Category Archives: Books
So I’m sitting here crying
I’m of an age where seeing my work in print is still very important to me. I love and am very grateful for e-publishing, don’t get me wrong — it’s a totally awesome publication avenue, and I take advantage of it all the time. That being said, as a writer born in the 1960s there’s still a part of me that wants to see a book in my hot little hands with my name on it in order to feel fully validated. When my first shared novel came out, I wanted to dance around Dallas in utter glee, waving it over my head like a flag, and immediately added it to my book shelf that held various anthologies with my short stories.
So when I published my first standalone novel Storm Season with Evernight last year, I was immensely proud. But there was also a tiny twinge that it would never be tangible, printed words on a page with my writing name on the cover that I could put on my bookshelf. Oh, I knew there was a chance that Evernight might add it to their print collection if it sold well enough, but it was my freshman novel, no one really knew me, and so I put it out of my mind and just concentrated on writing more stories and becoming the best damn writer I could be.
And then, this morning, I opened my email and saw something from Evernight with PRINT in the Subject line. I tell you, I felt like my heart stopped for a moment. Part of me was scared to open it, thinking that it couldn’t be what I thought it was. I was scared to hope, silly as that sounds.
But I opened it. And started crying when I read, “Your book Storm Season is now available in our print store…”
So, yeah, Storm Season is now a print book. It’s currently available directly from Evernight via CreateSpace, but will be available at Amazon in a week and other online booksellers in 6-8 weeks. I’m not saying this so that anyone feels like they have to buy it — I figure anyone who enjoys this particular genre already bought it as an ebook.
But damn. My first novel is now in print. And so, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go flail like a Muppet around the house for the next hour or so.
Cut-ting and pa-sting, cut-ting and pa-sting…
Want to know the easiest way to drive a creative person crazy? Make them do a dull, repetitive activity for hours. They’ll be gibbering in no time. I remember how my ex-boss at the major telecommunications company talked me into coming back for a short-term contract back in 2012 — I got to the office, and was handed PowerPoint docs to fill with cutting and pasting from other docs, the exact same thing that drove me utterly crazy about the job in the first place. Came home, burst into tears, called him that night and told him I couldn’t come back. Luckily he understood.
That being said, two more hours and I have my hotel for my upcoming Baltimore trip all paid for, so I suppose I’ll just shut up, cut and paste. Crap. I still have to do the taxes tonight, too. Hello, darkness, my old friend…
That being said, there is good news on the way. Once I have confirmation, I’ll post it here, promise. And I started work on Breaker Zone again, and frankly I’m glad I took the break I did because hoo boy, I’d say a good 50% of the 27K I already have written has got to go. I’ve completely redone Nick’s and Aidan’s characterization in my head and that’s going to require a different (and better, hopefully) approach to the story. Which is fine, live and learn, yadda yadda, but it always kind hurts to cut wordage. Needs must, however, and while my goal is to have it finished by the end of April, I also know what happens when I announce goals, so — sometime this spring? I’ll get started immediately on Book Three in the series after that.
And yes, I’m working concurrently on Behind the Iron Cross, because I’m insane that way. This is the one I’m sending off to an agent (it seems like all my friends are getting one, so I figure why not), so it’s got to be polished until it shines like the top of the Chrysler Building. And I just outed my age with that comment, didn’t I? Oh, well. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Gramma has to take her Geritol and get back to work.
(On a completely separate tangent, apropos of nothing, I wonder if Charlie Day knows how much slash is being written about Newton and Hermann from Pacific Rim? Burn Gorman is probably used to it by now from Torchwood, but I think this may be a new thing for Mr. Day.)
Mid Week Tease: Breaker Zone #MWTease #MidWeekTease
Happy Hump Day! Now that Two to Tango has finally been submitted, I’ve gone back to work on Book Two in the Olympic Cove series, Breaker Zone. Here’s the opening scene of the book.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
When Dr. Nick Gardiner goes on the run from a psychotic ex and ends up at Olympic Cove, the last thing he expects to find is his friend Ian living with two redheaded demigods and learning how to be a storm god. Adding to the confusion is a wounded merman named Aidan who washes up in the cove, requiring Nick’s professional help. As it turns out, the handsome mer and his partner Liam have other plans for the ER doctor — to claim him as their agapetos, their destined mate, and fulfill his need to submit.
A chance encounter at a local junk shop reveals that Nick has his own role to play in the battle against the insane Nereid Thetis. Under the reluctant mentorship of Chiron, Nick must master the use of the Rod of Asclepius if he wants to rescue his mates from a ghastly fate and help Ian save the planet.
###
Ian West, God of Storms, stared at the cloudless blue sky over the cove. He hefted his trident, sighting up the shaft as he aimed the dark grey tines upwards, and concentrated.
Nothing happened. He concentrated some more.
Still nothing.
There was a small sigh behind him. “I believe the human phrase is, put your back into it.”
Ian gritted his teeth. “I’m trying,” he said. “It’s not working.”
Another sigh. “Three days ago you were able to defuse a hurricane with no focusing agent or any sort of training. And now you expect me to believe you can’t condense a single small cloud on a bright day?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I expect you to believe.” He jammed the butt of the trident into the sand, turning to glare at Poseidon, God of the Seas. “I don’t know how I defused the hurricane, all right? You want to know how I did it, go ask Gaia.”
“I don’t have to,” Poseidon said calmly. “She already told me. She may have helped you with defeating Thetis, but she said you dismantled the hurricane all by yourself.”
“Then it was instinctive.”
One auburn eyebrow raised at that. “Instinctive? For a former human to control the weather? Another human phrase just came to mind — ‘Pull the other one, it has got bells on.’”
Ian swallowed a few choice curse words. Telling his new father-in-law to go fuck himself wasn’t the most intelligent move in the world, no matter how satisfying it would be. “I know you don’t believe me, but it was instinct,” he said. “I knew how hurricanes worked, knew I had to shut it down, and just did what felt right. I don’t know how else to describe it.” He pointed his free hand at the turquoise cove. “This is something completely different.”
The other god studied him, then finally shrugged. “Perhaps we’re approaching this from the wrong angle. Whereas it would simply be an effort of will for me, it seems to be more of an intellectual process for you, most likely due to your common origins.”
“Oh, thanks.”
“It’s the truth,” Poseidon said, unperturbed. “So. How would a cloud naturally form over water?”
Still annoyed, Ian thought about the meteorological processes he’d researched for his eco-thriller Greenstrike. “Sunlight warms the water and causes it to evaporate, and that creates a layer of warm, moist air,” he said. “Since heat rises, this gets boosted up into the atmosphere. When the layer reaches a certain point, it starts to cool, and some of the water vapor molecules starts clumping together. Get enough of them condensing, and you get a cloud.”
“Simplistic but accurate enough for our purposes,” Poseidon said. “And of course when large amounts of water vapor condenses, you get rain or snow. And if that warm air mass meets a cooler, drier mass, it can precipitate water vapor condensation over a large area, causing widespread cloud formation that, under the right circumstances, can become a storm.”
“Thank you, Bill Nye.”
Poseidon frowned. “Who?”
“Never mind. So what am I trying to do?”
The sea god gave him a long-suffering look. “Focus on the surface of the water. Gather the vapor, forcing it to coalesce as it rises into the air.”
Grimly, Ian turned back to the water. He pointed the titanium trident at the space directly over the waves and narrowed his concentration. One of the more useful things about his new godsight was the ability to zoom in and out on objects. Within moments, he found himself watching shimmering spheres of water vapor separating from the tops of the waves, dancing up into the sky.
Reaching out with the new powers granted to him by the earth goddess Gaia, he tried to gather the vapor droplets together as they drifted upwards. It was somewhat like herding fireflies, but after awhile he managed to shove enough of them together to form a wisp of cloud over the cove. Pulling back his concentration, he discovered he was breathless and dripping with sweat. “Shit. Is it always going to be that hard?”
“No. You’ll get better with practice.” Poseidon’s eyes narrowed as he studied the small drift of water vapor. “Not bad, not bad at all. Now dissolve it.”
“What? Why?”
“You can’t randomly create weather and then just leave it to its own devices. That’s how natural disasters get started.”
Ian wanted to throw the damn trident into the ocean and head back to the cottage for shower. “I’ve made bigger steam clouds than that cooking spaghetti,” he said, waving at the wisp. “What the hell is that going to do?”
“At the moment, nothing,” Poseidon said. “But it could drift further inland, gathering water vapor and increasing in size as it goes. It’s a warm, sunny day — plenty of moisture in the air for it to feed on. Next thing you know, it’s grown into a cloud bank, sucking in more water and expanding even more as it drifts over the land.”
He cupped a hand, bringing it to the one holding his golden trident. “And then it meets a cooler, drier mass of air, and tries to rise to get over it. But when it reaches its expansion point it starts to cool and its load of water vapor condenses, turning into rain. The masses of air also create charged ions, so now you have a thunderstorm. The storm moves even further inland, meeting yet another mass of cooler air.
Both hands now drew parallel circles in the air. “The masses churn, violently shearing over each other. A rotating vortex of air is created this way, and one end slowly falls to earth. When it reaches the ground, it begins to suck up dirt and debris, turning the vortex dark and visible. The new tornado proceeds to rip apart trees, throwing cars around like toys, erasing homes from their foundations. It kills people and animals, demolishes property, and leaves a raw scar of destruction in its wake. All because you couldn’t be bothered to stop it when it was just a small cloud.”
Ian flinched in horror. “Jesus. Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I wish I was.” Poseidon leaned on his trident, giving him a grave look. “I’m not teaching you how to control the weather for the fun of it. I’m here because the weather is one of the most important planetary control systems Gaia has, and since you now have control over it you must be taught what you can and cannot do. For all their size, weather patterns are actually quite fragile, and can be changed in monumental ways by relatively small things. I suspect you’ve heard the phrase ‘the butterfly effect?’”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s quite apt. A small waft of vapor here can spawn into a killer tornado a hundred miles away. Which is why I’m now asking you to dissolve that cloud. Please.”
Dry-mouthed, Ian nodded and lifted his trident again, concentrating on driving the vapor particles apart. Slowly, the cloud melted away, leaving nothing but clear air. “Okay?”
“Perfect.” Poseidon eyed him. “Well, I think that’s enough for today. You need a shower, and I’m in the mood for lunch.”
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Reviews are coming in for Trickster
It seems to be scoring mainly 4 stars from the big review sites, which is heartening. The general upshot seems to be, “We like it, the whole ‘fated mates’ thing is getting a little thin but it works here, Delaney and Mark are fun, why the hell is it so short?”
Yeah, upon reflection I probably could have extended it by at least another 10K (I do gloss over two weeks’ worth of character development and possible humpa humpa, bad writer, no new laptop). The problem was, it started life as a short story, and when I couldn’t finish it in time for Evernight’s alpha shifter antho call I tried to turn it into a Romance on the Go™ story. Then it got too big for that, and I knew it was going to be a standalone.
While I was working on it, however, I had put Two to Tango on the back burner, and I knew I had Breaker Zone and Behind the Iron Cross backed up even further, so yeah, I may have given Trickster a bit more short shrift than I should have, and I apologize for that. If it’s of any consolation, I want to do two more stories in that universe, and those will be much longer. Of course, the stories I want to do center around the CEO Scott and his mate Carmen, and Aimee the receptionist, and I don’t have the best track record with M/F stories.
I dunno, maybe I’ll do another Delaney and Mark story first to establish the universe a bit more. I have to admit, I really, REALLY want to do a straight up bantering romcom with those two, maybe send them off to an IT convention in Vegas where an old shifter fling of Delaney’s tries to muscle in him and Mark. As for Mark, I’m thinking something appropriately fan-oriented. Maybe there’s a Creation Con going on in the same hotel and his geek heart is torn between snarling at Delaney’s ex-girlfriend and finally, FINALLY getting an autograph from his all time favorite actor. Must muse on this a bit.
A little late for resolutions, but what the hey
Starting today, I’m going to try and post something here everyday, because if y’all are checking in on a regular basis, I really owe it to you to get on my stick and give you something to read.
So, info nugget number one: after turning into the WIP That Would Not Die, Two to Tango is finished, polished, done de done done done, and off to Evernight as of a few hours ago. When I started the story, I thought it would top out at maybe 40K or so. Final word count was 66K. This is what happens when you decide to add not one but two batches of family drama as a subplot. It doesn’t help what when I was grousing to a writer buddy of mine about the fact that the damn story just kept growing, she tweeted to me:
(giggling & pointing) “First book of series, first book of series…you’re in for it now!”
I told her not to take it the wrong way, but I hated her. I already HAVE an ongoing series that I need to work on, plus people have been asking for a full-length A Boon by Moonlight sequel, PLUS the other erotic romance novels I want to do, plus the SF and urban fantasy novels I want to do. I actually have a list of 20 books already in my To Be Written/Finished queue (and yes, in case anyone’s interested, that includes the two Trickster sequels I have planned). That’s twenty full-length, 60-100K novels. To quote the hangman in Blazing Saddles, darling, I’m swamped.
I think a lot depends on 1) if it gets accepted, and 2) how well it does. There’s certainly more than enough material for additional books (in addition to the family drama, I created a nifty little device call the Puppet Wars that explains why nanite arrays and bioaugmentation was outlawed in this universe, and there’s a pissed off law enforcement officer who’s pretty much screaming for revenge). It’s up to Evernight now.
In the meantime, nugget two: now that TtT is off, I’m getting back to work on Breaker Zone and Behind the Iron Cross (I’m writing them in parallel because there’s so little crossover between the two I don’t have to worry about plot contamination). Have no idea when those will be done, and I’ve learned not to give ETAs — we’ll just have to see how fast I can get them finished. At least the nice thing about this delay is that I’ve solidified the characterization in BZ, which means I’m going to have to rewrite at least the first three chapters. But hell, if it’s good enough for Tiffany Reisz, it’s good enough for me.
So yeah, that’s where I stand this Monday night. Stay tuned!
Mid Week Tease: Two to Tango #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a turning point from my current WIP, a M/M SF erotic caper story titled Two to Tango.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Rory Maclellan, aka the Highlander, is one of the most successful interstellar art thieves out there. He’s careful, professional, and plans his heists down to the microsecond. Surprisingly, he also has a conscience. So when he runs into a suicidal museum worker during his latest job, he has no choice but to stun the man and rescue him from certain death.
Dmitri Grigoryev was an up-and-coming exoarchaeologist until a disastrous dig left his career in tatters. Hungry, broke, and about to be laid off from the only job he’s been able to find in the last three years, he never expected a dashing thief to come along and ruin his suicide by saving his life.
With interstellar police on their tail, Rory and Dmitri reluctantly join forces for a major heist. But will their simmering attraction get in the way, or pull them even closer?
###
“You didn’t ruin my life, Mr. MacLellan,” Dmitri said quietly. “It was ruined well before I ever saw you. Would you like to know the real reason why I was trying to kill myself in the museum that night?”
The thief looked startled, then solemn. “If you’re okay with telling me that,” he said. “Then yes, I would.”
Dmitri nodded. “For the last three years, I’ve been scrimping and saving every credit I could get my hands on to get the P. Centauri III case reopened. It was the only way I could clear my name and get my career and life back. Three years of living in a rundown boarding house, wearing second-hand clothing and living on freeze-dried noodles and vat protein just past its sell-by date.” His mouth pursed. “And sometimes well past its sell-by date. All so that I could pay an investigator to find evidence that the van der Waals set me up, and a lawyer to bring my case in front of a civil judiciary panel.
“That finally happened about a week ago. I took two days off that I really couldn’t afford and went down to the Justice Center to testify against the van der Waals’ lawyer.” He smiled humorlessly. “They couldn’t even be bothered to show up themselves. Somehow, my investigator was able to get ahold of a partial audio recording from the site that was made just before the geyser blew. Everyone in the room heard my voice begging Helene to stop and get everyone out of the cavern. Both my lawyer and I thought it was open and shut case. We were wrong.”
Bitterness crept into his voice. “The day before the sterilization, they handed down the verdict. The original ruling of negligence was upheld. To add insult to injury, I was ordered to pay the van der Waals’ court costs. And then pissing on both insult and injury, I got to the museum and found out that I was fired. They claimed there was no record of my request for time off, and canned me for unapproved absences. I suspect that Helene spoke to someone on the board, who spoke to the director, et voila. And since I was fired, I wasn’t even eligible for unemployment chits.”
He turned one hand up, not so much a questioning gesture as one of resignation. “So there I was — unemployed, broke, with a huge legal bill hanging over my head, and no chance of ever going back to my old life. There was nothing else to do. Even if I went to work in a pleasure palace, I wouldn’t make enough to pay off the van der Waals’ bill for years. If I died in the museum, it would cause a scandal at the very least and embarrass that chickenshit bastard of a director.”
MacLellan had crossed his arms, face growing darker with each detail. “Those sons of bitches. Doc—”
“Dmitri.”
“Dmitri.” He took a deep breath. “I can get you the best legal eagle in the Known Worlds. I’ll make sure that warrant gets dropped, one way or another. You want your life back, I swear to God I’ll do my damnedest to make that happen.”
The anger and determination in the other man’s voice shocked him. “But — why?”
MacLellan bared a rictus grin. “Let’s just say I have very personal reasons to dislike people who abuse their wealth and power. Trust me, nailing that pair to the wall for you would be a pleasure.”
Dmitri stared at the man opposite him. What he proposed would not only be hideously expensive, but personally dangerous. “Those are the kindest words I’ve heard in three years,” he said slowly. “But no. I don’t want you to run that kind of risk. They’re not worth it.”
“Not — they ruined your life, man!”
“True. And then you saved it. Not only that, you gave me something I desperately needed.”
MacLellan frowned. “Which was?”
“The knowledge that things can change, even when you least expect it. You gave me a sense of hope.”
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Mid Week Tease: Two to Tango #MWTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. I’m still doing teasers for Two to Tango, but this week we’re going to feature a not-so-hot scene after Rory makes two very big mistakes, only one of which is breaking into a sociopathic Russian mafia member’s home.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Rory MacLellan, aka the Highlander, is one of the most successful interstellar art thieves out there. He’s careful, professional, and plans his heists down to the microsecond. Surprisingly, he also has a conscience. So when he runs into a suicidal museum worker during his latest job, he has no choice but to stun the man and rescue him from certain death.
Dmitri Grigoryev was an up-and-coming exoarchaeologist until a disastrous dig left his career in tatters. Hungry, broke, and about to be laid off from the only job he’s been able to find in the last three years, he never expected a dashing thief to come along and ruin his suicide by saving his life.
With interstellar police on their tail, Rory and Dmitri reluctantly join forces for a major heist. But will their simmering attraction get in the way, or pull them even closer?
###
The world slowly reformed around Rory, brightening from black to a murky grey. He blinked, trying to lick his lips, and winced from the sudden pain that blazed in his jaw. “Ow.”
“Welcome back, Mr. MacLellan.”
Neck creaking, he looked up. A statuesque woman with silver hair swept up in an elegant coif stood in front of him, her dark blue evening gown quite out of place against the plain cinderblock walls. “I’d expected you to be awake by now. I was starting to wonder if Drou has lost his touch.”
She glanced at a huge mountain of a man who stood to her left. He glared at Rory, one hand dropping to the shockrod attached to his belt. “But now that you’re awake, we can get started,” she added.
Rory forced his brain into gear. He was strapped to a chair in a smallish rectangular room that looked like it was somewhere in the mansion’s basement, judging from the damp chill in the air and the block wall construction. More concerning were the tools, both surgical and construction, that hung neatly on wall racks, and the metal rolling tray loaded with unpleasantly sharp shapes. A series of surgical lamps were suspended overhead, and the floor was plain concrete with, yes, a drain in it.
The downward glance confirmed he was naked. Oh, fuck me with a mass driver. This is gonna get ugly.
He cleared his throat, forcing a smile despite the shards of agony it caused. “Madame Grishov, I presume?”
Her head tilted. “Indeed. You can imagine my surprise, Mr. MacLellan, when I was informed by my house AI that someone had penetrated the defenses. Most thieves are smart enough to avoid my home, unless they’re suicidal or truly stupid. And from what I understand of your reputation, you are neither.”
Rory tried to dredge up some charm. “You flatter me, madame. It’s a shame you had to leave the ballet early — I wasn’t counting on that.”
“Yes, neither was I. Especially as it’s been a rather busy week and I was very much looking forward to the performance.” Madame Grishov removed her black satin gloves, revealing hands peppered by age spots but with obvious strength in them. She handed the gloves to Drou, who handed back a pair in black leather. “So I’m afraid you’re going to have to entertain me tonight, Mr. MacLellan.”
As she pulled on the new gloves, Rory could see the flat lead pads sewn into the palms, and the blunted chrome studs mounted over each knuckle. He fought to hold onto his smile. “You know, this really isn’t necessary,” he said quickly. “I’m fully aware I invaded your privacy, and I need to pay for that — let’s say, 100,000 credits? I’m sure we could reach a satisfactory amount if we put our minds to it.”
That earned him a faint, wintry smile. “I’m sure we could,” she said calmly. “But where’s the fun in that?”
Her arm went up and back. He had just enough time to brace himself before she backhanded him. Pain exploded through his face, and he swallowed a shout.
An openhanded slap on the other cheek violently rocked his head to the other side, the small lead plates in the glove lending agonizing power to the blow. Blood filled his mouth from where his teeth had gashed into tender flesh. Grimacing, he swallowed what he could, and let the rest of it drool onto his chin. Maybe if she sees blood, she’ll be happy.
Her eyes lit up at the sight. Oh, shit. Wrong kind of happy.
“Would it help if I said I was sorry?” he managed.
“Not really. I already know you’re sorry.” She gripped his chin hard, forcing his face up. “But I do admit to some curiosity. Obviously you were here to steal the Lady of Kazan, since we found the duplicate in your carryall.” Her grip tightened, and for a moment he wondered if she was going to break his jaw. “But it isn’t nearly as valuable as other items in my collection, items that would be much easier for a thief to carry. So I have to wonder why you went to all the trouble of breaking into my home and risking an extremely prolonged and creative death in order to steal that particular ikon.”
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Yes, this may be self-indulgent
But considering how Two to Tango got inspired in the first place, this section is staying in the book:
Dmitri swallowed, staring at his father. “I didn’t think you’d let me come back. And even if you did, I couldn’t do what … you wanted me to do.”
Eyes flickered away from him. “I wouldn’t have asked you to. Fyodor took your place. He’s everything I ever wanted.”
The old pain washed over him, still stinging after all these years. “In a son.”
“In an heir. You are still my son, but you would have made a terrible boss. You’re too tender, too kind for your own good.” A chuffed laugh. “This is what happens when you let a crazy intellectual be your child’s godfather.”
Dmitri dredged up a smile. “Uncle Misha was a good man.”
“He was a crackpot, with all his acts of kindness and those ridiculous hunts of his. If he hadn’t been your mother’s favorite brother, I never would have let him in the house.”
I love this kind of creative domino effect
Thanks to the kind and gracious Colby Keller (NSFW because he is a performer in cinema sans culottes, but I write smut so you shouldn’t be reading my blog at work anyway), I now have a soundtrack for the Olympic Cove series. Some time ago Mr. Keller had posted a picture of a handsome young blond walking on a beach and invited his readers to respond to the picture in song, with the idea of using any responses in a music video he was calling “Hookers on the Beach” (the man is nothing if not puckish).
In response, Andrew Klaus of the band Mattachine Social contributed a lovely composition to the project, and wound up releasing it as an track for his new project Boarding School. He even dedicated the track to Colby, which prompted Colby to write a blog post about the album (yes, I still call them albums. I’m old, moving on now…).
I saw the post, thought, “Hm, might as well give it a try,” popped over to the BandCamp site and started listening to the Colby-dedicated track. Then went back to the beginning and started skipping through all the songs. Then bought the entire album because Mute Songs vol. 01 by Boarding School is not only the exact type of music I like to listen to while writing, but also fits my mental theme of the Olympic Cove series like they were made for each other. The album is in “pay what you think it’s worth” mode, but chuck in at least $12 if you’ve got it — that’s the average price of similar works on iTunes, and it’s well worth it to help support people who can make music like this.
Which just goes to demonstrate the cause and effect nature of inspiration — what you put out there can inspire others to do the same. Gotta love it!
Mid Week Tease: Two to Tango #MWTease #MidWeekTease
Happy Hump Day! Let’s celebrate it with another wonderful Mid Week Tease, courtesy of the lovely and talented Sandra Bunino. This week, I’ll be sharing a teaser from my current WIP, a M/M SF erotic caper story titled Two to Tango. I’m also doing something a little different this week, in that this isn’t an explicitly erotic tease — you actually get to see Rory in action, and how he met Dmitri.
Enjoy, and make sure to hit the list after the teaser to see other great Mid Week Teases!
Rory MacLellan, aka the Highlander, is one of the most successful interstellar art thieves out there. He’s careful, professional, and plans his heists down to the microsecond. So when he runs into a suicidal museum worker during his latest job, he has no choice but to stun the man and rescue him from certain death, because he’ll be damned if he gets blamed for the man’s murder.
Dmitri Grigoryev was an up-and-coming exoarchaeologist until a disastrous dig left his career in tatters. Hungry, broke, and about to be laid off from the only job he’s been able to find in the last three years, he never expected a dashing thief to come along and ruin his suicide by saving his life.
With interstellar police on their tail, Rory and Dmitri reluctantly join forces for a major heist. But will their simmering attraction get in the way, or pull them even closer?
###
Rory MacLellan loved this part of a heist.
Grinning, he slipped down the darkened access hallway towards the target. The worn industrial carpet deadened the sound of his footsteps, not that there was anyone around to hear them tonight.
Not unless they really wanted to die.
He checked his heads up display, noting the time. Less than twenty minutes before airtight bulkhead doors would slam down throughout the Novy Vladivostok Museum of Art and History. The atmosphere would then be sucked out of the entire building, replaced with a sterilizing gas designed to kill vermin and artifact-destroying bacteria. The fact that the gas would also kill any humans still in the building guaranteed that the museum would be empty.
As far as he was concerned, the museum higher-ups couldn’t have picked a better time to do their yearly sterilization sweep. Their new exhibit Other Worlds, Other Gods was scheduled to go on display tomorrow, and its star attraction, a fist-sized chunk of pure opal known as the Eye of the Mother, was tonight’s prize.
He’d already done the tricky part; bribing underpaid planetary border agents for access, parking his cloaked skimship on the roof of the museum, and using a worm app to open a hole in museum security. The actual break-in activities were much simpler. A mimetic bodysuit and helmet took on the pattern of whatever was behind him and diverted body heat to sinks in the boot soles, rendering him effectively invisible to both standard and infrared cameras. His faceplate, doubling as a heads up display, turned the shadowy hallway into a brightly lit corridor. All the tools he’d need for safecracking and related activities were securely stored in a mimetic bag on his hip.
Now he just had to get to the museum’s workroom, pick its electronic lock, break into the safe there, retrieve the Eye of the Mother, and get out before sterilization commenced. Easy.
Still grinning, he reached the workroom door and pulled out a small black cylinder with a rubbery grey end from his bag. Pushing the rubbery bit against the lock, he waited until the smartgel sussed out the electronic code. A loud click sounded and he eased open the door, sliding through the gap into the workroom. A sudden flash of light made him wince. His faceplate cut in, compensating for the unexpected glow from a workstation lamp.
Rory tsked. Wasting energy was just sloppy. “Molly, room schematic,” he sub-vocalized.
“Coming up, sir.” The HUD now showed a graphic overlay of the workroom, and a glowing red outline in the far left corner indicated the safe. “May I remind you that you have eighteen minutes to complete your retrieval before sterilization commences.”
“Yup, I know.” The countdown in the lower left corner of the HUD was impossible to ignore.
“Your bodysuit will protect you from the gas, but all exits will automatically seal and I will not be able to re-open the roof hatch.”
“I know.”
“You’ll be a sitting duck when museum security returns in the morn—“
“Molly. Stop telling me what can go wrong.”
A beat of blessed silence. “Sorry, sir.”
Rory rolled his eyes. His ship AI was the finest in the business and the closest thing he had to a best friend, but sometimes she really chapped his nads. “Moving to the safe now.”
#
Dr. Dmitri Grigoryev sat at his workstation, ignoring his headache and the painful growl in his midsection. He’d hoped that some of his coworkers had left some food in the employee lounge. Even a sealie of chips or a stale sandwich would have been nice. But they’d cleared everything out in advance of the sterilization.
So he would die hungry. At least it’ll only be for a little while longer. After that, it’s up to God. Assuming that whatever deity there was, if there was one, took pity on someone like him.
He went over the workstation again, tidying the tools, putting everything in its place. There wasn’t much to do, really, but he was a stickler about keeping his personal spaces neat. He’d already cleaned out his locker, and his suicide note was logged in the system to be delivered to the museum director at six AM, long after the sterilizing gas had done its job.
There would be an investigation into how he’d gotten into the building, of course. Security had already done their pre-sterilization sweep, and the place was supposed to be locked down tight to guard against any accidental deaths. Fortunately for him, one of the friendlier security guards had showed him how to get around the entry codes a few months after he’d started. “Tired of having to come rescue you folks when you lock yourselves out,” he’d said, giving Dmitri the bypass instructions.
Of course, he’d wanted a little something in return. And ignoring the roiling self-disgust in his belly, Dmitri had gone along with it. Compared to three years ago, a quick fuck in the loading dock was nothing. At least the guard had fed him, too. He sometimes thought it was a shame the guard had gotten married soon afterwards and left the museum. If nothing else, he could have used the free food.
Absently, he wondered if anyone else should be notified about his death. His family … no. And he had no real friends. He toyed with the idea of sending a copy of his note to Joss and Helene, but finally decided against it. If they still remembered him after three years, they’d probably feel relieved that he was dead. And the last thing he wanted them to feel was relief.
Something wet trickled down his face. It took him a moment to realize he was crying. He felt numb inside, so why would he be crying? It didn’t make sense. He swiped a sleeve across his eyes, the cheap fabric of his coveralls smearing the water more than absorbing it. His stomach rumbled again painfully, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since the day before. What was it? A biscuit? It didn’t matter. A few more minutes, and he wouldn’t have to worry about anything anymore.
He took a deep breath, trying to imagine what it would feel like when the searing gas entered his lungs. Would it feel like drowning, or breathing fire? And how long would it take for him to die? He was so wrapped up in his oncoming death, he almost ignored the soft noise behind him.
Then he heard a second sound, a metallic ka-clink.
Turning in his chair, he stared at the cheap room dividers that separated the workstations from the larger cleaning zones and the workroom vault, a sizable walk-in space located in the far corner. Normally the vault was used to store rare items that were undergoing restoration or pieces that were being prepared for display.
Wasn’t something going on display tomorrow? The Eye of something? He’d caught a glimpse of it over the shoulder of his manager that very morning, a fist-sized chunk of carved black opal from some planet on the outer Rim.
Frowning, he stood and went over to the room dividers, peering around the edge. The cleaning zones were fairly dim, and his night vision was nonexistent thanks to the lamp on his workstation. But he could still see the vault door. It was closed.
Idiot. He’d been imagining things, illusions most likely brought on by hunger and lightheadedness. He turned to go back to his workstation.
Then turned back. There, against the far wall, something moved. A vague outline, almost like a heat haze on a hot day.
A man-shaped outline.
A burst of anger-fueled adrenaline surged through him. He remembered the security lectures from his first days there, how modern art thieves used mimetic technology to break into buildings and remove artifacts. Of course a thief would pick the time right before sterilization to steal something.
You greedy bastard. You couldn’t just let me die in peace, could you? A giddy sense of outrage joined the adrenaline, and he clenched his fists. Fine.
If he was going to die in that miserable place, at least he could take a thieving honor guard with him.
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