WHO CANNOT SEE by BA Tortuga

WHO CANNOT SEE by BA Tortuga

Blaze is on the run for being caught with another man, and the posse on his trail will never give up. Not that Blaze cares, half dead as he is from thirst and a near hanging.

Vampire Edmund is long past being interested in human affairs, but when he finds Blaze in his barn, he feels a deep connection that goes beyond sight. Can he save this young man and teach Blaze that their love is nothing to be ashamed of?

This story is also included in Eternally Dark Anthology.

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Excerpt:

Please, God. 

He’d done walked for days, hiding when he saw folks, knowing his mark of shame would be enough to send folks running for their rifles, and God knew he weren’t in no shape to outrun a bullet.
He’d done used up every ounce of luck he’d ever earned himself. 

Blaze Vernon swallowed, the fire in his throat bigger than the hunger that gnawed at him. Wasn’t going to be the hunger that killed him, though. No sir.

That was going to be the thirst. He’d managed a few drinks, the first days after the hanging rope broke on him, but not since. His throat was closed tighter than a nun’s business and the bubbling creek laughed at him, all that clean mountain water a taunt he couldn’t take in.

He leaned against a good-sized aspen, sucking air.

Three days he’d been up among the gray-barked trunks, the leaves shaking in the breeze and making him watch his back trail. He had a feeling he was going in circles. 

Maybe tonight would be the night he froze. He prayed it would be painless. 

The trees moaned, a heavy gust of wind signaling the coming night. The mountains got downright mean at dusk.

Please God. He just needed somewhere safe to sleep, pray that he could heal enough to drink, to have a bite of food. Then he could head for California. A man could begin again there, he heard.

Blaze staggered, then righted himself, hand on a tree trunk. He couldn’t stay right where he was, so he turned in a full circle, squinting into the gathering dark.

Whoa, now. Was that a light?

Okay. 

Okay. That was a tiny sliver of flickering fire. A lamp, perhaps.

He forced himself to follow it, to stumble forward, shamble along. His feet dragged through the fallen leaves, his toes cold from the holes in his boots.

There was a light. A house, even, although his eyes couldn’t believe the size of it. How had he not seen this before now? The place looked like a storybook castle, one his momma might have talked about from the old country, her Irish lilt dearly missed. 

Anything this size would have barns, outbuildings, yes? He stayed to the heaviest shelter of the trees, the snow beginning to fall as he searched. Yes. Hidden away behind the huge stone edifice were smaller, neatly kept outbuildings. A place to sleep. 

He crept across the clearing, staying low, nearly crawling as he wheezed and grunted each painful step out. His hands started to bleed, his skin so dry it began to crack. If he didn’t freeze, he’d blow away.

Please God, he prayed again. I just need to sleep.

The barn door opened when he tugged, the rollers well-oiled so no sound came from it. Hallelujah.
He closed the snow and the wind out, finding an empty stall, clean straw. He collapsed into it with a soft sob. The sound tore his throat, choking him a bit. 

Thank you, he thought. Better to die here than frozen in woods to not be found ‘til spring. He didn’t have the energy to dig into the straw or to try and find a blanket.

He wasn’t sure it would make a difference, anyhow. Death was a’comin’. It was just a matter of time.

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GEORGIA KNIGHTS by Julia Talbot

GEORGIA KNIGHTS by Julia Talbot

When anthropologist Georgia Cortez heads to rural Georgia from New Mexico, she’s on the trail of a juicy old legend. Haley Falls seems like just the place for old-time ghost stories and spooky hauntings, but she’s on the hunt for something far rarer, a survival of an old sect of medieval knights.

Caid and Alton are Haley Fall natives, and they used to be best friends. A falling out years ago ended in them not speaking, even after Alt left town and returned older, if not wiser. They unite when it comes to a nosy scholar like Georgia picking apart their heritage, and putting their whole town in danger. When boys meet girl, though, they decide wooing is far better than scaring the lady off, and they set about distracting Georgia in the best way.

While their three way romance heats up, so does the intrigue in Haley Falls, until the three of them are facing a danger far worse than falling in love with each other.

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~Excerpt~

"So, who's the new girl?" Alton Caballo asked when he went to fill up his big pickup. "Heard she stopped by here to get gas."

"Everyone stops by here to get gas." Caid stared at him like he'd lost his mind, looking damned fine in a pair of old Levi's and his uniform shirt. Too bad Caid wasn't interested. Alton was. Hell, he'd been trying for years. Probably would have succeeded by now if he hadn't left town all those years ago.

"Well, what's her deal?"

"She told Amy she was looking into the legends of the waterfall. She's from New Mexico. Her last name is Cortez."

"New Mexico, huh? I reckon that's a new one. And she's pretty?"

Caid's stare sharpened. "I'm sure she's just passing through, Alt. She don't need you sniffing around like a blue tick hound."

"Why not?" Damn it, he got bored. A man could only make so much moonshine and do so much ridge running. Sometimes he needed a distraction while he waited for the next batch of southern lightning to cure up. Miss Georgia Cortez might be a whole lot more accommodating than, say, Caid Chevalier.

"She's just here on some hoodoo hunt; she'll be gone soon enough." Caid went to filling his tank, and Alt knew it galled the man to have to wait on him, but old Frank wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"I like a woman with a sense of adventure, I surely do." He chewed on his toothpick, having a think. "I bet she'd like to meet my pappy. He's got some story in him."

"Too much story, you ask me." Those green eyes went hard, staring right into his, the meaning clear. "He don't rightly know what not to say anymore."

Oh, now. He did hate when Caid got all self-righteous on his ass. "Now, I think Pappy tells a right good tale. He knows his stories."

"He does, and when he sits around with us guys and bullshits it's one thing. This lady's got some smart on her." Caid glanced around, like anyone could be hiding out and listening without them damned well seeing them. "I read a few of her articles online."

"God for fucking bid. You think them gub'ment guys might be scanning your brain through that thing?" Alt could do backwoods with the best of 'em.

Caid took two steps forward and poked him in the chest. "I mean she's smart, and for all her bluster about being an anthropologist, she's a treasure hunter."

Alton snorted. "Hell, man. You think if all them boys with the equipment and crap that come back in eighty-five couldn't find nothing, this little gal can? Shit. There's snakes and bugs and all."

"She's from New Mexico. They got bugs we haven't even heard of."

Honestly, Caid was such a damned worrywart.

"Yeah, and we got kudzu. Man, you need to get laid."

Those blond eyebrows went up, Caid's mouth dropping open. "I need to get... Aw, man, don't start that again. I can't help it you're a horndog."

"No. No, I don't reckon you can. You done yet, man? I'm gonna head into town." He pulled a couple of twenties from his fold over wallet, finishing his beer to take the bitter out of his mouth.

"Yeah." Capping him off, Caid put his gas cap back in place, giving him his change. "Look, I know you hate being told what to do, so I'm asking. Leave the lady alone."

"Jesus. It ain't like I'm lookin' to skin her and drag her off to my cabin. Shit, you want her, go get her." He just wanted to have a looksee.

"I'm thinking about it." Oh, now, look at that smile. That grin was the kind of thing Caid needed to do more often. Made that square face so pretty it took Alt's breath.

"Good luck on that, then." He handed over his money and waited for the change. Fuckhead.

Caid gave him his change, those rough fingers sliding over his hand, almost friendly like. Real friendly, as far as his lower body was concerned.

"You have a good one, man. Maybe, if she likes bad boys instead of angel babies, you can have a go at Amy."

"Fuck you, too, Alt." Stepping back, Caid waved him off, and it was just as well. Nosy old Suellen Carter was pulling up in her Caddy.

He waved happily, grinning to beat the band. Sometimes it felt damn good to win a little.

Damn good.

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PHOTOREALISM by Julia Talbot

PHOTOREALISM by Julia Talbot

Nature photographer July is determined to capture a moose in his lens during a trip to Colorado. What he finds instead is a beautiful wolf who seems more than happy to pose for him. Rhys wants July to see him as a man, too, but can he convince July that his shifting abilities are real?

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Also available in the DAWG DAYS Anthology which includes stories from Julia Talbot, Jae Christopher, V.L. Locey, Winnie Jerome, Mychael Black, Cecil Wilde, M. Lee, Tray Ellis, Rob Rosen, L.J. Hamlin and Lorne Rodman

Excerpt:

July James aimed his powerful lens at the wolf cavorting in the water. Wolf reintroduction on Grand Mesa was going well from what he could see. This guy was a huge, healthy male with a glossy gray and black coat. The wet tail waved furiously, the wolf jumping and playing in the cold creek, bouncing as if he was hunting in the snow.

God, that was adorable. July had come to the big flattop mountain in Western Colorado to photograph moose, which were also a successful reintroduction, but this wolf had caught his attention three days ago, and he'd been stalking the silly beast since then.

The only worrisome thing about the big gray was how solitary he seemed. Wolves ran in packs, so why was this one so alone? He didn't seem to have any rabies symptoms, and God knew he looked healthy. Then again, he wasn't wearing any kind of radio tag, so maybe he was a wandering male.

Still, the pictures were totally worth the extra time he'd have to spend camping so he could get his moose shots, too. There was something about this animal, something that drew him, made him want to fill a dozen memory cards with images.

He brought the camera around to another angle, his eye at the view instead of watching the digital screen. July froze then, because the wolf stopped its play and turned its head to stare at him, right at him, it seemed. Those golden eyes met his, steady and unafraid, and July felt a lot less like a professional photographer and more like a yummy chew toy for those few moments.

Backing off slowly, he packed his camera away, careful to keep one eye on the wolf. Then he moved carefully toward the main trail, which would have enough foot traffic during these summer months to deter the wolf from following him. His heart slammed against his ribcage. Damn, he was lucky this particular wolf wasn't running with a pack and had only himself to protect and feed.

That had been entirely too close.

Maybe he'd take the rest of the day off. Who really wanted to work on a day as pretty as this anyway?

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CZECH ME OUT by BA Tortuga

DESIGNATED BOTTOMS 

With Stories by Katey Hawthorne, Kiernan Kelly, Sean Michael, Julia Talbot, BA Tortuga, KC Wells and Shannon West

Some men are bottoms by birth, others by choice. Whatever the reason, a designated bottom is someone who’s happy to surrender, to submit, or just catch instead of pitch!

In Czech Me Out, by BA Tortuga, Korde discovers what it’s like to fall for someone when food truck owner Josh takes on the cowboy virgin.

Katey Hawthorne’s gamer grad student Paul doesn’t date. He keeps things strictly physical. So why is Sammy so important to him in The Mistell?

Kitty shifter and stripper Aleks doesn’t mix business with pleasure, but he thinks Rafe might just be the master for him in Julia Talbot’s Faster Bobcat.

Sean Michael’s Peter isn’t sure about the club his friend takes him to, especially when Doms start hitting on him. Experienced Dom Rupert is happy to help, explaining about that Little Square of Cloth.

In Sgt. Hardass, by Shannon West, recent ex-Army man Jake meets up with a man he has history with, and Chad isn’t sure he can explain himself and defuse Jake’s anger.

In the Prince of Paupers by Kiernan Kelly, Prince Liam and longtime friend Deacon have to go back to Deacon’s Appalachian home, much to the prince’s dismay.

And in Switching It Up by KC Wells, Jay knows he looks like a twink, but only hunky Dean understands that looks can be seriously deceptive.

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CZECH ME OUT: An Austin Story by BA Tortuga

Cowboy Korde has come to Austin to visit his sister, and to find some work during a tough patch in his life. He has no idea what to do with himself, though, and his sister needs him to amuse himself and stay out of her hair.

When food truck owner Josh meets Korde, he knows just what the hot cowboy needs. Korde is willing, if completely overwhelmed by what Josh makes him feel. Can Josh convince Korde they have the perfect recipe for love.

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Story also appears in Designated Bottoms Anthology.

Excerpt from CZECH ME OUT by BA Tortuga

“So, you’re not from around here, I can tell.”

“No, sir. I’ve been working ranches down south. My sister says y’all had some tile work I could do here, so I came up.”

“Yeah? You do tile work?” The guy lit up like Christmas. “That’s serendipitous.”

“I do. Have for a while. You want to see some pictures?” Oh, man. Job. Score.

“If you have them, yeah. I have a whole front room to do.”

“Sure I do. On my phone.” He took a bite of the kolache, and the flavor hit him as he reached for his phone. Oh, God. He could eat twenty-eight of those. In a row. Duck was now on his list of yummy shit, just like this man was on his list of hotties.

The corner of Josh’s lips quirked up. “Good?”

“Mrhm.” That was a yes.

“You’ll have to try the cherry cheese one for dessert. Or pecan if you hate cream cheese.”

“Pecan...”

“You got it. Hang tight. I’ll get dessert, and we’ll talk tile.”

“Uh-huh.” He sucked down the potatoes, crunching happily. The man could cook, no doubt about it. This was all kinds of stuff you’d see on the Food Network, but with a down-home touch. Fried stuff.

He pulled up the photos from the Drus job and the McBride job. They showed him off but good. When he handed over his phone, Josh peered at the pics. “Nice. Looks great. Do you do free estimates?”

“I do. You have an idea what you’re into?”

“Yeah. You mean what I want, right?” When he nodded, Josh grinned. “For a minute I thought we’d stopped talking business.”

Korde’s cheeks heated, and he ducked his head. God, what the hell to say to that? Well, he could say a lot of things, but what if Josh tried to kick his ass? Then he’d lose this job, for sure.

“I want basic ceramic. Something we can get at Home Depot.”

“Sure. I’ve done all sorts -- you want a design? White?”

“Maybe something simple.” A shout had Josh peering at the truck. “Be right back.”

“‘kay.” He texted Karee, letting her know he might have found another project. Every little bit helped.

“Sorry. Just a tiny fire.” Josh grinned hugely and dug into one of the dessert kolaches.

“Fire?” Oh, man. “Everything okay?”

“Yep. She got a little happy with the grease, but didn’t burn anything important.”

“Dude. That’s a little space to have a fire.” He couldn’t imagine. Of course, his idea of cooking was to make cereal.

“Happens all the time. I’m lucky if I have my eyebrows.” Josh waggled said eyebrows behind his heavy glasses. “Can you come by tomorrow? We’re closed on Sundays, so I can give you whatever time you need.”

“Sure. Sure, I got no plans.”

“Cool. Got your phone? I’ll give you my number.”

He handed it back over, and Josh put in a contact. He smiled when he read it back. Josh Kolache Guy.

“Just holler when you’re ready for me, and I’ll be right over.”

“Cool. I’ll text you tomorrow.” Josh gave him a friendly grin. “Thanks, man.”

“I’ll be waiting. Hey, what do I owe you for the pecan deals?”

“On the house.” Josh clapped him on the shoulder on the way by, hand hot as fire even through his shirt. “See you tomorrow.”

“You know it.” He would totally do the work, enjoy the view too, all the way.

“Enjoy.” Josh left him, and the man had a cowboy ass in those tight jeans. Nothing hipster there.

Korde watched, the whole way, laser focused. Yeah. He’d be seeing that ass again tomorrow.

He couldn’t wait.

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FASTER BOBCAT by Julia Talbot

DESIGNATED BOTTOMS 

With Stories by Katey Hawthorne, Kiernan Kelly, Sean Michael, Julia Talbot, BA Tortuga, KC Wells and Shannon West

Some men are bottoms by birth, others by choice. Whatever the reason, a designated bottom is someone who’s happy to surrender, to submit, or just catch instead of pitch!

In Czech Me Out, by BA Tortuga, Korde discovers what it’s like to fall for someone when food truck owner Josh takes on the cowboy virgin.

Katey Hawthorne’s gamer grad student Paul doesn’t date. He keeps things strictly physical. So why is Sammy so important to him in The Mistell?

Kitty shifter and stripper Aleks doesn’t mix business with pleasure, but he thinks Rafe might just be the master for him in Julia Talbot’s Faster Bobcat.

Sean Michael’s Peter isn’t sure about the club his friend takes him to, especially when Doms start hitting on him. Experienced Dom Rupert is happy to help, explaining about that Little Square of Cloth.

In Sgt. Hardass, by Shannon West, recent ex-Army man Jake meets up with a man he has history with, and Chad isn’t sure he can explain himself and defuse Jake’s anger.

In the Prince of Paupers by Kiernan Kelly, Prince Liam and longtime friend Deacon have to go back to Deacon’s Appalachian home, much to the prince’s dismay.

And in Switching It Up by KC Wells, Jay knows he looks like a twink, but only hunky Dean understands that looks can be seriously deceptive.

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FASTER BOBCAT by Julia Talbot

Stripper Aleksy never mixes business with pleasure. And he certainly never dates another shifter. At least until he meets Rafe at his job, and can’t resist the chance to find the master he dreams about.

Rafe knows Aleksy is what he needs for the night. He’s just not certain he wants to take on a full-time sub. What he finds out is that he can’t live without Aleksy, but will he figure it out too late?

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Story also appears in Designated Bottoms Anthology.

Excerpt from FASTER BOBCAT by Julia Talbot

“Aleksy, I need you over at table four.”

Aleksy glanced at his boss, who looked cool as a cucumber even though the damned air conditioning had gone out the day before and no one had been around to fix it. He supposed the heat made them all gleam a little more, made them look oiled and sexy.

He just hoped to hell he didn’t stink.

“Why’s that?” he asked. He had a gaggle of ladies at table six who wanted him to hang around for bottle service and musical grinding. They looked to be a huge tip, so he hated to abandon them.

“Special request.” Katia curled her lip at him, a hint of happy revenge in her expression. He had turned her down after she hired him and, while she’d taken it gracefully, she liked to put him in the most uncomfortable situations she could.

Hence taking him away from a great guaranteed tip and giving him to a private table that could only seat two, at best.

Aleksy sighed, but nodded. He liked his job at Faster Bobcat, and he had no desire to lose it by being petulant. The place was classy and the ladies rarely got grabby hands. He made some of the best money in Vegas off the strip. His boss wasn’t bitchy, but she could be a little grumpy once in a while.

He dropped off the bottle and introduced Carlo, who would take his place at the table. “Sorry, ladies,” he replied to the good-natured chorus of negatives. “Duty calls. Carlo will take good care of you.”

Then he squared his shoulders, made sure his tiny shorts covered his junk, and headed for table four.

The shadowy form sitting in the deeply recessed booth resolved itself into a strikingly handsome man with shaggy black hair and bright green eyes. Dressed in an impeccable silk shirt and gabardine trousers, the long, well-made body made Aleksy’s belly tighten. Pretty.

His boss thought he’d turned her down because she wasn’t pretty enough or something, so she was punishing him with a male client. Thing was, Aleksy had turned her down because he was queer, so this wasn’t punishment at all.

Well, except in the whole this guy was attractive and he was at work sort of way.

“Good evening, Sir. Welcome to Faster Bobcat. May I get you something to drink?”

The man looked him over, a slight smile playing around the sensual mouth. “I’d like bottle service, please. Patron, if that’s not too cliché.”

Aleksy gave an answering smile. “Anything you like is perfectly fine, Sir. I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you.”

He turned and left, feeling the weight of the man’s stare on his back. Some people were like that, their charisma like a physical touch. He took a deep breath, his muscles clenching and unclenching. Maybe the guy would be a good tipper, as nicely as he was dressed. Then Friday night wouldn’t be a complete waste.

He got the bottle, a glass, some ice just in case, and salt and lime. No munchies. His new client didn’t look like a nuts and pretzels type. They had a limited menu of premium food; he would ask later if anything sounded good.

“Here you are, Sir,” Aleksy murmured, when he returned to the table. “Would you like me to pour?”

“No, I can do that.”

Nodding, he set the tray on the table and backed off a step, hands at his sides. “I understand you made a special request for me. May I perform anything special for you?”

“For now I would simply like to look at you.” The man reached for the Patron. “Will you put your hands up behind your neck, please? I think that pose shows off a man’s body to its best advantage.”

The words made him blink. His cheeks heated, which felt ridiculous since he stripped for a living. Somehow just standing there on display seemed far more intimate than gyrating away to the music.

“What’s your name?” the client asked, which set him back on his heels again.

How could he have forgotten to introduce himself with his stage name? “Lex.”

“Lex.” The client smiled before salting the rim of his glass. “Are you an Alex or an Alexander?”

“Aleksy.” It slipped out before he thought about it. He never told clients his real name.

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AN AUSPICIOUS MOON by Julia Talbot

AN AUSPICIOUS MOON by Julia Talbot

From cat shifter to werewolves, An Auspicious Moon collects seven short stories about the animal inside.

Sit up and Beg and Sit Pretty features Killian and Evan, the werewolf and the man who saved him from captivity.

In Chew Toy, CIA agent Jack thinks being eaten by a tiger is a bad way to go. Good thing the tiger is also a man. Crate Trained sees Gary getting a bite he never expected during casual sex.

In Doggie Style, Ray thinks Doc is just a new foster pet. He’s in for a shock. Finally, in Wolfy Resolutions, Cage has no desire to go to his demon friend’s party, but it might be worth his while.

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~Excerpt~

"Sit up and beg."

"You're crazy," Killian said, fingers dancing in the air just over the collar wrapped around his neck. "I'm a werewolf, not a pet."

The collar was driving him fucking crazy. It had to weigh several pounds, and it was like those radio collars so-called scientists put on wild animals. More like sadists. Let's make the animal stand out from all the other animals so it's ostracized and killed!

That wasn't the purpose of Killian's collar. His was more like one of those sci-fi series shock collars. Misbehave and get electrocuted. Or at least fried like a hairy sausage.

No, his collar was designed to kick his ass if he tried to get loose.

The guy who had finally appeared in front of the cage his kidnappers had put him in smiled. "I guess you are, at that. At least for now. These guys? They want to make you a fighting dog. A human pit bull, if you will."

"These guys?" Killian eyed the big man, noting the faded jeans and button-down shirt, the strapped on shoulder-holster. "What are you?"

"I'm just hired security."

"Hired…" Damn. Damn, damn, damn. Anyone who could work for the guys who'd taken him as a hired gun would probably only respond to one thing. Money. That was a commodity that Killian was flat out of.

"Yep." The guy nodded, blue eyes twinkling. Maybe glinting. A glint was more shark-like, right?

"Well. Stop taunting the captive, Mr. Security."

"But it's so much fun!" The guy tilted his head. "And it's Evan."

"Why do I care?" Killian tugged at the collar again, wondering if it would just fry him if he went berserk and changed. He could do full on wolf, but that wouldn't help him. He'd have to try and maintain that transitional stage, where he was a huge, misshapen mix of man and wolf, which was tough to do even when he wasn't singing the song of electrocution.

"Because I've been thinking of letting you out of here."

Widening his eyes, Killian went for shocked. It wasn't a stretch. "What?"

Evan sighed. "You're different. I've seen maybe twenty, twenty five guys come through here in the last two weeks. They've all been… damaged. Broken, somehow. You seem like just a guy."

"I just told you I'm a werewolf, and I seem like just a guy?" That was a new one on him. He'd been called a lot of things lately, including "bitch" by the one skinny little guy with the cruel smile and cold hands, but just a guy wasn't one of them.

Shrugging, Evan smiled a little, the little curl of the upper lip kinda hot. "My mom was a were-cat. It's recessive with me, but my sister is a shifter."

Matter-of-fact and… "Wait. If your family is were-friendly, then how on earth…"

"Can I work for these guys?" Evan leaned close to the bars of the cage. "So when someone like you comes along, I can get you the hell out of here."

He blinked, just stunned as all hell. Man, it had been one weird day. His fingers grazed the collar again. "Can you get this thing off me?"

"Not without the controller." Evan's well-shaped mouth twisted a little. "I'll get it. They think I'm kinda mindless. Won't be hard."

"Says you. I can't get past the bars without falling down."

"I know." Cocking his head, Evan grunted. "You'd better make like you're still drugged up. They won't poke you until you're awake and aware. I'll be back."

Amazing, how Evan had heard their incipient company before he had. Killian thought his hearing was pretty damned good.

He curled down around himself, protecting his privates and pretending to sleep. Evan's footsteps faded away, and Killian figured that was the end of that. He'd never see the guy again.

Pity. Evan was damned pretty. Too damned pretty for Killian's piece of mind.



"What do you mean broke?" The urge to pull the phone away from his ear and stare at it was strong. Huge, because Colby couldn't stare at Little Mike in person. "Like Shiloh Walker cracked that vertebra last year?"

"Like he cain't breathe on his own no more, Colb. Like he ain't never gonna be whole." Little Mike sounded lower than a worm. "Alan's been wantin' to come on home to you, so I told him to load up all the horses and head out. He had a two hour drive to fetch them back 'fore he could get started."

Jesus. The words hit him, each one a blow to the chest. "What do you need, Mikey? You know I'll help any way I can."

"There's no help now. He's got pneumonia. He can't breathe on his own and he's done give up. You know James -- he don't want to live like this."

"I know. I-- Christ, I'm sorry, Mikey. You let me know what you need with the stuff." He meant bills or funeral arrangements or anything. Mike knew that, too. He'd come to the service, but if Mike needed him before that...

"You got it. Tell Alan to give Elvis some oats for me."

"I will." He went ahead and hung up, knowing Mike didn't need his worry or sorrow. The man had enough of his own. James was the best of all of them, and this broken neck and severed spinal cord was no way for a cowboy to go.

He tried to call Alan again and got nothing. Someone let his minutes run out again, he'd bet. Damn it, where was the damned fool? Even with going back for the horses, Alan should have been here by now. He hoped Alan knew he was still welcome, even though Colby had gotten tired of being second to the rodeo, had maybe had a little snit and not answered the phone for a bit.

This was still Alan's home, right?

God, he hoped so. Hell, he didn't know anything right now, his head reeling from what Mike had told him. He gritted his teeth. He'd need to get some stalls ready for the horses.

He assumed there were three horses coming -- Little Mike's Elvis, Alan's Joanie, and whatever little mare James had been able to afford. Alan pulled a three horse trailer and no one had called for money to rent a bigger one. Hell, Alan's truck didn't have a gooseneck hitch anyway...

Colby pushed his phone into his pocket and headed down to the barn. He'd need to feed and water, check shoes and hooves, and make sure they all got a vet check-up this week.

Dust started billowing near the gate, the big metal thing sliding open. Huge black Ford shining. Alan.

Relief made Colby's knees weak for a moment. He grabbed the top rail of the corral fence, just standing there, watching Alan drive back into his life.

Those blue-sky eyes stared at him, the shock of blond hair sticking out from under the cap and scarred jaw familiar as breathing. When Alan pulled into the turnaround next to the barn and killed the engine, Colby walked over to the driver's side door, needing to see Alan up close. To touch.

"Tell me it's cool to come home, man. I cain't drive no more, and I need you like breathing."

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HOPING FOR A GOOD BREAK by BA Tortuga

HOPING FOR A GOOD BREAK by BA Tortuga

Alan and Colby have had an on-again, off-again love affair thanks to the rodeo. Alan hasn’t been able to give it up. When a dear friend of both men has a bad break, literally, during a freak accident, the whole situation makes Alan rethink being on the road, and away from his lover Colby.

Story also appears in the RODE HARD ANTHOLOGY.

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~Excerpt~

"What do you mean broke?" The urge to pull the phone away from his ear and stare at it was strong. Huge, because Colby couldn't stare at Little Mike in person. "Like Shiloh Walker cracked that vertebra last year?"

"Like he cain't breathe on his own no more, Colb. Like he ain't never gonna be whole." Little Mike sounded lower than a worm. "Alan's been wantin' to come on home to you, so I told him to load up all the horses and head out. He had a two hour drive to fetch them back 'fore he could get started."

Jesus. The words hit him, each one a blow to the chest. "What do you need, Mikey? You know I'll help any way I can."

"There's no help now. He's got pneumonia. He can't breathe on his own and he's done give up. You know James -- he don't want to live like this."

"I know. I-- Christ, I'm sorry, Mikey. You let me know what you need with the stuff." He meant bills or funeral arrangements or anything. Mike knew that, too. He'd come to the service, but if Mike needed him before that...

"You got it. Tell Alan to give Elvis some oats for me."

"I will." He went ahead and hung up, knowing Mike didn't need his worry or sorrow. The man had enough of his own. James was the best of all of them, and this broken neck and severed spinal cord was no way for a cowboy to go.

He tried to call Alan again and got nothing. Someone let his minutes run out again, he'd bet. Damn it, where was the damned fool? Even with going back for the horses, Alan should have been here by now. He hoped Alan knew he was still welcome, even though Colby had gotten tired of being second to the rodeo, had maybe had a little snit and not answered the phone for a bit.

This was still Alan's home, right?

God, he hoped so. Hell, he didn't know anything right now, his head reeling from what Mike had told him. He gritted his teeth. He'd need to get some stalls ready for the horses.

He assumed there were three horses coming -- Little Mike's Elvis, Alan's Joanie, and whatever little mare James had been able to afford. Alan pulled a three horse trailer and no one had called for money to rent a bigger one. Hell, Alan's truck didn't have a gooseneck hitch anyway...

Colby pushed his phone into his pocket and headed down to the barn. He'd need to feed and water, check shoes and hooves, and make sure they all got a vet check-up this week.

Dust started billowing near the gate, the big metal thing sliding open. Huge black Ford shining. Alan.

Relief made Colby's knees weak for a moment. He grabbed the top rail of the corral fence, just standing there, watching Alan drive back into his life.

Those blue-sky eyes stared at him, the shock of blond hair sticking out from under the cap and scarred jaw familiar as breathing. When Alan pulled into the turnaround next to the barn and killed the engine, Colby walked over to the driver's side door, needing to see Alan up close. To touch.

"Tell me it's cool to come home, man. I cain't drive no more, and I need you like breathing."

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WHERE THE MEN ARE MEN by Julia Talbot

WHERE THE MEN ARE MEN by Julia Talbot

Skeet might not be the brightest lightning bug in the swarm, but he knows enough to know he wants Dan. Dan thinks he’s too old for Skeet, but he’s about to find out different. Will their affair last more than just the summer and survive the llamas?

Story also appears in the RODE HARD ANTHOLOGY.

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~Excerpt~

"Are those sheep? Shit, those are the biggest sheep I ever did see." Tanned and long and lean, Skeet Nasum was the prettiest thing Don Jancey had ever seen, even if those pretty green eyes were staring at a small bunch of alpacas like he'd never seen nor heard of them before.

Beautiful, but maybe damned stupid.

"Alpacas, you idiot." Don whacked Skeet with his hat. "They're cousins to llamas."

"Tell me we ain't riding herd on llamas, buddy."

"Of course not. We're playing cowboy to a herd of Charolais and mixed cattle. The alpacas keep coyotes away."

"No shit?"

This was Don's third summer in Colorado, up from Texas to get where the cool nights and good pay were worth the drive. It was only Skeet's first trip, though, and he had a lot to learn.

"No shit. They're better than a dog."

"Huh. Well, as long as they ain't sheep. I don't figure to go all Brokeback Mountain on this one."

Don gave Skeet a sideways glare. "What are you, a rodeo clown now? That's the oldest joke ever, and still bad at that." Especially since Don knew who Skeet had been sleeping with back down in Chappell Hill, and how it had played out that Skeet was in Colorado for the summer because of it.

Skeet had the grace to flush and duck his head. "Sorry, man. Just an automatic reaction."

"Yeah, well, you know it's bullshit to use it on me." He was out with Skeet, because he felt bad for the kid when he got canned for messing around at the ranch. Wasn't something Don advertised, but he felt like Skeet needed a role model, maybe. Oh, hell, he probably just needed to admit that he liked beautiful and didn't mind a little dumb.

"I'm not stupid."

Donnie's head snapped up, his gaze meeting Skeet's. "I never said you was."

"No, you just roll your eyes at me and mumble under your breath."

"I do not mumble." He did roll his eyes. His momma used to say she would pick them up and roll them back if he wasn't careful.

"Liar." Skeet nodded. "Lacey will like the exercise. Where are we moving the herd?"

"Up, I reckon." They had maps and shit. Directions. This was a new summering place to Don. "Summer pasture."

"'kay. Sounds fun."

"Lord, only you would think so." There he went, lying again. Don loved playing old time cowboy, loved the fresh air and simple food and camaraderie of hard-working men.

"Yeah, well..." Skeet shrugged and pulled the brim of his straw hat down. "I'll get Lacey saddled up and ready."

"Hey." Don grabbed Skeet's arm, feeling hard muscle under his palm and fingers. "This is gonna be fun, okay? I'm not raggin' you. Promise."

"I just appreciate the work, man."

"Me, too." He grinned hugely. "Old man Yothers has been good to me over the years."

"Fucking A." Skeet headed off, giving him a view of that tiny heinie. He stared for a lingering moment, his cock giving a nice, hard twitch in his jeans. Lord, this was gonna be a long summer.

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DREAM DICE by Julia Talbot

DREAM DICE by by Julia Talbot


When Thayer buys a new set of gaming dice at Comic-Con, he has no idea they come with magic attached to them, or that they’ll transport him to a land where he’s a healer of the sexual kind.

Barbarian Erlich needs just that kind of magick to pass some important trials, so he turns to Thayer for help. Magick never comes without a price, though.

Can Thayer and Erlich pay what they owe and survive?

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~Excerpt~

“Those are your dream dice, and you know it.” The guy behind the table looked like a pirate: plumed hat, half cape, high boots. Thayer looked from him to the amazing bag of dice he held. They came in a black velvet bag, simple and unadorned, but of good quality. The dice needed no fancy packaging. They glowed under the harsh lights of the convention center, all turquoise and lapis, chrysoprase and malachite. The colors spoke of real semi-precious stones, not acrylic, the numbers etched in gold. There were four D10, or ten-sided dice, two D6, which looked like regular craps dice, and once each of a four-sided die and a twelve-sided one.

“They are lovely.” Thayer needed more dice like he needed a hole in the head. Still, while they might not qualify as dream dice, the set called to him, making him want to touch them where they spread across the felt rolling board. “How much?”

“One-fifty.” When Thayer turned away, the pirate guy caught his arm. “But for a serious collector like you I’ll go eighty.”

“Eighty?” That was a good deal. The last gem set he’d seen with the kind of rocks here had retailed for one thirty five.

“Yes. Just for you. Show special.”

“Do you take cards?” He had enough cash, but he really wanted to have enough for the food vendors.

“I do.” The guy whipped out a phone with a card reader attached.

“I’ll take them.” He pulled out his wallet, not at all sure why he thought this was a good idea. The vendor wasn’t even hard-selling. He didn’t need dice. These tugged at him, though, deep in his gut, making him want them.

He took the bag when the card went through, putting it in his pocket so he could feel the weight of them, the way they warmed from being close to his skin. He waved at the pirate dude and wandered on, but the rest of the booths didn’t interest him. The more costumed and corseted cosplayers he saw, the more he simply wanted to take his new dice home and roll up a character. That was the true test of new dice, what kind of cool cleric they would come up with.

Thayer did stop by the food booths and get a couple of deep-fried goodies: a corn dog, curly fries and a Snickers bar dipped in batter and cooked golden brown. After inhaling those, he headed home, ready to settle in for the night. He could always go back to the con tomorrow. He’d bought a weekend pass.

“Kenji?” His roommate should be out for the evening, but it never hurt to check. Kenji the Horndog had guys over all day and all night sometimes. Too bad Thayer didn’t have that kind of luck with men. Helped that Kenji looked like an anime character, he guessed.

No one answered, but Thayer checked Kenji’s room, anyway. The only thing he saw was an explosive mess of clothes and tangled sheets. No lean, tanned surfer, no big muscled jocks of the type said surfer liked to bring home.

Ace.

He tossed a pizza in the oven because he was still hungry, grabbed his character sheets and his tablet, so he could write up his adventure, and lit some sage and pine candles. He liked candles, but compromised with Kenji on a more manly scent. Shit, why he did, he had no idea. Kenji could identify vanilla room spray from three different retailers, including Pier One and Bed Bath & Beyond. The man was such a queen, deep down. He was a good roommate, though, and had been a great surrogate for Thayer’s folks, lost three years ago to a boating accident.

Settling cross-legged in front of the coffee table, he got his pencils lined up, the regular graphite for fixed attributes, the colored pencils for anything he might experience up in. XP was vital to the kind of cleric he liked to play.

He gave the dice a couple of rolls across his velvet tablecloth. Yes. Those were some good numbers. Okay. A cleric. Not a Paladin this time. Thayer didn’t want to have to do that whole legal and righteous thing. Not a monk, either. That got boring. Ooh, maybe someone who healed with sex magick, since he was just running this one for himself. Dude, maybe he should write this up for the Nifty archive instead of trying to sell it to a gaming publisher.

For some reason, he ended up with physical characteristics very close to his own: black hair, gray eyes, five-nine-ish and not too buff. Okay, skinny. From there he let the dice give him exceptional charisma, dexterity and magical ability. He had good stamina, too, if no strength and not much wisdom. He never allowed himself less than average intelligence, though. Too many characters wound up dead from being beautiful but stupid.

When he had a complete character, one with major traits and minor psychoses, with attributes and skills aplenty, Thayer sat back and smiled, really pleased with how the dice performed. They had warmed to his hands, the numbers seeming to glow brighter every time he touched them. He reached out to stroke them, watching his fingers come in contact with each stone. “You just needed love, didn’t you?”

The gold imprints in the dice flashed bright, almost like lightning, the room starting to spin. Thayer gasped, his body shaking with the impact of the shock wave that seemed to come from the stones, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He got out one sharp cry before he slumped over to one side, the whole room going dark.

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GHOST PEPPER: AHORA by BA Tortuga

GHOST PEPPER: AHORA by BA Tortuga

Tony and Adam are determined to get their girl back. Vicki has gone missing, and as volatile as she is, it's not like her to just leave them, especially so close to the first moon. Finding her trashed motorcycle in the desert doesn't give them a whole lot of hope, though.

Lost and unable to remember anything, Vicki doesn't know what to believe. Tony and Adam are strangers to her, but she knows they're hot as the elusive ghost pepper. Can the boys convince her to come home like they want to, ahora? Now?

Available at Torquere Press, Amazon and All Romance Ebooks.

Author's Note: Ahora came from a What-If game in Las Vegas during the EAA Convention on a shuttle bus. I'm sure my fellow passengers were amused...

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~Excerpt~

"Who ate the last of the peanut butter?" Vicki slammed the cabinet door, the empty Jiff jar in her hand. Seriously? How fucking hard was it to throw the fucking jar away? Tell her. She'd made the fucking drive to town just yesterday for groceries.

"'Tonio did it," Adam said, not even glancing up from his magazine.

The magazine she'd picked up for him at the damned store!

"Did not. Adam's a fuckhead." Tony at least looked at her from over the pile of electronics he was systematically fucking up, dark eyes completely unconcerned.

She was going to kill them both. They were... lazy, insensitive, rude asshats!

Adam grinned at her finally, pushed the heavy mass of blond hair away from his face. "Okay, it was me. I forgot. Sue me."

She looked at him, then threw the peanut butter jar at his head, hard.

"Hey!" It barely missed him, possibly grazing his ear. "Are you fixing to start?"

"What?" She was going to bite his face off. Start? "Are you afraid I'll be in heat tomorrow and we'll get hung up?"

Lady save her from living with asshole males. Why she was the one who needed two frigging...

"You sure are bitchy for no reason, querida." Tony shrugged, looking so put-upon.

"No reason? No fucking reason? Y'all have been assholes all fucking day!" First there was the fact that she'd made a breakfast and no one had bothered to get their lazy asses up to even eat it. Then someone had dribbled all over the toilet seat and hadn't clean up after himself. Farts so bad that the bedroom smelled like a dog pen. Then her leathers had been crumpled up and... gnawed on.

Why the fuck did she get saddled with not one, but two mates?

Two shiftless, flea-infested, butthead mates. She was so out of there.

She flipped them off -- not that either one of the little shits noticed -- and grabbed her helmet and her leather jacket on the way.

Turds.

Fuckweasels.

Furbags.

She jumped on her Harley, slammed on her helmet. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge for a few hours, let the wind blow out her shitty mood.

Otherwise she'd just kill them both.

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LEVELS OF HUNGER by B. A. Tortuga

LEVELS OF HUNGER by BA Tortuga

When the sun goes down, the things that go bump in the night come out to play.

This is when Adriano searches out his vampire lover Lars for their wicked play. A little bondage, a little blood-letting, Adriano and Lars feed their hungers like no others can.

Will one night be enough to sate them?


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~Excerpt~

The sun had been down for a good while, the pink of the sky gone a still, heavy velvet, when Adriano went looking, bare feet making barely a sound on the wood plank floor. The sound of the ocean came to him through the French doors, soothing him like a lover’s touch, calming him just enough to give him patience when he found Lars exactly where he thought he might. In the tiny library, reading some dusty tome.

Sighing, he bent, fingers trailing down Lars' cheek to tilt the sharp-jawed face up for a kiss, breaking the connection between man and words. Those eyes, as blue as the Mediterranean at noon, blinked at him, dark eyelashes tipped with the slightest hint of gold. "Adriano."

"Good evening, love. I have waited too long for you to surface this evening, hmm?" He had to smile, the momentary confusion on Lars' face too amusing.

"Ancient Hebrew. Quite fascinating really, when compared to middle English." The dull gold of his hair echoed the pages with their age.

Stunning, his Lars. Truly stunning. Adriano watched his tanned hand, square thumb and long fingers, as it closed around Lars' lean, long throat, admiring the contrast before bending for another kiss. He opened Lars' mouth with his, tongue running along the lower lip, soft and wet.

"I prefer other entertainments. Indulge me?"

"In all things." Slowly that focus turned to him, heavy and intense, heady.

"Excellent." He held out a hand, backing off to allow Lars to rise and follow him, the dust from the books making the air seem otherworldly, making his nose itch. Not in the library. Never there. That place, if nowhere else upon the Earth, was Lars' sanctuary, and Adriano would never violate that trust. They moved through the house, Lars' hand sitting firmly in his. Trusting. Understanding his need.

They wandered more than walked up the winding stairs, the air seeming heavier as they moved deep inside their home, the need thick between them. At the top of the landing he turned left, not right toward their bedroom. What he longed for could not be found in their soft and luxurious bed. Not tonight.

Still Lars followed, at his heels until they stopped in the darkened room at the end of the hall, and Adriano turned for another light touch of lips, to breathe in the sweetness of Lars' very breath.

"Strip, lovely."


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PINYON by B.A. Tortuga

PINYON by BA Tortuga

When Stirling finds a lost wolf out in the woods of Southern Colorado, the last thing he expects to discover is old pack outcast Tanner.

Tanner was the werewolf who never learned to shift, but it looks like he’s figured things out. Except that news reporters are all over the area, looking for a story in Tanner’s old hometown, and Stirling has a wolf pack to protect.

Can he juggle his duties with his dawning need for Tanner?

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~Excerpt~

The woods were too damned quiet. Normally Stirling would hear magpies and jays, chipmunks and squirrels. Today there was hardly a rustle of leaves, which meant someone was in the forest who didn’t really belong.

Lots of folks used the national forest land all the time for recreation or hunting or whatever. The animals got used to that and went about their business. The silence told Stirling that someone was either in trouble, or was doing something they really weren’t supposed to be doing. He checked his radio to make sure it was off, not wanting to alert anyone to his presence. Then he scented the wind, letting his second, and stronger, set of senses take over.

The scent that hit his nose was odd, familiar and not for the half-second he actually smelled it. He frowned. Weird.

Stirling headed west, following the scent, hand on his weapon.

He thought he heard a soft growl as he headed near a copse of pines, but the sound disappeared as he stopped. Still, he stopped and tilted his head, letting his good right ear do the hearing. His left had been perforated once, thanks to a bad fall while he was rock climbing. It had never been the same.

The growl sounded again, the noise heading to his left.

Stirling moved slowly, choosing his steps carefully. He didn’t want to break a stick or send a rock rolling.

He sniffed again, this time the wind brought him a definite scent. A wolf. A male.

Raising a brow, Stirling moved into the shadow of a big pine. The wolf was coming his way, and the wind wouldn’t betray Stirling’s presence, so he just settled in to wait.

The skinny creature came out into the sun, nostrils flaring, fur matted and rough.

Jesus. Stirling could count every rib, could see every frickin’ bone. Where the hell had this guy come from? They were having a good year for water and small game.

The wolf lifted his face toward the sun, chest heaving like bellows.

There was something there, something about the way the animal smelled, something about those weird, too-golden eyes. They were familiar. All of it was familiar, somehow, but this wasn’t one of the current pack. Stirling knew all of them, as far ranging as they were.

It surprised the hell out of him when the wolf just settled, sat right there in the middle of the clearing. That was crazy. Weak, starving, the fool thing needed to find cover. Stirling pulled a gun, but not his service revolver. He got his tranq out instead.

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JUST LIKE CATS AND DOGS by B.A. Tortuga

JUST LIKE CATS AND DOGS by BA Tortuga

If there's one thing Sam knows for sure it's that you can never go home again. As a feline shifter who grew up in a family of wolves, he's used to being a freak. He stays in the city and tries to get his family to visit him, but when a loved one passes away, Sam has to go back to the New Mexico desert for a last goodbye.

Gus only comes back to the pack at gathering time, once in a blue moon. He's usually a wanderer, but he's with the pack when Sam comes home. Gus and Sam have never gotten along, but this time around Gus is surprised by the attraction he feels for this new, slinky version of his high school nemesis.

Sam and Gus may not be able to resist each other, but finding time to be together and overcome their differences might be too much for them, especially when danger lurks just around the corner, and all around the world. Can cats and dogs live to learn together, or are Gus and Sam destined to fail?

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~Excerpt~

Gus watched his mom and brother packing up casseroles and soup bones and all manner of shit to take over to Mona's. Jesus, he couldn't believe that Pop Finn was dead. The man was a fucking fixture in their neck of the woods, and everyone loved the guy, even if they disagreed with him.

"Are you coming, Gus?" His mom pushed her crazy red hair behind one ear. She was that way as a wolf, too, with a deep, reddish coat and one floppy ear. Pete was just the same way, and it used to pissed Gus off, when they were kids, that he looked like Dad, all shaggy and brown and shit.

"I'm not sure, Mom." He smiled wryly. "I didn't always get on with all the Finns."

"You don't say." Her lips twisted in a half grin. "It's been fifteen years. You're coming."

"Yeah." He shook his head. This wasn't about his issues. Pop Finn had been a good man, a solid man. Hell, that family had adopted every fucking stray that came across their land for the last forty years, up to and including a bunch of rowdy pups who just needed a place to blow off steam. He wasn't sure turkey casserole was an adequate expression of how they all felt, but he guessed it would do. He helped his mom carry everything out to the truck, getting it packed so it wouldn't slide around and spill.

"I'll take my truck, too, in case one of us needs to stay or something." Right, because baby brother Pete had a serious hard on for Lizzie -- the second to the youngest of Finn girls.

"Asshole." He grinned when Pete flipped him off. Gus did love fucking with people when he was home.

"You two behave or I'll beat you both." Mom hopped into the truck. "Get your ass in here, son."

Gus climbed into the driver's seat, bumping off toward the Finn's place.

"I want you to be nice to that boy while we're there."

"What boy?" All of the Finn kids were too old to be boys and girls.

"Augustus..."

"What?" He grinned. "Oh, you mean the pussy."

"Augustus Fieri, I will beat your heinie!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be good." He would. Unless pussy boy was an ass. In which case he'd kick the lanky little fuck into next week. Yeah, the beating sounded like a good plan. He grinned, which made his mom pop him on the arm. "Ow!"

"Stop it. You have evil in your eyes. That poor boy was Pete's best friend, even if he was different."

"You know, I want to know why everyone assumes it was my fault we didn't get along." It was offensive. Really.

She just looked at him. A lot. With her eyes.

Okay, so he'd bitten Sam. Chased him. Growled. Treed the little fuck once. They'd been boys. Boys did that. Just like Sam had scratched his leg so bad once that he'd had to get stitches. Had shredded Gus' favorite jacket in high school.

And that didn't even count the time someone who'd never been caught had put Nair in his conditioner.

God, he didn't want to do this. He hated funerals and gatherings for funerals and planning shit like that. He could be in a tourmaline mine somewhere...

"Thank you for coming out with me. I can't believe Michael died during the gathering."

"Yeah." Gus rolled his eyes. The gathering. It made it sound like a movie. They all got together during the harvest moon, once a year. It wasn't sinister or anything; it was a damned family reunion kind of thing.

"Do you... You and Petey, you'd be okay without me, right?"

"Don't even think it, Mom." He wasn't going to ponder it too hard.

"It's going to happen sometime, son."

"I know, Mom, but I could just as easily get smooshed in a cave-in." He shrugged. "We'd survive, but I won't lie and say it would be easy."

She vocalized softly, petting his arm. "Well, I hope not. You ought to miss me a little."

"Stop it." Gus couldn't help but growl some. It had been him and Petey and Mom against the world for a long time. He'd miss her like a lost limb.

"I think we should go to Burger King after we pay our respects."

"I think that's a great idea." Meat. Ketchup. Yum. He even liked fried potatoes.

"Me, too. Pete will be busy sniffing after that pretty little girl, so we can duck out." Mom winked at him.

"There you go." He patted her leg, knowing she needed contact as much as he did. "I'd miss the hell out of you, Mom."

She nodded, sighed softly. "Poor Mona."

"She has all those kids, huh?" What, eighteen? Lord.

"Yeah. Sam sends money home to her, so do Gray and Helena."

"She'll make it." She had to. The greater pack really wouldn't know what to do without Mona Finn.

They pulled into the drive, the place filled with trucks and cars and SUVs. Everyone had turned out. Gus felt a little queasy, but Petey was right there in front of them, and he came to help their mom out of the truck. "I'll be along in a minute, okay?"

"Sure, honey. I'll be inside with Mona."

He walked around the side of the house, needing some air, something. He turned the corner and ran smack dab into someone, the two of them crashing together.

"Shit!" He stumbled, but instinctively tried to catch whoever it was. Gus knew he was big. He could do some damage. "Sorry."

"No problem." The voice was soft, slinky, pure sex somehow, making his hair stand up on end.

He stepped back to look at the man, because it was definitely a male, and his eyes widened. "Pussy boy?"

One black eyebrow arched impossibly over a bottle green eye, then he was flying, back hitting the ground before his fucking chin started hurting from the kick it had received.

Shiny black boots appeared by his head, only for a second. "Indeed."

Then they were gone.

Holy fuck. Gus sure didn't know where Sam Finn had learned to kick like that, but damn. That was something.

Kinda hot, too.

Somehow the whole funeral thing had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.


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CEREUS: BUILDING by BA Tortuga

CEREUS: BUILDING with stories by BA Tortuga, Julia Talbot and Sean Michael

What happens when a besieged and rather small dragon comes to a vampire and says, "I need your help." Or when that vampire comes to a werewolf and says, "I have a job for you." The vampire goes and builds a resort for things that go bump in the night, of course. Riding the wave of Julia Talbot's Bloodrose series, the multi-author Cereus: Building features paranormal romance from three of Torquere Press' most-loved authors. The stories move from vampire Jonny's city club to a new luxury getaway in the woods of the Pacific Northwest, where pleasure and pain are the name of the game.

Julia Talbot's It's Elemental features construction contractor Chayton, a werewolf who thinks demon decorator Kenny is a little fussy, and a lot hot. They argue about everything from feng shui to sex. Will they be able to resolve their differences?

The Third Course, by BA Tortuga, tells the story of Marco and Stephan, werecats, brothers, and chefs who meet their match in head-bartender Faelan, who just happens to be a growly, sexy Top.

Finally, Sean Michael's Smoke and Gold follows the head dominant of the club, Zee, who's dealing with trying to get his playrooms just so, and trying to figure out maddening dragon Daniel at the same time. Who can resist loving a dragon?

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Sample
"I need your help, friend." Daniel Underhill looked at Jonny, eyes glowing gold through webcam, the glow sort of pixillating a bit, making things a bit odd, even for Daniel.

Really, how much more odd did it get than being a dragon? Daniel was certainly the only one Jonny had ever met.

"Well, you know you need only ask." Jonny settled more comfortably in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his chest. He sat behind his desk at the club Bloodrose, marveling at things like Skype, which certainly hadn’t existed when he’d become a vampire all those centuries ago.

Daniel cleared his throat, bringing Jonny’s attention back to the screen.

"You know that I have...particular issues, yes?"

It took Jonny a moment to suss out what the man might mean, but he hit upon it. Daniel, although quite astonishing in his true form, was reportedly quite...undersized. Petite. Wee. Possibly even tiny, for a dragon. It caused problems on occasion. "Indeed."

"Well, I've been here a long time, eons, and no one has bothered me, but my kind doesn't like population and our territories are getting smaller every decade."

"Isn't that the way it is for everyone?" The wolves were all bitching about it as well, about how there was nowhere to run, and how while they loved the club, it was too urban for them.

"Yes, but... I can't protect my home, not from my own kind."

"I take it you have an idea." Dragons were all about ideas. Not so much practicalities, though they were exceptional at making money. Daniel had a particular talent for finding magical objects and selling them.

"Of course I do." Daniel's smile was suddenly young and happy. "You're going to build a kinky little getaway here rather like your club, and let me have a huge, amazing cabin on the edge of the resort. You'll make money. I'll make money. Everyone will avoid the mountain because there will be human activity. It's perfect."

Jonny pondered that. "You're in the Cascades, yeah?"

Daniel nodded. "Six hundred acres ready to build on. You front the money for the development and guarantee me my house, and you do as you will."

"Hmm. I would like to keep a good bit as a preserve. We can stock with game if there's not enough..." Wouldn't the 'weres love a safe place to hunt?

"It's virgin land. Perfect." Daniel smiled. "Safe, except from my kind."

And having a busy presence would stop that quickly, wouldn't it? Dragons were silly creatures.

"I like it. We could go very green, very earth friendly. Go underground for some of the vampire quarters as long as it wasn't near your den." Daniel could be touchy about that den of his.

Daniel nodded. "My den is a natural cave. If you look, you'll find others. Humans tend to avoid the area." He got a wicked little smile. "Crossing my borders uninvited causes its own issues."

"Don't I know it?" Jonny had never been to Daniel's land, but there had been that poor courier once... The dangers of dealing in magical objects. Even small dragons had big flames.

Daniel shrugged, licked his lips. "Occupational hazard."

"Indeed. I can send some people to do an initial survey, talk to selected backers."

"Just let me know to expect them." Long, golden hair was shoved back, Daniel settling. "So, now that the business part is done, let me tell you about this amazing spell book I had sent from Romania. I either made a stick into a fire snake or a burning stick into a dead snake. The accent's tough to pull off."

"You're not Romanian." Neither was Jonny, thank goodness. A vamp from Romania was trite, at best.

"No, but I'm not Mexican either, and I managed to unearth that Mayan demi-god for you once, didn't I?"


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THE BEST DAMNED THING by B.A. Tortuga

THE BEST DAMNED THING by BA Tortuga

A Charity Short Benefitting the It Gets Better Project

Jim sure doesn't want to get into the middle of it when the guys on his construction crew start messing with Collin, the new, and queer, guy in town. He will if he has to, though, because he doesn't believe in letting anyone call a man out for being gay. Foreman Walker doesn't like the idea any more than Jim does, but he's perfectly happy to let Jim get in the middle with him and Collin...

Author's Note: This is Torquere Press' Fourth Year of doing short stories for charity and I couldn't be more pleased to participate. I want to especially thank J. Rocci for all of her work and support of the project. It wouldn't have happened without her. You rock, sweetie!

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~Excerpt~

"Don't be a fuck, Jim. You want to fight or something?" Dale's Coke went down a little harder than his.

He twisted his lips. He'd fight if he had to. He didn't back down from assholes like Dale.

A huge, solid hand landed on his shoulder, and he knew it was Walker, the foreman. The boss stared at everyone, especially Jim and Cooter. "You asshats got issues?"

Listening to that voice made him shiver a little, deep inside. "Not me," Jim said, shaking his head. His cheek brushed the side of Walker's hand.

"Just seeing if old Jim here was a fudge packer like that little queer coming out of the coffee shop."

The hand on his shoulder didn't move. "Is Mr. Marten causing y'all problems?"

"What?" Dale looked like he was fixin' to swallow his tongue.

"Collin! You causing my boys problems?" The boss' voice rang out and Collin Marten stopped, looked over from across the way.

"Walker? Why on earth would I do that?" Collin took a step closer, and Cooter spit on the ground again.

"I'm going back to work; fucking fags."

"Watch your mouth, Cooter, or you can get your shit and go. I don't put up with that kind of crap on my crew, and you know it."

"I ain't working for a queer. You queer, Walker?"

Well, shit.

Jim stood there, his teeth in his mouth, trying to figure out what the fuck to do, to say before the shit hit the fan. He'd been subcontracting for Walker for five long years, and he'd never seen the man back down from a fight, never seen the man lose one, either. He'd never pondered Walker's sexuality too hard, either. That way lay madness.

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IN MIND'S EYE by B.A. Tortuga

THE MIND'S EYE by BA Tortuga

Jake likes Vegas, but it gets a little hot when he wins too much at one casino. So Jake has a choice; he can go to the middle of nowhere and try to kill this guy some mob boss wants dead, or he can die himself.

Keye is on vacation and minding his own business when Jake shows up. As a hitman, he thinks it's pretty damned funny that Jake is the man sent to kill him, at least until he starts to figure out what talents Jake has going for him. Can these two band together and stay alive?

Author's Note: This book is dedicated to Frank, the lizard that lives in my bathroom. No. Really. Frank the Bathroom Lizard keeps me young. And screaming.

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EXCERPT:

Keye sat in the back booth, the one on the side of the diner with no restrooms and no windows. He liked to be able to watch folks come and go, to know that he had nowhere to run. Being backed into a corner made him sharper, smarter. An easy escape route made for a lazy Keye.

The people coming in and out were regulars, for the most part, having coffee, saying hi, and eating chili sizes and hash and eggs. Normal. Easy. Good. He approved.

The guy walking toward him wasn't a regular. Keye knew it like he knew that he could crush the man's windpipe with one squeeze. His neck was only so big.

Of course, when said skinny little wild-haired freak sat down, looked at him with one light blue eye, one dark brown one, and said, "I'm supposed to be here to kill you. Weird, huh?" he knew he was absolutely right.

Keye sat back, hands flat on the table, and stared. "You want some coffee?"

"Absolutely." The little guy waved down the waitress, ordered a coffee with a smile, then turned back to him with a bright smile. "So, there's this guy -- Gianni de Marco? You know him? Ugly, broad, lots of nice hair, but way too much pomade? He's in Vegas. He has all my money and he's a big asshole -- wanted to cut my fingers off, what a turd, huh? Anyway, he's hiring people to kill you. Well, blackmailing me to kill you, but I always figure if a guy's willing to blackmail one man, he's willing to hire someone else. It's like a slippery-slope deal. Anyway, I thought about it, because seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money, but if I won it once in Vegas, I can win it a couple three times in Shreveport, and I have the weird feeling that murder would lead to blood and puss and stuff, so no. I decided to warn you instead."

"I think he needs to switch to decaf, honey," Keye told the waitress. She left again, and Keye stared at the guy some more. "De Marco, huh?"

"Uh-huh. He's a fuckmonkey. You're very broad. I was surprised, you know? All I had to work on was this little memory deal and a fuzzy picture like from the TV. All pixelated and shit from the security cameras. I guess that's what the hat was for, though, huh? Hiding your face?"

"Well, I wear a hat occasionally." Hell, he was from Texas. He wore a hat a lot, cowboy or gimme cap, whatever. "What's a fuckmonkey?"

The guy's laugh rang out -- and how it wasn't purely insane, Keye wasn't sure, but it wasn't. "I haven't the foggiest, but it's a great word, isn't it? Fuck. Monkey. Fuckmonkey. It's like asshat, but with more flinging poo."

Lord, have mercy. Some days a man just had to go with what was put in front of him. "So, you're not gonna kill me."

"God, no. That's creepy." The man drank deep from his coffee, then smiled. "I mean, I found you, which is good, I guess, but I'm a tracker, not a hunter. Did you really get that scar on your chin from falling out of a barn? I don't know that I've ever been in a real barn."

Keye kept his face immobile by force of will alone. How the hell did this guy know where he’d gotten his scar? "You been talkin' to my momma or something?"

"She died three years ago. She was..." The guy's nose wrinkled, one long finger sliding on his hand. "Oh, man. Yuck. I'm sorry, that sucks. Bad memory, huh? Let's not go there. That's bad. And you dealt with it all and I'm really glad my name's not Lionel, because you just... you don't like that name at all."

Keye felt his brow furrow, which meant this guy was really something. He didn't know what. His voice came out pretty even, though. "How do you know this shit?"

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