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 Paranormal. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Paranormal. Show all posts
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Guest Author Tuesday Richards
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Blurb:
Being a witch with magic on the fritz does not bode well for Celeste, but Hollow Cove is all she knows and loves -- even when she has to deal with finicky magic like a voyeuristic water elemental named Hokey trapped in the wall of her shower. Being the runt of a litter of strong boys and lovely girls made family life hard for Booth. He left Hollow Cove as soon as he was old enough, and now he has a successful real estate business in the Mortal Realm. He has only one regret. He comes back to Hollow Cove every year on Halloween to spend twenty-four hours with the love of his life, Celeste. This year is different; Booth has laid down the law. If Celeste won’t return to the Mortal Realm with him, their relationship is over.
Excerpt:
Paranormal Investigations Team: Hollow Cove
Tuesday Richards
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2008 Tuesday Richards
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.
“I’m late, I’m late!” Celeste’s foot hurt, and the sandals didn’t help any. If she hadn’t tried to bake a quiche, she wouldn’t have dropped the dish on her foot. Her German shepherd, Eostar, had gotten a great midnight snack.
Celeste continued out the door, purse and destination crystal in hand. She walked down the brick pathway leading to the teleport chamber, a big metal box able to hold several people, which sat in front of her house. She stopped an inch short of the chamber.
“Oh, come on!” Already late, and now she had to go to the neighbor’s. She limped across the lawn to the house next door, then pounded on oak with her fist. “Tobe! Open up!”
Tobe Humorous was a living, kind of, skeleton. A walking, talking, skinless being that somehow managed to marry a vampire named Betsy and have three rambunctious children -- two boys, Nail and Coffin, and one girl, Inda.
Tobe yanked the door open before she could start the second round of pounding on it. “What is it, Celeste?”
She stared at him, hands on her hips, like he would actually grow skin right there in front of her. “Tobe, get your vampire skeletal children out there to clean my teleport. They drew on it with pumpkin chalk again.”
Tobe poked his head out the doorframe, sighed heavily and turned around. “Betsy, the boys colored on Ms. Celeste’s teleport again!” Tobe turned back to her and smiled. “It’ll be cleaned up by morning, Ms. Celeste.”
“Sorry to have bothered you so late, but I’m expecting company.” Celeste looked everywhere but at him, and hadn’t a clue why her nerves were on edge. Or at least that she would admit to.
If Tobe could smile, Celeste was sure he would right now.
“Ah, yes. All Hallows’ Eve. Booth returns, high school sweethearts together again.” He shook his skull from side to side. “When will he realize what he has and come home? Werewolves… I tell you what, Ms. Celeste, it’s all those pups in one womb does something to the brain.” He closed the door with a chuckle.
Booth had been Celeste’s high school sweetheart. When he told his family and friends he was moving to the Mortal Realm in search of bigger and better opportunities, everybody argued the change. What could that place really offer a supernatural creature, except the inability to be who you truly are? He had always been unhappy in Hollow Cove; his family treated him differently from the rest of his litter just because he was the runt -- but only by an inch. One day he confided that he could no longer live in his brothers’ and sisters’ shadow. He had to go find his own place in the galaxy and he seemed to have found it, far away from her.
Yet every year he returned to Hollow Cove, and her. Even after five years, Celeste still felt like a giddy youngling preparing for his visit. However, each time, with no promises to stay, he left twenty-four hours later.
She limped back to the teleport, jammed the crystal in the destination slot for Hollow Cove Ritual Park, and stepped in. Teleportation was much simpler. You didn’t have to worry about driving a hover car, walking or mispronouncing a word in a spell. The destination crystal, when placed in the appropriate slot, would instantly teleport you anywhere in Hollow Cove.
Celeste descended from a long line of powerful witches, but for some reason she disappointingly lacked the powers prevalent in her family. Her sketchy spells, inability to shapeshift, and occasional complete power failure convinced her she was adopted. Her grandmother always asked if she were the milkman’s daughter. Mother always argued Celeste looked nothing like the were-bull who delivered milk every week. She was a true Deal witch -- sometimes.
She stepped out of the teleport and ran across the park to the gateway, then plopped down on a bench to catch her breath. She glanced at her watch. “Right on time.”
The gateway between realms came to life, multi-colored lights spinning webs in the night sky. The open space grew brighter in strength and intensity. Figures began to filter through. From 12:01 AM to midnight on Halloween every year, the Mortal Realm and Hollow Cove were connected.
Celeste looked forward to Halloween, yet dreaded it all at the same time. Booth had hit it lucky, found himself a high roller job with some sort of upscale hydro real estate agency or something. All she knew, seeing how he didn’t like to talk about work when here, was that he had more money than she had ever seen and she was the only reason he came back.
Celeste was waiting for the year Booth decided not to return. She loved him and wanted to be with him for eternity, but the fear of having to hide held her back. Her family, her life was Hollow Cove…
http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=1022
Recipe
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.
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
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