Sunday, October 28, 2018
Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Werewolves of Chernobyl by KA Merikan & LA Witt
-- BEING KIDNAPPED BY TWO WEREWOLVES IS AN ADVENTURE AFTER ALL, RIGHT? RIGHT?! --
Quinn
If Quinn wants to get the best photos for his travel blog, no gate is too tall, and no ‘do not enter’ sign actually means he won’t go in. What he finds in a hidden exclusion zone by Chernobyl blows his mind. Mutants? Monsters? He doesn’t know, but he is bound to find out when not one but two of them break into his hotel.
Too bad the rules and attitudes they have toward sex don’t match Quinn’s at all.
Dima
Born with a disabled hand, smaller than the other werewolves, Dima is the lowest of the low in his pack, but when he meets the loveliest human he’s ever seen, he knows his luck has changed.
The last thing he expects though is his beloved friend Nazar turning on him once Dima’s affection for Quinn deepens, and he refuses to be mounted by Nazar anymore.
Nazar
Nazar is a high ranking soldier in his pack, but in his powerful body hides a gentle soul, and all he wants is to escape the pack with Dima. But once Dima claims Quinn as his, secrets Nazar has so far kept hidden rear their ugly head.
The werewolf language doesn’t have words to describe what they crave, so Quinn might be the only one to help them solve the puzzle of the desires that go against the rules of their pack.
Themes: shifter, werewolf, menage, knotting, urban exploration, cultural differences, disability, hierarchy, USSR, isolated from the world, society of men, PTSD, military, secret organization
He looked around. So this was the black zone.
Thickly forested. Perfectly silent.
He’d been to precious few places in the world where he could feel completely alone, and this was one of them. A nervous feeling coiled in the pit of his stomach, but he laughed it off, shook his head, and started into the woods. The guides had gotten to him. Plain and simple. They’d given him just enough doubt, just enough possibility that those guns weren’t for show, to kick on some irrational lizard brain nervousness. There was no danger. Just illusions.
The farther he ventured into the forest, the thicker the undergrowth became. He picked his way through, occasionally using trees for balance as he climbed through a particularly dense patch. He muttered to himself about goddamned mutant vines trying to trip him. Wouldn’t that be fun—explaining to his guides why he had a twisted ankle and smelled like tree sap.
Abruptly, the undergrowth vanished.
Well, not quite. But there was suddenly a belt of bare earth a few feet wide carving a line through the brush and bushes, extending as far as the eye could see in either direction. From the tamped down dirt, this wasn’t just a random strip of barren soil. This was a path, and it was used as one.
Quinn gulped. His neck prickled.
He stepped into the path and crouched down.
Yeah, this was used all right. And not just by humans. There were boot tracks, and what looked like some tire tracks—exclusion zone, my ass—but that wasn’t all. Some of the tracks were distinctly canine, but unnervingly huge. Even bigger than the prints his mother’s Saint Bernard left in the snow. A bit longer and narrower too. Like a person had been wearing those dumb toe running shoes, except… dog-like.
They were also deep. Each depression dug far enough into the soil to suggest something heavier than a person. Or at least as heavy. And if they were wearing dog toe shoes, they’d gone all out—there were apostrophe-shaped punctures ahead of each toe. Why would they have claws on shoes?
The guns on his guides’ belts and shoulders flashed through his mind.
Quinn gulped. Okay, maaaybe there was a reason for the black zone and the guns.
Or maybe the guys with the boots were walking the very, very large dogs. Hadn’t he heard about a military facility near here? One of those places that existed but didn’t exist? Wouldn’t surprise him.
He shook himself, then snapped a few photos of the footprints, the paw prints, and the path. He took a pen out of his pocket, stabbed it into the ground at the edge of the path to mark where he’d turned, and started following the trail.
This was much nicer than stumbling over undergrowth, that was for sure, but those prints were kind of unnerving. Especially the fresher ones. The more he looked, the more the boot prints seemed slightly older. Like it had rained at some point since they were made. The edges on the paw prints—not to mention the claw holes—were much sharper and more distinct.
The hairs on his neck stood up. It was probably his imagination, but that “completely alone in the world” feeling was gone. And he kind of wanted it back, because this was getting creepy.
Quinn swallowed. He’d taken some photos. Gotten a look around. Maybe now was a good time go back.
He halted, moving only his eyes as he scanned his surroundings. Clearly he was losing his mind, because he was sure someone was watching him now. Maybe some security cameras to make sure idiot tourists didn’t wander into the black zone. With any luck a guard was watching those now and had sent someone to come collect him and rip into him for being that idiot tourist before handing him back to his heavily-armed guides and…
Quinn exhaled slowly.
Yeah.
Definitely time to go back.
He turned on his heel.
And froze.
Not ten feet away, an enormous black-brown creature stared back at him with intense yellow eyes. It was hunched down, as if it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be bipedal or on all fours.
Or maybe it was thinking about lunging at him.
And, like, ripping his face off with those huge fucking claws and the gleaming teeth peeking out from beneath its curled lips.
Quinn took a slow, cautious step back. The creature took a much more decisive step forward, staying on its haunches. One arm was tucked close to its side and slightly smaller. The other was poised to either reach for something or be used for balance, the gigantic clawed paw opening and closing in the air.
A low growl emerged from its throat.
And Quinn decided that was enough of that shit, and he spun around and ran.
Not supposed to run from dogs, right? What am I doing?
That’s not a dog. And I’m running. Fuck this.
“Help!” he cried out in English. Then in Russian. He hoped. Didn’t matter, did it? As long as his voice and obvious distress carried far enough to bring help over the river and through the woods before the big bad wolf ripped him to tiny pieces of dumb tourist?
He needed some obstacles between him and…whatever that thing was. So, he turned sharply and lunged into the woods. The creature skidded behind him, and stumbled, giving Quinn a few seconds to gain some ground, but it didn’t help.
“If you can hear me, help!”
Going into the forest was a bad idea. Really bad. Quinn still had to climb every obstacle and try not to break his neck. The wolf crashed through it like it wasn’t even there.
“Help! Someone!”
Time for Plan B. He quickly found a tree with branches that hung low enough to grab, and he scrambled up the mossy trunk. He pulled himself up off the ground, but an impossibly huge, strong hand grabbed his ankle and hauled him back down.
He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking a yelp out of him. He spun around, pressing his back against a tree trunk, and suddenly he was face to face with the wolf. Monster. Thing.
Its face nearly touched his. Lips pulled back across enormous teeth.
“Uh. Nice dog. Nice doggy.”
Probably doesn’t speak English, moron!
Quinn swallowed. He decided to try in Russian, since a lot of Ukrainians spoke it fluently. “Nice dog. Don’t hurt me.”
Because that works on animals. Fuck. I’m gonna die.
But to his surprise, the monster backed off slightly. The growl quieted. The massive head cocked.
Quinn stared at it, trying not to look it right in the eye, but also attempting to read its expression. If it had one. What the fuck?
“Please… please don’t eat me.”
A weird sound emerged from its flaring nostrils. Was that… did it fucking laugh at him?
The creature leaned in again and sniffed him. Quinn closed his eyes, holding his breath as hot huffs fluttered his T-shirt and his hair. He hadn’t pissed himself, had he? No. Good. Might as well die with some dignity. Because he was pretty sure dying was the only thing left in his future.
It backed off a little, and he opened his eyes, watching the creature through fogged up lenses. The creature sat back on its haunches. One arm stayed tucked close to its side, almost as if it was immobile, but the other moved just fine. At closer inspection, it also seemed that the motionless paw was smaller, and deformed somehow. The other paw hesitantly reached for Quinn—oh God claws—and tugged at his camera strap.
“Hey. Hey.” Quinn cautiously nudged the paw away, less for the camera’s benefit and more to protect his abdomen full of vital guts. “Look, if you’re gonna kill me. Just do it. Okay?”
The creature sat back a little and met his gaze, reminding Quinn of a giant wolf, despite the oddly primate-like shape of its body and its face lacking an elongated muzzle. What the hell?
“You’re not supposed to taunt your prey.” Quinn’s voice shook badly. “That’s what cats do. Not dogs.”
Another weird huff.
Quinn gulped. “Do you… do you understand me?”
A soft growl emerged. He didn’t know what to make of it, but it didn’t seem like a hostile sound. And he was still alive, so that was a bonus.
“If you understand me,” he said in Russian, holding out his hand, “give me your paw.”
The wolf jerked its head, eying his outstretched hand warily. He sniffed it, huffing more hot breaths across Quinn’s shaking palm and fingers.
Wonder what it feels like to have my hand bit off. Guess I’ll find out.
But it wasn’t attacking him. Just studying him.
He swallowed. “T-touch my hand if you understand me.”
The paw rose. One claw tapped the center of Quinn’s palm.
Oh. My God.
So it understood. Russian, anyway.
And it hadn’t killed him. If anything, it seemed… curious?
Moving slowly and carefully, Quinn lifted his other hand. The monster tensed, and its yellow eyes locked onto Quinn’s hand as he reached across the void.
“I just want to touch you,” he said. “I’m curious.”
Its eyes darted toward him. Back to his hand. Back to him again.
Quinn’s fingertips brushed the reddish brown fur on the monster’s shoulder. The skin twitched, much like a horse trying to get rid of a fly, but it didn’t recoil, so Quinn rested his whole hand.
The creature turned its head. Its brow furrowed, its huge nostrils flaring as it sniffed, but it didn’t pull away.
Carefully, Quinn petted the fur like he would a dog instead of a monster that was bigger than he was and had claws like a fucking bear. His heart was going ninety miles an hour, his stomach twisting, but he kept petting the monster because this beat the hell out of being minced.
The monster nudged his wrist with its cold nose. Then harder, dipping its head as if to try to duck under his hand. Quinn relaxed his arm and let the creature maneuver his hand until it was on the silky smooth fur of its head.
He couldn’t help laughing. What in the world…?
He petted it a couple of times, and the creature rubbed against his arm almost like a cat.
Would it object to having its ears scratched? They were upright and pointy with little tufts on the ends, and scratching them was almost irresistible aside from the whole “not wanting to lose an arm” thing.
Lightly at first, he scratched behind the wolf’s ear. It stiffened, but leaned into it, so Quinn did it a little harder, and laughed when the wolf closed its eyes and pressed against his hand. He was actually surprised it didn’t start thumping its back leg on the leaf-littered ground.
So he could pet it, and he could scratch its ears. Was he making friends with this thing? Well, if experience had taught him anything, the way to any critter’s heart was through its stomach.
“I’m going to take something out of my pocket.” He slowly withdrew his hand. “Just a little thing to nibble on.”
The wolf intently watched him as he shifted, slid his hand into his pocket, and found the Snickers bar he’d been carrying around. The wrapper crinkled, which made the wolf’s ears prick up, and Quinn laughed.
The wolf met his eyes and laid its ears back down. Okay, so maybe laughing at it when it put its ears up was insulting. Or something.
He crinkled the wrapper again, and the ears came back up. Carefully, Quinn unwrapped the candy bar and broke off a piece. He offered it on his outstretched palm.
The wolf sniffed it, but didn’t take it.
“It’s okay.” Quinn pushed his hand closer. “It’s food.”
Sniffing it again, the wolf eyed him.
Quinn took a bite off the remaining bar. “See?” he mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate and peanuts. “Food.”
The wolf’s eyes flicked from Quinn’s face to the bar in his hand to the little morsel on his palm. Its massive jaws opened—holy shit what big teeth you have—and the monster’s pink tongue lapped at the candy. Then again. After some tentative licks, it very delicately removed the candy from Quinn’s hand, and the jaws closed. It chomped on the candy, cocking its head this way and that as if it didn’t quite know what to make of the strange flavors and textures.
Quinn took another bite of the candy bar. “Good, isn’t it?”
The monster gulped it down. It started sniffing the remaining candy.
“You want—”
And just like that, the candy was gone.
Quinn stared at his empty hand, then at the creature that was apparently getting the hang of chewing a Snickers bar.
“Dick,” he muttered.
Another huff of almost-laughter.
Quinn laughed and shook his head. “Good thing I wasn’t hungrier than—”
The creature suddenly jumped back, head snapping toward the town Quinn had left behind. It rose to nearly its full height, standing more like a man than a wolf, and sniffed the air.
Quinn sat up. What was going on?
Then he heard shouts. They were distant, but distinct.
“Go that way!” one of his guides barked. “I’ll check to the south.”
Quinn turned to the creature and was about to say he knew who they were, but in the blink of an eye, the mutated wolf was gone. Brush and undergrowth rustled, but then it was just… gone.
Thickly forested. Perfectly silent.
He’d been to precious few places in the world where he could feel completely alone, and this was one of them. A nervous feeling coiled in the pit of his stomach, but he laughed it off, shook his head, and started into the woods. The guides had gotten to him. Plain and simple. They’d given him just enough doubt, just enough possibility that those guns weren’t for show, to kick on some irrational lizard brain nervousness. There was no danger. Just illusions.
The farther he ventured into the forest, the thicker the undergrowth became. He picked his way through, occasionally using trees for balance as he climbed through a particularly dense patch. He muttered to himself about goddamned mutant vines trying to trip him. Wouldn’t that be fun—explaining to his guides why he had a twisted ankle and smelled like tree sap.
Abruptly, the undergrowth vanished.
Well, not quite. But there was suddenly a belt of bare earth a few feet wide carving a line through the brush and bushes, extending as far as the eye could see in either direction. From the tamped down dirt, this wasn’t just a random strip of barren soil. This was a path, and it was used as one.
Quinn gulped. His neck prickled.
He stepped into the path and crouched down.
Yeah, this was used all right. And not just by humans. There were boot tracks, and what looked like some tire tracks—exclusion zone, my ass—but that wasn’t all. Some of the tracks were distinctly canine, but unnervingly huge. Even bigger than the prints his mother’s Saint Bernard left in the snow. A bit longer and narrower too. Like a person had been wearing those dumb toe running shoes, except… dog-like.
They were also deep. Each depression dug far enough into the soil to suggest something heavier than a person. Or at least as heavy. And if they were wearing dog toe shoes, they’d gone all out—there were apostrophe-shaped punctures ahead of each toe. Why would they have claws on shoes?
The guns on his guides’ belts and shoulders flashed through his mind.
Quinn gulped. Okay, maaaybe there was a reason for the black zone and the guns.
Or maybe the guys with the boots were walking the very, very large dogs. Hadn’t he heard about a military facility near here? One of those places that existed but didn’t exist? Wouldn’t surprise him.
He shook himself, then snapped a few photos of the footprints, the paw prints, and the path. He took a pen out of his pocket, stabbed it into the ground at the edge of the path to mark where he’d turned, and started following the trail.
This was much nicer than stumbling over undergrowth, that was for sure, but those prints were kind of unnerving. Especially the fresher ones. The more he looked, the more the boot prints seemed slightly older. Like it had rained at some point since they were made. The edges on the paw prints—not to mention the claw holes—were much sharper and more distinct.
The hairs on his neck stood up. It was probably his imagination, but that “completely alone in the world” feeling was gone. And he kind of wanted it back, because this was getting creepy.
Quinn swallowed. He’d taken some photos. Gotten a look around. Maybe now was a good time go back.
He halted, moving only his eyes as he scanned his surroundings. Clearly he was losing his mind, because he was sure someone was watching him now. Maybe some security cameras to make sure idiot tourists didn’t wander into the black zone. With any luck a guard was watching those now and had sent someone to come collect him and rip into him for being that idiot tourist before handing him back to his heavily-armed guides and…
Quinn exhaled slowly.
Yeah.
Definitely time to go back.
He turned on his heel.
And froze.
Not ten feet away, an enormous black-brown creature stared back at him with intense yellow eyes. It was hunched down, as if it couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be bipedal or on all fours.
Or maybe it was thinking about lunging at him.
And, like, ripping his face off with those huge fucking claws and the gleaming teeth peeking out from beneath its curled lips.
Quinn took a slow, cautious step back. The creature took a much more decisive step forward, staying on its haunches. One arm was tucked close to its side and slightly smaller. The other was poised to either reach for something or be used for balance, the gigantic clawed paw opening and closing in the air.
A low growl emerged from its throat.
And Quinn decided that was enough of that shit, and he spun around and ran.
Not supposed to run from dogs, right? What am I doing?
That’s not a dog. And I’m running. Fuck this.
“Help!” he cried out in English. Then in Russian. He hoped. Didn’t matter, did it? As long as his voice and obvious distress carried far enough to bring help over the river and through the woods before the big bad wolf ripped him to tiny pieces of dumb tourist?
He needed some obstacles between him and…whatever that thing was. So, he turned sharply and lunged into the woods. The creature skidded behind him, and stumbled, giving Quinn a few seconds to gain some ground, but it didn’t help.
“If you can hear me, help!”
Going into the forest was a bad idea. Really bad. Quinn still had to climb every obstacle and try not to break his neck. The wolf crashed through it like it wasn’t even there.
“Help! Someone!”
Time for Plan B. He quickly found a tree with branches that hung low enough to grab, and he scrambled up the mossy trunk. He pulled himself up off the ground, but an impossibly huge, strong hand grabbed his ankle and hauled him back down.
He hit the ground hard, the impact knocking a yelp out of him. He spun around, pressing his back against a tree trunk, and suddenly he was face to face with the wolf. Monster. Thing.
Its face nearly touched his. Lips pulled back across enormous teeth.
“Uh. Nice dog. Nice doggy.”
Probably doesn’t speak English, moron!
Quinn swallowed. He decided to try in Russian, since a lot of Ukrainians spoke it fluently. “Nice dog. Don’t hurt me.”
Because that works on animals. Fuck. I’m gonna die.
But to his surprise, the monster backed off slightly. The growl quieted. The massive head cocked.
Quinn stared at it, trying not to look it right in the eye, but also attempting to read its expression. If it had one. What the fuck?
“Please… please don’t eat me.”
A weird sound emerged from its flaring nostrils. Was that… did it fucking laugh at him?
The creature leaned in again and sniffed him. Quinn closed his eyes, holding his breath as hot huffs fluttered his T-shirt and his hair. He hadn’t pissed himself, had he? No. Good. Might as well die with some dignity. Because he was pretty sure dying was the only thing left in his future.
It backed off a little, and he opened his eyes, watching the creature through fogged up lenses. The creature sat back on its haunches. One arm stayed tucked close to its side, almost as if it was immobile, but the other moved just fine. At closer inspection, it also seemed that the motionless paw was smaller, and deformed somehow. The other paw hesitantly reached for Quinn—oh God claws—and tugged at his camera strap.
“Hey. Hey.” Quinn cautiously nudged the paw away, less for the camera’s benefit and more to protect his abdomen full of vital guts. “Look, if you’re gonna kill me. Just do it. Okay?”
The creature sat back a little and met his gaze, reminding Quinn of a giant wolf, despite the oddly primate-like shape of its body and its face lacking an elongated muzzle. What the hell?
“You’re not supposed to taunt your prey.” Quinn’s voice shook badly. “That’s what cats do. Not dogs.”
Another weird huff.
Quinn gulped. “Do you… do you understand me?”
A soft growl emerged. He didn’t know what to make of it, but it didn’t seem like a hostile sound. And he was still alive, so that was a bonus.
“If you understand me,” he said in Russian, holding out his hand, “give me your paw.”
The wolf jerked its head, eying his outstretched hand warily. He sniffed it, huffing more hot breaths across Quinn’s shaking palm and fingers.
Wonder what it feels like to have my hand bit off. Guess I’ll find out.
But it wasn’t attacking him. Just studying him.
He swallowed. “T-touch my hand if you understand me.”
The paw rose. One claw tapped the center of Quinn’s palm.
Oh. My God.
So it understood. Russian, anyway.
And it hadn’t killed him. If anything, it seemed… curious?
Moving slowly and carefully, Quinn lifted his other hand. The monster tensed, and its yellow eyes locked onto Quinn’s hand as he reached across the void.
“I just want to touch you,” he said. “I’m curious.”
Its eyes darted toward him. Back to his hand. Back to him again.
Quinn’s fingertips brushed the reddish brown fur on the monster’s shoulder. The skin twitched, much like a horse trying to get rid of a fly, but it didn’t recoil, so Quinn rested his whole hand.
The creature turned its head. Its brow furrowed, its huge nostrils flaring as it sniffed, but it didn’t pull away.
Carefully, Quinn petted the fur like he would a dog instead of a monster that was bigger than he was and had claws like a fucking bear. His heart was going ninety miles an hour, his stomach twisting, but he kept petting the monster because this beat the hell out of being minced.
The monster nudged his wrist with its cold nose. Then harder, dipping its head as if to try to duck under his hand. Quinn relaxed his arm and let the creature maneuver his hand until it was on the silky smooth fur of its head.
He couldn’t help laughing. What in the world…?
He petted it a couple of times, and the creature rubbed against his arm almost like a cat.
Would it object to having its ears scratched? They were upright and pointy with little tufts on the ends, and scratching them was almost irresistible aside from the whole “not wanting to lose an arm” thing.
Lightly at first, he scratched behind the wolf’s ear. It stiffened, but leaned into it, so Quinn did it a little harder, and laughed when the wolf closed its eyes and pressed against his hand. He was actually surprised it didn’t start thumping its back leg on the leaf-littered ground.
So he could pet it, and he could scratch its ears. Was he making friends with this thing? Well, if experience had taught him anything, the way to any critter’s heart was through its stomach.
“I’m going to take something out of my pocket.” He slowly withdrew his hand. “Just a little thing to nibble on.”
The wolf intently watched him as he shifted, slid his hand into his pocket, and found the Snickers bar he’d been carrying around. The wrapper crinkled, which made the wolf’s ears prick up, and Quinn laughed.
The wolf met his eyes and laid its ears back down. Okay, so maybe laughing at it when it put its ears up was insulting. Or something.
He crinkled the wrapper again, and the ears came back up. Carefully, Quinn unwrapped the candy bar and broke off a piece. He offered it on his outstretched palm.
The wolf sniffed it, but didn’t take it.
“It’s okay.” Quinn pushed his hand closer. “It’s food.”
Sniffing it again, the wolf eyed him.
Quinn took a bite off the remaining bar. “See?” he mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate and peanuts. “Food.”
The wolf’s eyes flicked from Quinn’s face to the bar in his hand to the little morsel on his palm. Its massive jaws opened—holy shit what big teeth you have—and the monster’s pink tongue lapped at the candy. Then again. After some tentative licks, it very delicately removed the candy from Quinn’s hand, and the jaws closed. It chomped on the candy, cocking its head this way and that as if it didn’t quite know what to make of the strange flavors and textures.
Quinn took another bite of the candy bar. “Good, isn’t it?”
The monster gulped it down. It started sniffing the remaining candy.
“You want—”
And just like that, the candy was gone.
Quinn stared at his empty hand, then at the creature that was apparently getting the hang of chewing a Snickers bar.
“Dick,” he muttered.
Another huff of almost-laughter.
Quinn laughed and shook his head. “Good thing I wasn’t hungrier than—”
The creature suddenly jumped back, head snapping toward the town Quinn had left behind. It rose to nearly its full height, standing more like a man than a wolf, and sniffed the air.
Quinn sat up. What was going on?
Then he heard shouts. They were distant, but distinct.
“Go that way!” one of his guides barked. “I’ll check to the south.”
Quinn turned to the creature and was about to say he knew who they were, but in the blink of an eye, the mutated wolf was gone. Brush and undergrowth rustled, but then it was just… gone.
KA MerikanK.A. Merikan are a team of writers who try not to suck at adulting, with some success. Always eager to explore the murky waters of the weird and wonderful, K.A. Merikan don’t follow fixed formulas and want each of their books to be a surprise for those who choose to hop on for the ride.
K.A. Merikan have a few sweeter M/M romances as well, but they specialize in the dark, dirty, and dangerous side of M/M, full of bikers, bad boys, mafiosi, and scorching hot romance.
LA WittL.A. Witt is an abnormal M/M romance writer who has finally been released from the purgatorial corn maze of Omaha, Nebraska, and now spends her time on the southwestern coast of Spain. In between wondering how she didn’t lose her mind in Omaha, she explores the country with her husband, several clairvoyant hamsters, and an ever-growing herd of rabid plot bunnies. She also has substantially more time on her hands these days, as she has recruited a small army of mercenaries to search South America for her nemesis, romance author Lauren Gallagher, but don’t tell Lauren. And definitely don’t tell Lori A. Witt or Ann Gallagher. Neither of those twits can keep their mouths shut…
KA Merikan
EMAIL: kamerikan@gmail.com
LA Witt
BLOG / PERSONAL BLOG / KOBO / YAHOO
EMAIL : gallagherwitt@gmail.com
Audiobook Tour: The Rainbow Clause by Beth Bolden
Title: The Rainbow Clause
Author: Beth Bolden
Genre: M/M Sports Romance
ebook Release Date: April 3, 2017
Narrator: Wyatt Baker
Audiobook Release Date: September 7, 2018
Summary:Don't like the athletes. Don't sleep with the athletes. Don't fall for the athletes. It had never been particularly difficult to follow the rules, but Nick had a feeling he was about to be tested.
Heisman winner. Member of the national championship team. NFL rookie of the year. Quarterback Colin O'Connor knows he's become the ultimate romance novel cliché: all the success he's ever dreamed of but nobody with whom to share it. Too bad it's not as simple as asking out the next girl who intrigues him - because the next girl to intrigue him probably won't be a girl at all.
Unexpectedly, the solution comes in one neat package: Nick Wheeler, lead journalist for a leading sports and pop culture blog. Hired by Colin's team, Nick comes to Miami to shine a spotlight on the NFL's most private quarterback.
The heat in Miami rises when Nick discovers Colin is nothing like the hollow personality he pretends to be in interviews and he's even hotter in person than on his Sports Illustrated cover. Nick knows this is the story of his career, and it also hits close to home. What he needs is to help Colin share his story while keeping their growing relationship from boiling over in the press, but what he wants is to tell the world.
“Wow,” Colin breathed out, the sheet shifting down his torso as he propped himself up with an elbow. “What a view.”
Even though the ocean and sky and sand were hazy with the golden light of the rising sun, Nick still had trouble taking his eyes off the man next to him.
“Yeah,” Nick said, still staring at Colin. “Fucking fabulous view.”
Colin glanced over and flushed. He rolled over and slid out of bed, bare feet padding on the tile floor as he headed towards the bathroom. “When you look at me that way,” he said, his voice carrying back into the bedroom, “it’s easy to believe I really look as good as you say.”
“You should believe it,” Nick said as Colin returned to bed. Nick knew he needed to use the bathroom, too, at least to brush away his surely horrible morning breath so he could kiss this beautiful man next to him.
Just one problem. Nick glanced at the tile floor with dismay. “Is that as cold as it looks?”
Colin shot him a playful smile and gave him a little shove to the edge of the bed. “Your turn to find out,” he said, and Nick gave a half-hearted smile, expecting to freeze his balls off as he tiptoed to the bathroom. Instead, he found the floor to be shockingly warm against his bare feet.
“Teddy, that rich bastard,” Nick exclaimed as he walked to the bathroom. “Heated floors.”
Nick brushed his teeth and took a piss, returning to bed with warm feet and cold hands, which he proceeded to place right on Colin’s ribcage. But Colin didn’t flinch, only tugged Nick closer, until their limbs were tangled together. Nick shifted up a fraction and hesitated, their eyes locked together and their lips only an inch apart.
“You keep talking about me,” Colin murmured dreamily, his hand smoothing down a wayward tuft of Nick’s hair. “But you’re gorgeous. I stare at you all the damn time.”
It was hard not to notice and impossible not to feel smug that Colin O’Connor spent at least half his waking hours staring at his ass.
A large hand slid around his hip and cupped that ass – but not with the sort of tacky possession that sometimes gave Nick a bad taste in his mouth, but with reverence and a playful affection that made his heart ache.
“I know you notice,” Colin continued, the edge of his lips quirking into a smile. “You’re too nice to call me out on it.”
“What, and make you stop?” Nick asked.
Even though the ocean and sky and sand were hazy with the golden light of the rising sun, Nick still had trouble taking his eyes off the man next to him.
“Yeah,” Nick said, still staring at Colin. “Fucking fabulous view.”
Colin glanced over and flushed. He rolled over and slid out of bed, bare feet padding on the tile floor as he headed towards the bathroom. “When you look at me that way,” he said, his voice carrying back into the bedroom, “it’s easy to believe I really look as good as you say.”
Just one problem. Nick glanced at the tile floor with dismay. “Is that as cold as it looks?”
Colin shot him a playful smile and gave him a little shove to the edge of the bed. “Your turn to find out,” he said, and Nick gave a half-hearted smile, expecting to freeze his balls off as he tiptoed to the bathroom. Instead, he found the floor to be shockingly warm against his bare feet.
“Teddy, that rich bastard,” Nick exclaimed as he walked to the bathroom. “Heated floors.”
Nick brushed his teeth and took a piss, returning to bed with warm feet and cold hands, which he proceeded to place right on Colin’s ribcage. But Colin didn’t flinch, only tugged Nick closer, until their limbs were tangled together. Nick shifted up a fraction and hesitated, their eyes locked together and their lips only an inch apart.
“You keep talking about me,” Colin murmured dreamily, his hand smoothing down a wayward tuft of Nick’s hair. “But you’re gorgeous. I stare at you all the damn time.”It was hard not to notice and impossible not to feel smug that Colin O’Connor spent at least half his waking hours staring at his ass.
A large hand slid around his hip and cupped that ass – but not with the sort of tacky possession that sometimes gave Nick a bad taste in his mouth, but with reverence and a playful affection that made his heart ache.
“I know you notice,” Colin continued, the edge of his lips quirking into a smile. “You’re too nice to call me out on it.”
“What, and make you stop?” Nick asked.
What is the biggest influence/interest that brought you to this genre?
I’ve always believed love is love, but had always read (and written) romances with a male and female main character. Then I saw a recommendation for Captive Prince, devoured the whole series in about a day and a half, and immediately went looking for more gay romance.
Certain popular dynamics in popular straight romance had been bothering me for awhile, and I found a refreshing equality in gay romance that I loved. I started writing my own, and never looked back.
When writing a book, what is your favorite part of the creative process (outline, plot, character names, editing, etc)?
I love the moment about midpoint in writing a book when all the planning, development and careful setup pays off and not only is everything clicking, it’s clicking together. The book not only becomes a heck of a lot easier to write, but it’s a really satisfying feeling.
When reading a book, what genre do you find most interesting/intriguing?
I really love romance with other subgenres mixed in. I like a book that defies categorization. Is it sweet or sexy or emotional or is it all three? Is there a mystery or a paranormal or is there another external plot besides just the characters coming together? I especially love books that mix subgenres or tropes together in unexpected ways.
If you could co-author with any author, past or present, who would you choose?
I actually am! I love, love, love A.E. Wasp’s books and we’re working on a Christmas story right now! It’s really fun to work with someone so talented.
Have you always wanted to write or did it come to you "later in life"?
I’ve always wanted to write, but for a little while in my college years, I wasn’t sure I could write fiction. Maybe it was all those literary analysis essays? I rediscovered writing fiction in my early twenties after graduation, when I started writing fanfiction. It’s a great development ground for writing, and I absolutely credit those early years for giving me a solid foundation.
I’ve always believed love is love, but had always read (and written) romances with a male and female main character. Then I saw a recommendation for Captive Prince, devoured the whole series in about a day and a half, and immediately went looking for more gay romance.
Certain popular dynamics in popular straight romance had been bothering me for awhile, and I found a refreshing equality in gay romance that I loved. I started writing my own, and never looked back.
When writing a book, what is your favorite part of the creative process (outline, plot, character names, editing, etc)?
I love the moment about midpoint in writing a book when all the planning, development and careful setup pays off and not only is everything clicking, it’s clicking together. The book not only becomes a heck of a lot easier to write, but it’s a really satisfying feeling.
When reading a book, what genre do you find most interesting/intriguing?
I really love romance with other subgenres mixed in. I like a book that defies categorization. Is it sweet or sexy or emotional or is it all three? Is there a mystery or a paranormal or is there another external plot besides just the characters coming together? I especially love books that mix subgenres or tropes together in unexpected ways.
If you could co-author with any author, past or present, who would you choose?
I actually am! I love, love, love A.E. Wasp’s books and we’re working on a Christmas story right now! It’s really fun to work with someone so talented.
Have you always wanted to write or did it come to you "later in life"?
I’ve always wanted to write, but for a little while in my college years, I wasn’t sure I could write fiction. Maybe it was all those literary analysis essays? I rediscovered writing fiction in my early twenties after graduation, when I started writing fanfiction. It’s a great development ground for writing, and I absolutely credit those early years for giving me a solid foundation.
Saturday Series Spotlight
Charleston Condors
The Rainbow Clause
Beth Bolden lives in Portland, Oregon with her supportive husband. She wholly believes in Keeping Portland Weird, but wishes she didn’t have to make the yearly pilgrimage up to Seattle to watch her Boston Red Sox play baseball. She’s a fan of fandoms, and spends too much of her free time on tumblr.
Beth has been writing practically since she learned the alphabet. Unfortunately, her first foray into novel writing, titled Big Bear with Sparkly Earrings, wasn’t a bestseller, but hope springs eternal. She’s published eight novels and two novellas, with Catch Me, the next novel in the Kitchen Gods series, releasing in May 2018.
Brought to you by:
99cent Sale Blitz: Love Times Five by Lily G Blunt
Title: Love Times Five
Author: Lily G Blunt
Genre: M/M Romance, Polyamorous, Paranormal
Release Date: January 19, 2018
There’s safety in numbers and plenty of love to go around.
When Colin searches for his missing colleague and buddy in the hills of northern England, his life is changed forever. Not only does he find Shaun living in a cabin with the mysterious and undeniably gorgeous Zach, but he also discovers the reason Shaun went AWOL in the first place. Colin wants to draw his friend away to safety, but Zach soon mesmerises him, and he’s happy to stay in his company, for now.
Passing hikers, Wes and Dane, need some assistance, and the three men are willing to oblige. Thus begins a friendship that develops into much more.
The five men each have their own secrets. Some are shared, others are kept hidden. It’s only a matter of time before they are exposed and the consequences could change everything for them all.
*********
Colin yelped and stumbled back. The penknife fell from his grip as he connected with the solid ground and landed on his arse.
“What the fuck?” Colin gaped at the wild beast in front of him, not five feet away, and apparently protecting Zach, who stroked the wolf’s back as if he were petting a huge dog.
Colin blinked, hoping to clear his vision. Had he knocked his head? Was he dreaming? Had he been drugged too?
The wolf sniffed the air and pawed the grass, its tongue now lolling to the side of its mouth. Teeth, sharp and white and scary, distracted Colin from the animal’s other features. The scent of damp fur and woodland soil filled his nostrils, and warm panting breath ghosted over his face.
The wolf was real enough. No vision. No dream.
“What the fuck?” Colin said, keeping his eyes fixed on the animal as it slunk away to the trees. His heart pounded and his mind was a whirl of confused thoughts. He tried to swallow around a thick lump in his parched throat. “What the fuck just happened?”
Zach said nothing but offered a hand to Colin, which after a few seconds pause, Colin grasped. Between the two of them, they easily hauled his bulky frame to standing. He scanned the grass for his knife, relief racing in his veins when he spotted it nestled among two nearby clumps of greenery.
Colin glanced away from the knife in the direction the wolf had headed. Could it really be Shaun?“I don’t understand.”
“Of course, you don’t.” Zach’s mouth curved into a warm, genuine smile. His eyes glimmered, and some of the tension lifted from Colin’s shoulders. “You must be Colin. Shaun’s sexy boss. He’s told me all about you.”
“What?” Colin’s pulse still pounded, and confusion turned his thoughts to sludge, but his heart fluttered at the hope those words kindled. What the hell was happening? What was this arsehole saying? Shaun had never tried anything on with Colin, not even when they’d been drunk. And had Shaun really… turned into a… what the actual fuck?
“You didn’t think he was interested in you?” Zach arched an eyebrow, and his eyes sparkled. Again.
Before Colin could commit himself to an answer or ask any questions about the precarious state of his sanity, there was movement to his side.
Shaun stood naked, his hands cupped over his groin, a little unsteady on his feet. “Chuck us your T-shirt, Zach,” he rasped, not making eye contact with Colin, his cheeks scarlet.
Without hesitation, Zach shed his top and threw it at Shaun, leaving his own fine torso on display. Smooth, defined, firm—perfect. No wonder Shaun had hooked up with him. Colin wouldn’t stand a chance with this guy in the picture, even if Shaun had liked him once upon a time.
Why was he even thinking about such things right now? He’d just seen Shaun turn into a wolf, and now he was back again as himself. And shortly before that, this ridiculously handsome man had been sucking on his neck and was now acting as if he knew things about Shaun that Colin didn’t even know. Was he losing his mind?
Colin dragged his gaze back to Shaun, his chest and nakedness now hidden from view by the oversized T-shirt. He staggered closer to Colin, his legs unsteady as if he were drunk. Shaun collapsed into Colin’s arms, maybe a deliberate move rather than an uncontrolled stumble. As much as Colin wanted to hug him to his chest, he needed answers. Anger bubbled to the surface and exploded. Colin gripped Shaun by his biceps and held him back at arm’s-length.
“What the fuck is going on? What did I just see?” It took all of Colin’s willpower not to shake the answer out of Shaun. “And what’s this fucking guy been doing to you?”
Shaun trembled beneath his touch, and his voice was hoarse and uneven, not its usual sweet timbre. “It’s okay, Col. I promise you, I’m okay now.” He placed his palm on Colin’s shoulder. “I know it’s a lot for you to take in all at once. I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to explain before.”
His words didn’t tell Colin anything. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were leaving and where you were going? I’d have listened… and helped you.” What the fuck could Colin have done to help if Shaun was a—?
Zach cleared his throat, distracting them both. He moved closer, running his long fingers down those taut abs of his until they came to rest on the waistband of his perfectly clinging jeans.
Shaun gazed at Zach, over his body, the renewed flush of arousal evident in his eyes. Colin’s heart sank but gave a hopeful flip when Shaun looked back at him with that same darkened expression. “Hey, how about we go inside? I can get dressed, and then explain what’s been going on with me.”
For a moment, Colin feared he might be overpowered or drugged or something like that once they got him inside the cabin, perhaps in the same way Shaun might have been. He eyed his knife lying on the ground, tempted to bend down and scoop it up for some protection.
Zach chuckled, and in a smooth yet swift motion slid past Colin. “I think you dropped this.” His mouth nestled close to Colin’s ear, his voice deep, his breath cool. A curl of interest coiled its way around Colin’s groin at the closeness of the man. Zach gripped Colin’s hand, turning his palm face-up, and placed the missing knife softly against his skin.
Colin couldn’t help but let out a gasp. He hadn’t witnessed the knife being retrieved from the ground. Whoever this man was, he was fast. He would probably dodge any knife or fist that Colin hurled his way. No way was Colin walking from this meadow without finding out who this man was. He pocketed the knife, despite his doubts about its usefulness now.
Zach glided away, entwined his fingers around Shaun’s hand, and pulled him towards the cabin. With an encouraging look over his shoulder, Shaun waved his free hand behind him. “Come on. We need to talk.”
Colin really had no choice, so he followed them. He needed to find out what had happened to Shaun and what the hell was going on between him and Zach.
Lily G. Blunt enjoys writing contemporary gay romance and paranormal stories. She loves to explore the relationship between two or more men and the intensity of their physical and emotional attraction. Angst often features in her stories as she feels this demonstrates the depth of feeling for each other. Lily is forever writing imaginary scenes and plots in her head, but only a few ever make it to the page.
She reviews for several blog sites and has recently launched Gay Book Promotions, an online book promotion service for authors of LGBT+ romance and fiction.
Lily loves to hear from readers and other authors.
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