SHATTERED by Patrick Royal

SHATTERED by Patrick Royal

Mind Shadows: Book 1

The only thing that multi-published, award winning horror author, Tom Elliot, wanted was to move to the country for a change of scenery and relaxation, to a quiet part of southern Illinois. It seemed he'd picked out a wonderful spot, miles away from the closest neighbor and even further away from civilization.

Tom couldn't write to save his soul. Weird thoughts trampled through his head and left him wondering if he'd made a mistake moving from Chicago. Could it have been that he ripped himself from his element, like his best friend, Michael Gully, had predicted? That he couldn't answer yet.

Words came and flowed like wildfire, but at what price? Tom's imagination was getting the best of him and running rampant. The very characters that he created tormented him, driving him mad where he couldn't distinguish fiction from reality.

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Excerpt:

Copyright © 2013 Patrick Royal

All rights reserved, Wild Child Publishing.

A moan drifted from the next room and teased Tom’s ear. Stopping to listen, he struggled to figure out what he’d heard. He stepped slowly into the living room. A woman stood with her back toward him. His heart thudded fast.

The woman moaned. Her long-fitted skirt hugged her hips, and a pleated white shirt. On the floor by her feet lay droplets of blood.

Tom peeped around the woman’s body and caught a glance of her face. “Lady, who are you? Why are you in my house?” he asked and widened his eyes.

Tom still faced the woman’s back, and she wept a bit harder. “You should know why I’m here,” she said in a soft but shaky voice. She turned around, faced him, and quickly threw her arms out in front of her. Blood trickled and dripped onto the floor from deep slits across both wrists. In her hand she held a yellow hair ribbon.

Tom’s jaw dropped open and he stumbled back, widening his view. “Oh my God. Wha…?”

The woman stepped closer to him and held her arms out with her wounds still dripping blood. Her body projected forward, as if traveling in flash.

“You did this! You killed my daughter, and you made me what you see.” She shoved her bloody wrists toward Tom.

“No, no. You’ve made a mistake,” Tom screamed and backed away from her. He clung to the wall with his legs weakening and his hands trembling.

The woman stood and laughed hysterically.

Tom squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re not real. You’re not real,” he screamed. Opening his eyes, the woman had disappeared, the room once again silent. Tom sank to his knees, sat on the floor, and leaned against the wall with a blank stare.

Not long after the sun rose high in the sky, Tom’s nerves finally calmed. He called Michael, and it ended similar to the other times he called him for some well needed answers. His friend proved unable to offer any help. Hanging up, Tom sat at his desk more confused than ever. Am I losing my mind like Michael fears? He chuckled over his friend’s reaction when he told him that he planned to take a small break from writing. He had to admit that it even sounded strange to hear himself say it. Maybe, he was losing it. He had never really been scared of anything. Michael was the one that had always been scared and had nightmares over things that bothered him. What bothered him now was that he loved where he lived, but he hated the idea of being so far away from Michael. He had grown used to driving over to his house and discussing life’s little problems, and vice versa.

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BACK IN LOVE AGAIN by K.T. BISHOP

BACK IN LOVE AGAIN by K.T. Bishop

Arnaz and Isis Rogers closed in on their 20th wedding anniversary, they had grown apart over the last year. Each had time-consuming careers as well as raising a fifteen year old son, Quentin, who calls himself Q-tip in the town of Sugarland, Texas.

Arnaz is a best-selling book author, specializing on the music world, something he began after graduating from Stillman College in 1992 and a year before they got married. Isis is considered one of the top Endocrinologists in the state of Texas, and just added Dietology to her job title at the Houston Medical Center. She received a hefty pay increase, which equaled her work load.

How would they find their way back to each other?

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          His heart pounded hard as he stared at the phone vibrating on the desk in the den. “Why the hell are people bothering me?” Arnaz ignored the phone, which stopped ringing for a few seconds, then rang again over the next five minutes.

Arnaz flicked open the phone and saw the double-digit area code followed with seven numbers on the ID screen. “Oh shit, it's Ebony.” He pressed the leave message button on his phone.

Ebony Lane was Arnaz's Editor at Roman Publishing and had been on his case to produce another book.

His skin crawled when he heard her thick accent speak angrily. “This may be a game to you, but this is no joking matter. If we don't have a book proposal in two weeks, your contract with us is over. I expect to hear from you soon.”

He hurled the phone against the wall and a loud pitch yelp of fear was released from his lips. “How could they do this to me?” Lane and her Italy-based company just put his ass on the line.

This was the biggest slump of Arnaz's career. He hadn't written a book in two years, the longest drought he went between manuscripts. Doubts began to crept inside his brain, as Arnaz wondered if he could rise to the occasion. He muttered to himself. “I think it may finally be over.”

Unlike most authors, Arnaz had no agent to serve as a buffer between him and the Publishing company. He handled his own negotiations, but could use an agent right now. “I knew not having an agent would bite me in the ass.”

Out of the blue, Arnaz pulled out one of his books from the shelf that was above the computer. “Maybe I can find something that will lit a fire.” He was desperate enough to look into one of his previous works for a spark.

Arnaz picked the last book he wrote, Wishing On a Star, the Untold Story of Latin Freestyle Music, was a best-seller, especially in the Hispanic community. Listening to Sweet Sensation, Seduction and Lisa Lisa and Cult Jam provided great memories for him as a teenager and young adult. “They don't make songs like this anymore.”

 

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JUST WHAT THE DOCTOR ORDERED by J.M. Snyder

JUST WHAT THE DOCTOR ORDERED by J.M. Snyder

Curt, a college professor, lives with his lover of several years, a pediatrician of Chinese descent named Lee. Eager to write, he receives a grant to take the summer off and work on a novel. Then Lee's mother calls -- she wants to visit. Curt is eager to meet her but Lee isn't so sure ... she's of a different generation, a different culture even, and doesn’t speak much English. Still, Curt insists.

But when Mrs. Gui arrives, Curt finds himself struggling with writer’s block. He feels like an outsider in his own home when Lee and his mother converse in Cantonese, leaving him out of the conversation, and even his sex life suffers with her in the bedroom next to theirs. Can Curt and Mrs. Gui move past their cultural differences to see that they both love Lee and have his best interests at heart?

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EXCERPT:
Note: may contain sexually explicit scenes of a homoerotic nature.



By the time Lee returned I was already relaxing in the hot tub, head back, eyes closed, clothes gone, the water warm and welcome on my bare skin. The plates sat on a towel I had spread within reach, the steaks done to perfection, the shrimp still sizzling on the skewers. Red wine winked in our glasses, the champagne saved for later. I had no intention of leaving the water until absolutely necessary -- I planned on eating right where I was, leaning over the side of the tub if I had to.

When I heard the sliding door squeal faintly over the soothing sounds of Kenny G's soprano sax, I let myself sink a little further into the water, until the bubbles tickled my chin. "Well?" I asked with a slow smile. I heard the solid thud of a belt buckle hitting the floor and opened one eye to see my lover undressing by the side of the tub. "That your mom?"

"Yeah." His pants bunched at his ankles as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. In the last of the sunlight slipping through the blinds around us, his skin took on an olive tone, dark and exotic. His hair stood up in defiant clumps as if he had run his hands through it again and again while on the phone, something he always did when he was nervous or upset.

That bedraggled look told me more about the call than the forced smile on his face or the worried look in his eyes. "Everything alright?" I asked, concerned.

Kicking away his pants, he shrugged off his shirt and dropped it at his feet. The cuff of one sleeve brushed over the wine glasses before falling away. "Fine," he told me, but the way he didn't quite meet my gaze told me he knew I knew better. He hooked his thumbs into his briefs and, with the complete lack of modesty only a seasoned lover could feel, pushed them down his legs. He stepped out of them and into the hot tub, the steam beading on his body like sweat as he sank down until the water covered his slim shoulders. "She's fine," he murmured, gliding towards me.

Beneath the water, I felt his hand on my knee. It slid up my thigh as he closed the distance between us, but I caught it before it could tangle in the kinked hair at my crotch. "That's dessert," I told him. He laughed and let me reel him in, and I kissed his jaw as he sat down beside me. I wanted to take his mind off whatever his mother might have said and get it back where it belonged ... on me. So with a nod at the plates, I said, "Your dinner's getting cold."

"Yours too." He swam around me and pulled the towel with our plates on it a little closer to the tub. I watched his hands as he cut the steaks with sure movements, even and unhurried. In their calm I sensed a guarded wariness as if he had something on his mind and didn't want to ruin my evening with it. "So," he said, the knife working effortlessly. "Now when people ask what you do for a living, you can say you're a full-time writer. No, full-time author. By this time next year, Oprah will be knocking down our door to get a piece of you."

I laughed. Sidling up behind him, I wrapped my arms around his waist and let my fingers play against his inner thighs. An inch or two higher and ... the steak he was so carefully cutting wasn't the only thing I wanted to swallow down. "She can't have me yet," I teased. Like two pieces of a complex puzzle, our bodies locked together perfectly, the cleft of his buttocks fitting nicely against my hardening shaft. I kissed the nape of his neck and tasted sweat and chlorine. "Tonight I'm all yours."

"Didn't you say this was dessert?" Lee asked, wiggling his hips back into me.

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