf allow, he didn't know, but Lizard would take all he could get.
The first delicious lap from the glistening tip of Red Wolf's chodis was as sweet as honey to Lizard's tongue. He restrained himself from sucking it all in and gobbling greedily. This was for Red Wolf's pleasure, not his own.
He was therefore shocked into stillness when he felt Red Wolf's tentative fingers move aside his own loincloth and grasp Lizard's swollen and aching chodis.
"Like this?" Red Wolf whispered, and licked with a tentative tongue.
"Spirits, yes," Lizard moaned.
"Good. Tastes good. Show me more." Red Wolf licked again.
They lay side by side with one knee bent, facing one another's chodis, and Red Wolf mirrored everything Lizard did. Perhaps he did it with less skill, but the effect was the same as if he were a practiced Berdache of many years.
Lizard took Red Wolf's stalk into his mouth and sucked gently. Red Wolf did the same, and managed it well. While still continuing to swallow all of Red Wolf he could, Lizard played with Red Wolf's berries and found himself played with in return.
But when Lizard slid a tentative finger down to caress just below the sack of berries, Red Wolf stiffened. At first, Lizard was concerned he had gone too far and asked for too much, until Red Wolf groaned, and let go of Lizard's hardness to speak. "Lizard, I will release if you continue on that path."
__._,_.___
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Promo*Coming Soon* MAN vs. WILD by Lena Austin
::Bouncing::
Book 3 in the Coyotes of Yellowstone Series is coming to Changeling Press MAY 27th. You do Not want to miss it!
Coming Soon to Changeling Press
"Stop fighting the wild," said the coyote
About Man vs. Wild:
Survival show star Foxxe Wylder thinks his season ending show in Yellowstone may be as
stale as his career, and he's ready for a break prowling the urban jungles back
home. He didn't plan to hit a coyote on the road, nor that the charming little
canine would turn his world upside down.
Reno never wanted pack life, and the idea of getting a mate and raising a litter of
pups isn't on his wish list. Neither was being hit by Foxxe's SUV. Then,
Foxxe's producer gets an idea-- Foxxe will release the cutest coyote on TV back
into the wild, now that the vet has taken care of him. However, one stubborn
coyote has ideas of his own.
Excerpt (unedited):
Foxxe Wylder downshifted his new toy, a brand new coal black Lincoln Navigator. Yeah, he knew the jokes about how "luxury" and "SUV" were a contradiction in terms, but Foxxe figured he'd earned a few benefits because of his job. He wasn't looking forward to the next challenge that was for sure.
As if he could read his star's mind, Foxxe's producer Wayne tapped on Foxxe's shoulder. "How many more hours before we make it
to Yellowstone? "
Foxxe checked the GPS. Yeah, he loved the gadgets. He wouldn't have the luxury --there was that word again-- of a GPS or even a compass once they started filming the next episode of "Wild Survival" for the audience of the Discovery Channel who ate up every one of Foxxe's adventures of survival. "I'm guessing an hour or two, maybe. Who's our contact again?"
A soft snore from the front passenger side made Foxxe grin. His faithful cameraman Andy snoozed in the pre-dawn darkness, clutching one of his smaller expensive cameras like a kid cuddling a teddy bear. Andy had celluloid on the brain and had since childhood. In truth, Foxxe considered Andy braver and crazier than even himself. Foxxe was an ex-Navy Seal with too many medals for bravery and undetected crime for his own good, but any cameraman who worked documentaries ate great white sharks for breakfast and cleaned his teeth with lionfish quills. Nothing scared those crazy bastards but missing the shot.
Wayne slouched back in his seat. "Dr. Jeff Gleason, a volcanologist. He's your guide in." Wayne pulled out his ever-present notepad and Blackberry from under the paper piles he'd spread all over the back seat. "He's not happy about it, but his bosses at USGS insist he do this. I'm trying to convince him his job includes allowing us to film him. He's a Comanche. Our research
assistant waxed poetic. Apparently he's..."
"...A sex god waiting for a temple or other such shit. Yeah, I heard her." Foxxe sighed. He didn't need Wayne to know his star was gay, and he damn sure didn't want his fans to know, or the network would cancel the show for any excuse they could find. Foxxe held no illusions about his bosses. They were predators, all of them, and if they smelled any sort of weakness in you, they'd exploit it mercilessly. They thought Foxxe was some macho war hero who fucked six women a night, and Foxxe reaped the rewards of their illusions. However, the reality was that Foxxe went without sex more often than not.
Bookmark this link so you're one of the first to get your copy of Man vs. Wild!
Slade Wolf
Promotion Manager
Phoenix Rising Promotions
prp_wolf@yahoo. com
Man vs Wild |
| by Lena Austin cover art by Reneé George |
 |
| ISBN: 978-1-60521- 118-3 |
|
| Genre(s): Paranormal |
|
| Theme(s): Vampires, Shapeshifters, Gay and Lesbian |
|
| Series: Coyotes of Yellowstone |
|
| Length: Novella |
Coming Soon to Changeling Press
"Stop fighting the wild," said the coyote
About Man vs. Wild:
Survival show star Foxxe Wylder thinks his season ending show in Yellowstone may be as
stale as his career, and he's ready for a break prowling the urban jungles back
home. He didn't plan to hit a coyote on the road, nor that the charming little
canine would turn his world upside down.
Reno never wanted pack life, and the idea of getting a mate and raising a litter of
pups isn't on his wish list. Neither was being hit by Foxxe's SUV. Then,
Foxxe's producer gets an idea-- Foxxe will release the cutest coyote on TV back
into the wild, now that the vet has taken care of him. However, one stubborn
coyote has ideas of his own.
Excerpt (unedited):
Foxxe Wylder downshifted his new toy, a brand new coal black Lincoln Navigator. Yeah, he knew the jokes about how "luxury" and "SUV" were a contradiction in terms, but Foxxe figured he'd earned a few benefits because of his job. He wasn't looking forward to the next challenge that was for sure.
As if he could read his star's mind, Foxxe's producer Wayne tapped on Foxxe's shoulder. "How many more hours before we make it
to Yellowstone? "
Foxxe checked the GPS. Yeah, he loved the gadgets. He wouldn't have the luxury --there was that word again-- of a GPS or even a compass once they started filming the next episode of "Wild Survival" for the audience of the Discovery Channel who ate up every one of Foxxe's adventures of survival. "I'm guessing an hour or two, maybe. Who's our contact again?"
A soft snore from the front passenger side made Foxxe grin. His faithful cameraman Andy snoozed in the pre-dawn darkness, clutching one of his smaller expensive cameras like a kid cuddling a teddy bear. Andy had celluloid on the brain and had since childhood. In truth, Foxxe considered Andy braver and crazier than even himself. Foxxe was an ex-Navy Seal with too many medals for bravery and undetected crime for his own good, but any cameraman who worked documentaries ate great white sharks for breakfast and cleaned his teeth with lionfish quills. Nothing scared those crazy bastards but missing the shot.
Wayne slouched back in his seat. "Dr. Jeff Gleason, a volcanologist. He's your guide in." Wayne pulled out his ever-present notepad and Blackberry from under the paper piles he'd spread all over the back seat. "He's not happy about it, but his bosses at USGS insist he do this. I'm trying to convince him his job includes allowing us to film him. He's a Comanche. Our research
assistant waxed poetic. Apparently he's..."
"...A sex god waiting for a temple or other such shit. Yeah, I heard her." Foxxe sighed. He didn't need Wayne to know his star was gay, and he damn sure didn't want his fans to know, or the network would cancel the show for any excuse they could find. Foxxe held no illusions about his bosses. They were predators, all of them, and if they smelled any sort of weakness in you, they'd exploit it mercilessly. They thought Foxxe was some macho war hero who fucked six women a night, and Foxxe reaped the rewards of their illusions. However, the reality was that Foxxe went without sex more often than not.
Bookmark this link so you're one of the first to get your copy of Man vs. Wild!
Slade Wolf
Promotion Manager
Phoenix Rising Promotions
prp_wolf@yahoo. com
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