A Picture is Worth...

Here's something a little different -- will this merman inspire someone to do more than admire? If so, your 100-1000 words can post here, with news, covers, and links. Our last pic drew a story from Eden Winters for our reading pleasure.

And if we just want to drool -- will the ocean get a little deeper?

A Thousand Word Thursday Story from Eden Winters

How often had Howard fantasized this moment, the man of his dreams sleeping next to him? For four long, lonely years he'd watched Tucker from afar, too timid to approach a man constantly surrounded by attractive twenty-somethings. How could an overweight, balding man hope to compete, even if he did possess more hair than the object of his desires?

Now, however, it seemed that Howard did have something to offer his handsome boss – a shoulder when he needed it.

His proudest moment had occurred last year when he overheard Tucker telling a secretary, "I can say one thing for Howard, he's steady as a rock, always there when you need him." Since that day Howard had worked doubly hard to be worthy of those words of praise.

When the boss needed assistance to work late on a project, Howard volunteered. Saturdays? Seeing the boss in jeans and T-shirts far outweighed staying home with Mr. Tabbyfeet. And then, at last year's Christmas party a drunken Tucker slurred, "Howard, if you didn't work for me I'd marry you!" then kissed him, full on the lips! Could he possibly mean that? Sadly, he made no further mention of the incident after the holidays. Those words rang through Howard's head, singing him to sleep each night.

He placed his fingers to his mouth, still imagining the soft caress of Tucker's beard and wondering what it would be like to run his fingers over the man's bald pate. A soft snore sounded beside him and he reached up, softly stroking Tucker's smooth head. Lost in slumber, the man snuggled into the touch.

For two hours Howard fought sleep, determined to watch over his obsession for as long as he could, for he knew in his heart that this might be his only opportunity for such intimate closeness. Did this big, burly biker like cats? Would he like Howard's small suburban home? Howard would gladly leave his Subaru in the rain to make room for Tucker's monster bike in the garage. What would it be like to kiss him goodbye every morning, then meet back up at work, exchanging only the most professional of looks all day lest anyone learn their secret?

Tucker wouldn't need to walk into the office with a fast food bag in hand ever again. If he were Howard's, for breakfast he'd have bacon and eggs and Howard's famous buttermilk biscuits, baked from scratch with love and served with Grandma's boysenberry jam. Yes, Howard would definitely take good care of his man.

Did it mean anything that, out of sixteen employees, Howard alone had been invited on this trip? Did he dare to hope? Recalling the handsome gym rat that showed up at the office regularly, disappearing behind the boss' closed door, he knew better. The grunts and moans he'd heard often enough stated clearly who the man was.

Tucker snorted, head lolling to the side. Howard glanced around, making sure no one was watching, and then pressed his cheek to the top of Tucker's head for support. In thirty minutes they'd land and it'd all be over. And when Tucker awoke, Howard would go back to being steady as a rock Howard, always there, always dependable. Maybe one day Tucker would realize that's just what was missing in his personal life.

"Whatever you need, Tucker," he murmured, bestowing a gentle kiss on his love's brow.

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Aw, I just want to pinch Howard's cheek and set him up with a guy who'll appreciate him. Or maybe shake Tucker.  Give Eden a high five for this little story.

Eden's been collecting a lot of things by fives lately -- five Marbles, five Ravens, and Five Stars all over, all for her new novel, Settling the Score, and five Divas for Duet!

Closeted mechanic Joey Nichols' life is good. His boyfriend landed a major Hollywood role, and is well on the way to superstardom. Joey's bags are packed and soon he'll leave small town Georgia and join the man of his dreams in California, to live out, proud, and together. Days before his planned departure, his lover outs Joey during a televised interview and announces that they've broken up, leaving Joey to face the bigotry of the locals alone.

Bestselling author Troy Steele knows all about having life turned upside down by the media. Now a recluse, Troy shuns all the trappings that come with writing books made into blockbuster movies. He spends his time exacting revenge on a former flame via his novels and hiding out in rural South Carolina, watching celebrity gossip shows. Joey's fifteen minutes of fame bear an eerie similarity to the plot of Troy's latest work in progress. What if Joey could be transformed into everything the fickle ex wanted, as Troy is writing for his fictional hero, and secretly wishes for himself? Once polished, could a diamond-in-the-rough good ole boy confront his ex, then walk away, pride intact? These are Troy's questions, and he's counting on Joey for answers.

Buy here.

The English are an evil not to be tolerated, or so Aillil Callaghan believes, and Malcolm Byerly, the Kentish tutor his father brings to the Highlands to teach his younger brothers, is no exception. Their affection for the boys and a shared passion for the violin brings the two men together, and scarlet fever tears them apart. When a Druid priestess offers her aid, grief-stricken Aillil vanishes into legend, to be handed down from one generation to the next.

Over two centuries later, violinist Billy Byerly’s arrival at Callaghan Castle for a concert feels like coming home. An old man presents him with a strangely familiar violin, and from its strings he draws melodies he doesn't remember learning. Billy doesn’t believe in ghosts, but if the tales of the Lost Laird aren’t true, then why does he dream of a dark-haired, kilted Highlander? And why is he haunted by the strains of a phantom violin?

Two violins, one love. How many lifetimes?

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Nathaniel by Jan Irving

You and your son have the saddest eyes.

Young cowboy Happy Nathaniel is struck by a need to reach out when he first meets Aaron King and his son, Samuel, so he helps Aaron find a haven at the Rocking M, far away from their strict Mennonite community. Once Sam is settled in the country school, both men seek something to spur him to speak again. But most of all, Nate also sees Aaron’s loneliness, and a single kiss is the spark Nate has secretly craved. But he’ll put his attraction on hold as long as needed, knowing there is a time for all things and that, one day, Aaron will want to dance again.

A spin-off of Luke and Sylvan

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For a mixing of oil and water cultures story, this combined a lot more like coffee and cream, with a big spoonful of sugar.

Aaron, for a man who has spent his life in a plain community, apparently splintered from the Mennonites, seems a bit technologically backwards, not sheltered from the world. He plows behind a horse not as the only way he knows, but as a choice. Finding porn on the internet seems to be one of his other tech accomplishments. For someone with a heavy duty religious background, it all seems very far away, as if he shed a lot of thoughts when he left the community.

His eight year old son Samuel, who is mute by choice, is Aaron's reason for leaving the community, he says. The boy, who recently lost his mother, has refused to speak since then. Samuel carries his own burdens, but after the initial scenes from his POV, he's much more of a supporting player. There is a big change for him, but it comes out of the blue, not out of any real development.

Nate, Happy Nathaniel, the out and proud cowboy who would like to change the sadness on father and son's faces, is the only truly vivid character here -- he'll pick a child out of a ditch without offering stupid advice, he'll dance if he's happy, and he finds the newcomer to the modern world intensely attractive.

This is good, because Aaron comes flying out of the closet with an intensity that only startles one of them. No introspection about it -- Aaron displays the sort of single mindedness  -- See! Want! Grab! Mine! normally associated with the less cerebral varieties of shapeshifters. He needs some coaching on technique, but there is no question in his mind of rightness, strangeness, if, maybe not, or frankly of anything short of the logistics of getting Nate moved in with him and his son. Hate to say it, but this wastes a lot of potential, and Aaron comes across as half a character. He doesn't question anything, least of all his own motives, because really, is the best thing for a recently orphaned, traumatized child taking him away from every single stable, familiar thing in his life?

The one working hardest to make this a story is Nate. I wish he'd gotten some help, because this could have been really good.



Buy here.

A Picture is Worth...

This pic tells a story, but what could it be? Our last Thousand Word Thursday pic got a wonderful little fic from Carole Cummings. What does this odd couple inspire? Do they know each other? Are they random seatmates? Any author who spends 100-1000 words answering that question will have that posted here, with news, covers, and links.

Think we have giggles more than drools this week.

Warrior Angel: Heart's Desire by Ryssa Edwards

Michael is the archangel of war, Banished to Earth. In the last year of his Banishment, he falls in love with Laine. But hour by hour, they're ripped apart by forces they can't control, because when Michael's Banishment is over, he'll lose Laine forever. They're given one chance. Laine must risk his life. Michael must risk his wings. What is love on the other side of forever worth?


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After reading this story twice, I am still at a loss as to what Michael finds so enchanting about Laine. The human seems to be little more than a bundle of insecurities and hotsex (from the bottom) and while a mere mortal cannot be expected to comprehend the enormities of angels, he doesn't seem to have given the issue a lot of thought, either. Perhaps his charm is tenacity and breakability.

The stakes are huge -- this is a warrior of God, after all, who's been Banished, but I don't know why. Willing to believe this is user error, but… It's kind of important, and I also can't tell what the backstory is with Aeryn, it seems to be important too.

The parts that I enjoyed are the interplay between the angels. Raphael can be peacemaker and arbiter, though at a cost, and Lucifer is sweetly wicked, tweaking Michael at every turn, and seems to have the same view of Laine that I do -- he's a handle to yank the big guy around. Time, probability, and causality are all a bit murky, which seems very fitting for a story mostly not told on the mortal plain -- the villain seems to be operating on several levels.

The ending is truly happy, a triumph of faith, if not necessarily in The Big Guy, but in love. 3 marbles


Buy here.

Splash by KIL Kenny

Alex wants to spend one more season on the family farm before he's forced to sell the property and move on. What was supposed to be a reflective time is turned delightfully upside down by Jordan, the beautiful, laughing spirit Alex finds living in the cow pond. Needless to say, a pond is not Jordan's usual hangout, and as the autumn wears on, it's clear that Alex will have to find a way to get Jordan home before the first New England freeze. But if he succeeds, what will be left for Alex?

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Alex's inheritance from his grandfather is a piece of land with a pretty little pond, where the old man spent a lot of time. The parcel is much smaller than it once was, and the pond was once a bend in the river -- and that's important, it turns out, because there's more in that pond than trout and sunfish.

Something wild and elemental that allows itself to be called Jordan frightens the bejaysus out of Alex at first, appearing more and more manlike as he comes to "see" Alex, and as they come to understand each other. What grows between them might not be love, because they aren't equals, the gulf between them is the difference between the container and the contained, but respect, caring, and enough attachment to break a heart, oh yes.

There are sweetly humorous sections, such as when Jordan allows himself to lose control over his form in an intimate moment, and an unique moment when he reorganizes to become smaller, something unprecedented in shift-able man-bits, but this being knows better than anyone that shape is not defining. A couple of finny commentators provide asides that grow more sinister, until they become irrevocably entwined in Jordan's fate.

The beginning dragged, with several pages of exposition and backstory that could have been woven into the text instead of dropped as a lump, but read past that, because the middle and the end are more satisfying. Ice freezes and melts, water in ponds turns over, and broken hopes can be mended. 4 marbles



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A Thousand Word Thursday Story from Carole Cummings

Knightly Pleasure
© Carole Cummings
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“Piper… oh, God.” Cynric set his teeth and thought quite forcefully of Gran’dam in her knickers. Because if he let himself concentrate on what Piper’s hands were doing, this would all be over before he had a chance to do much more than shove Piper into the wall and rut against him like a feral tom. He snatched Piper’s hand away from its torturous wandering, Cynric’s fingers digging in to the tendon and bone of Piper’s wrist a little harder than they should be doing; but Piper only smirked, set the tip of his tongue to his upper-lip and gave it a long, slow lick, white teeth flashing. Cynric couldn’t help the groan, nor the way heat fizzed from his thighs to his groin and all up his backbone. “You,” he growled, low and as fierce as he could make it, “have the devil in you.”


Piper merely crooked that scimitar grin, all sly and wicked. “Yes, and that’s all I’ve in me.” One dark eyebrow rose up into the heavy mass of straight chestnut fringe that hung askew over his brow. “Plan on fixing that any time soon?”

~

It was the look in those brown eyes that did it—that chill intent, that ‘Yes, I’ve beaten you and we both know it,’ that… that subtle power that could afford to be subtle, defied you to doubt it, because Piper had the skill to back it, and he didn’t care if you knew it. Didn’t care, because if you dared test it… well. Piper had always enjoyed a test.
 
~

Gran’dam in her knickers, and with Gran’da’s bony arse between her wrinkled thighs.

Cynric winced a little, but it did the job—he managed to keep himself from messing his drawers long enough to get them off and fling Piper to the bed. Piper landed with that evil little chuckle he trotted out when he was trying to prove he had the edge, and though Cynric would certainly concede the point when they had weapons in their hands, in here the edge was never a given.

~

Thrust through the forward attack then parry the sideswipe. Try not to get dragged in by that look, that face, the way the setting sun wove russet and smears of gold through rich chestnut. Deflect the advance and feint in with a compound attack then spin through the dodge and cross. Try not to note the way shadows spilt themselves over the angular face, anointed it sharp and transcendent, almost sanctified, like even they couldn’t resist the touch.
 
~

Gran’dam without her knickers, and Gran’da—

No, not helping.

“Cyn,” Piper panted. “Cyn… God, yes, that’s…”

Long, strong legs wrapped about Cynric’s ribs, squeezed. Deceptively slender arms slid about his neck, pulled him in. Cynric dipped down obediently, sank his teeth into the thick muscle that ran from Piper’s neck to his shoulder, and groaned as Piper’s hips snapped up and back, Cynric’s own following helplessly. He’d wanted to keep the rhythm slow, wanted to draw it out, make it last, torture Piper just as ruthlessly as Piper had tortured Cynric in the tournament, but he couldn’t keep from sinking deep, over and over again, long, slow strokes turned to faltering drives from one moan to the next.

“Yes, yes, Cyn, bloody fuck, so good, it’s… you’re… God so—”

“Piper,” Cynric groaned, breathless and desperate, “shut up, I can’t—”

Cynric gave up on making sense of the demand—plea—and just shut them both up with a kiss, because it was fast reaching a point where ‘control’ was just another nonsensical word inside the tempest of heat and sweat-slick skin and brutal sensation that was Cynric’s world right now.

Can’t hold out when you beg like that, can’t keep from fucking you so hard neither one of us will be able to sit a horse for a week.
 
The muted squeak of the bed’s rope supports, the thin whine of the mattress’s ticking—a weird, cacophonous discord that wound through Cynric’s head and melded with Piper’s gasping groans, his whispered supplication. Met and twined through the sensation of Piper’s body, against and around, rocking up and back, swamping Cynric’s senses and pummeling them into nothing but animalistic need.

~

The glint of the sword, the honed tip leveled right at Cynric’s throat, the failing burnt-ruby of the sun slanting off its silver-blue edge like a stain of blood. Cynric stubbornly set his gaze to the leather bindings of the vambraces, the stitching of the gauntlets, the dip and curve of chest-plate and hauberk—anything but those eyes and what he knew to be waiting behind their cool invitation, that mouth and its flat challenge:
 
“Do you yield, Sir Lindley?”
 
~

A sharp cry slid up Piper’s throat, and he arched, head thrown back, eyes locked to Cynric’s and anything but cool—a welter of warmth and passion—before they closed and Piper came. “Cynric… Cyn… ah!”

Cynric watched for as long as he could, rapt with the sheer beauty of abandon, the heady possession, the surrender, before he had no choice but to follow. Bright-white fire closed him in a tight fist as his body pulsed and thrashed, throat grinding out graveled curses, and Piper wrapped about him, holding on, tricking a few more shudders and jolts loose with a wicked twist of his hips.

Piper’s hands on his back, stroking, and Piper’s voice in his ear, whispering— “So good, Cyn, love you so much,” —and Piper’s body beneath his, a firm line of sinewy muscle strapped directly to the bone.

Do you yield, Sir Lindley?
 
Oh, God, yes.

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Faints from the amazingness of this story! Thank you Carole! 

Carole’s book Aisling Book One: Guardian, was a 5 marble review here, and after reading this story, you know exactly why!  Part Two: Dream, is due out this June, and I can hardly wait.  To get yours in print or ebook, click here for Prizm or here to shop at Amazon.  

For more news on Carole’s work, check her website/blog.