Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Last part here
But if Samuel was going to face off against Absalom, he needed more strength. Hidden by a five-pound bag of mini carrots, a fresh cold pack of blood rested on the bottom shelf of the fridge. And even more convenient than the blood storage at work, he had a microwave that in thirty-seven seconds would serve it body temperature.
The microwave dinged, and he allowed his fangs to descend. Tearing into the bag, he emptied it in a couple of swallows.
“Sam? Are you coming back to bed?”
Samuel started. How long had he been standing naked in his kitchen, staring down at the empty blood bag in the trash?
He pushed away from the wall, head as fuzzy as if the bag had been full of opium. Blake. Blake in bed waiting for him. Why did that seem wrong? Some dream of demons and monsters and Blake’s corpse, cold and still.
Samuel shook his head to clear it, his lip catching on a fang. Why were they still down? He licked the blood from his lips and teeth and went into their bedroom.
Blake was sprawled on their bed, one dark-furred leg bent, shadowing his cock and balls. The sight made desire curl through Samuel’s stomach and he flung himself on his lover.
Blake met his kiss and then pulled away. “Again? Didn’t you get enough?” His low voice rumbled with that teasing whisper.
Samuel’s cock insisted that there was no such thing as enough. The fresh blood coursed down, pumping him hard. His balls ached as if satisfaction had long been denied. “No,” he answered.
Blake tipped up his neck, offering that blood-rich skin to Samuel’s tongue and his fangs started to drop again. He cupped Blake’s ass in his hands, fingers sliding into the crease.
“Hmm?” He could almost taste Blake, the sweet fresh smell overpowering the flat metallic taste of the old blood on his tongue. He’d be deep inside him when he sank his teeth into a vein, wrist or throat, the warmth sliding along his throat while Blake’s hot muscles clamped around his cock.
“C’mon. You were going to tell me about that sword. The one in the living room. Remember?”
Remembering seemed to be the last thing Samuel wanted to do. Not when there was all this hot male flesh under his hands. His fingers found Blake’s hole, still loose and wet from their last fuck. For an instant, he remembered that dream with perfect clarity. Blake smelling of death instead of life. Silent. Motionless. Why did that dream suddenly feel more real than this moment?
“Samuel? The sword.”
The sword. Fuck the sword. Samuel held Blake open with his thumbs, rubbing the head of his own cock against the slick skin of his crease.
“Sam? Sam?” The hard rap of skin on glass, echoing through the room.
He looked over his shoulder. Dawn was starting to light the sky, and in that dim light he could make out Ken, face pressed against the window while he pounded on it with both hands.
Blake and the bed were gone. He was in the living room and something dark was rushing from the lighted horizon. Rushing straight for Ken.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Part XVIII is here.
He turned as a stunned smile spread across his face. “Blake?” It was a trick. Samuel knew it was a trick, but oh how he wanted it to be real.
Green eyes sparkled with sly delight. “Who else, baby?” Blake sat on the couch beside him, so close that his thigh pressed against Samuel’s, but no warmth, no pulse of life came with the touch. He reached out a hand and trailed cool, lifeless fingers along Samuel’s cheek.
Samuel’s expression darkened. He wanted to pull away, forced himself to remain where he was. This was his ground, his home for fuck’s sake. He wasn’t going to let some game-playing, undead shape-shifter take command here. “Blake is dead,” he said with a chill that would have weakened any living soul. The faux-Blake didn’t flinch, but his hand ceased its caress. “You’re not even a good fake. Blake hates—” He caught himself, made the painful correction though grinding teeth. “—hated pet names. Whoever the hell you are, you are not winning any points with me this way. Drop the act.”
The image before him shifted into another face, this one less familiar yet recognizable still. Dark eyes in the face of an angel. Blake’s large form shrank in on itself to become small and lithe.
“Demosteles of Corinth,” said Samuel with contempt. “Of course. Come to do your master’s bidding, have you? He’s too busy, naturally. Too important to come here himself, so he sent his tool instead.” The dig struck home. The ancient one removed his hand from Samuel’s cheek. Samuel allowed himself a tiny smile of satisfaction. It flickered across his lips and was gone. “I don’t recall inviting you into my home.” It was a stalling technique. The elder vampire, while still subject to many rules, had outlived that particular barrier’s restraint where those like himself were concerned.
“Don’t let’s play that game. It’s an insult to us both,” snapped Demosteles. His tone was almost petulant, still stinging from Samuel’s insult. Good. Samuel was glad to have found what could be the only chink in Demosteles ancient armor. “You know why I’m here.” The elder vampire leaned in to him, licked full lips, making them wet, tantalizing, inviting. “I thought we could make this a pleasant transaction. You give me the sword and I give you something in return. You’ll not be disappointed.” One hand massaged Samuel’s leg, moving up towards more dangerous territory, and he felt himself weakening, drawn into the other man’s seductive web.
Only Demosteles’ smirk and soft “Shhh” clued Samuel into the fact that he’d shouted the word. Samuel swallowed hard against rising desire that he knew wasn’t real, was merely a manipulation. He met Demosteles’ dark gaze with his own. “Get off of my couch and out of my house. You can’t do anything here without my consent and I do not consent.”
With a snarl worthy of any werewolf, the ancient one rose fluidly to his feet. “Watch your step, youngling. He won’t take kindly to your poor treatment of me.”
Samuel stood up slowly and took a deliberate step towards his unwelcome guest. His voice was calm and low, his diction precise, driving home each word with its simple clarity. “I don’t give a good god damn what he will and what he won’t.” This creature, this underling, this pawn was not going to get to him. Samuel would not allow it. He needed more time to think and plan. There were still rules of engagement and if Absolom thought he could work around them by sending this one to do his dirty work, he had another think coming. Samuel knew better.
He took another menacing step towards Demosteles, who didn’t move but whose demeanor grew wary. Samuel wasn’t overly tall, but he was certainly taller than the form the other man preferred to take and he used that height difference for all it was worth. He loomed. “This is my place,” he said, his tone as dark as his expression, as dark as his eyes. “My domain. Get the fuck out of my home.” Samuel followed the curse with the ancient spell of command that not even this elder vampire could defy. “Demosteles of Corinth, I banish you from this place for as long as I possess it.”
Demosteles’ expression was one of stunned disbelief mixed with fury. Before he could voice the protest he was so obviously preparing, he vanished, forced out of his spot in time and space by the power of Samuel’s invocation.
Samuel stood still in the middle of his living room for several seconds, waiting. A tiny part of him hadn’t expected the spell to work. He was relieved to find that part mistaken. He smiled grimly. “Tell me there’s no power in knowing someone’s name…” he muttered to the empty room. Then it struck him. An idea of how he might defeat Absolom Shedim. His smile grew predatory.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Last part here.
Samuel stared at the sword. He’s had it so long he rarely thought about it. In fact, it hung there practically ignored. But now it had his full attention. He reached up to take it down, then stopped, remembering Absolom’s words. He said that Samuel would relinquish the sword to him, however, if he knew where to find the sword, why hadn’t he just taken it himself?
He withdrew his hands, fingers curling into fists. That’s exactly what Absolom wanted. For some reason, he can’t retrieve the sword himself, so he transported him here, where Samuel would take hold of the sword. Then what? Could Absolom take it from him? Could it be used to kill Absolom? So many questions and no answers. Yet.
“Your plan won’t work,” Samuel said out lout. No answer. His hands dragged through his hair. It had been a long night and exhaustion was grating on his nerves as was daylight. Though he could stay awake longer than sun rise, he didn’t always keep his strength. “The sword is mine, Absolom. If you want it, you have to take it.”
Silence was the response. Could he be wrong? A string of curses flowed from his mouth. He didn’t have the patience for games tonight. He’d lost an ex-love, while nearly losing his current flame. Not to mention all the mental games and running from room to room.
Samuel sat on the couch and made himself comfortable. Doubt crept in, but he held to his decision. He would not touch the sword until Absolom made himself seen and he obtained more answers. He hoped being away from the hospital would keep his friends and the others safe. Then again, this being could teleport.
“I know you are here. Might as well show yourself.” He swallowed hard. He was no match for the ancient, but perhaps he had a chance to outsmart him. “I can sit here all day.”
“You are a stubborn fool, aren’t you?” Behind him a voice sounded, making Samuel jump.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
However! I was so, so, SO pleasantly surprised by the stories I was told about the authors, the readers, and the fans in general. My publisher presented topics on several panels and there was more than one successful booksigning. People were interested and polite. To quote directly from the report from the Torquere Press blog:
Does this mean we're welcome everywhere with open arms? No. But it does mean that things are getting better, and that there's an awareness out there that didn't exist even a year ago about what we do. I think that we're doing the best thing we can, which is presenting our books in a professional, accepting manner, working with people instead of against them, and every one of us who goes out and does an event can bring one more mind around to the idea that there's room for all of us. Everyone deserves a happy ending, no matter who they are, or what their sexuality is.
I think a happy ending is a right, not a privilege.
Friday, April 25, 2008
The thing that surprised me the most was the number of (for lack of a better word) prim-looking ladies who picked up the brochures I'd done to pimp our Dragon's Disciple world. I made it a point to let them know it was erotic urban fantasy featuring male/male pairings and while a couple went "Oh," and put the flyer back the majority simply nodded, tucked the promo into their bags and went on their way.
*punches fist in air* Open-minded grandmotherly types unite!
Thursday, April 24, 2008
I have finally made myself sit down and list those small details (eye color, tats--what and where, ages, full names--including middle names, etc) for my Hearth & Home guys. Granted, Robbie and Seth? Those are a given. But Jack, Ty, Susan Sexton, Kristy, Jeremy... Those are a little more complicated.
It's kind of funny, going through the older stories and snips here and there, searching for the slightest mention of the details most would overlook. But Lord, we authors, if anything, are sticklers for details like that.
Hmm...maybe I need to just break down and buy a binder for the series. Lord knows I need to be better organized. LOL
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
But Alex sees himself as a mentor to Jamie, someone to look up to, someone to prove to the kid that being a gay man does not mean casual sex in crowded clubs. He tries to keep his distance, both physically and emotionally, but Jamie becomes a part of his life in a way Alex doesn't expect. Alex must choose between giving into his desires or leaving the program ~ and Jamie ~ behind.
When Alex pulled into the parking lot of a downtown deli, Jamie jumped out of the car before it came to a complete stop and stretched languidly like an animal just released from a cage. As he climbed out of the car, Alex noticed a few people nearby glaring at Jamie's torn shirt. It may have fit in back at the shelter, but here it made Jamie look like a punk. Opening the trunk, Alex pulled out a heavy flannel shirt his roommate had left in there. "Here," he said, holding the shirt out to Jamie. "Put this on."
Jamie frowned. "I don't want to."
"Jamie," Alex warned. In his mind he could already see the scene Jamie would make when they entered the deli, only to be turned away because of Jamie's raggedy tank top.
But Jamie shook his head. "It's too hot for that. I'm not wearing it." To prove his point, he crossed his arms and leaned against the car. "What's wrong with my shirt?"
"It's torn," Alex pointed out, as if Jamie didn't know. "You look like a bum."
"I like the way I look," Jamie glared at an older woman who edged by them on her way into the deli. "What's your problem, bitch?"
The woman turned away quickly and kept walking. "Jamie, stop it," Alex hissed. "You can't go in there wearing that shirt. They won't serve you."
"Well I'm not wearing that," he said, nodding at the flannel shirt in Alex's hand. "Let's just go to McDonald's or something, okay? A drive-thru somewhere, eat in the car." With a wink he added, "I'm a cheap date. I don't mind fast food."
Try to do something nice, Alex thought with a sigh, tossing the shirt back into the trunk. He dug through blankets and empty plastic grocery bags until he found an old T-shirt of his. The cotton was faded and worn but in one piece at least, and he held it out to Jamie. "How about this?"
After a long moment, Jamie took the shirt. "This yours?" he asked, holding it up. It was short sleeved and thin ~ Alex waited to hear his excuse for not wanting to put it on.
"Yeah," Alex said as he watched Jamie study the shirt. "It's been in the trunk for a while but it's clean. Are you going to wear it or not?"
"I'll wear it," Jamie said.
Before Alex could say anything else he stripped off his tank top, pulling the torn fabric up over his head. Alex found himself staring at the muscles along Jamie's chest, the golden skin so heavily freckled, he looked perpetually tanned. Alex shoved his hands deep into his pockets to keep from reaching out and touching the boy ~ he could imagine what those hard nipples would feel like beneath his fingers, the way the thick gold chain that hung around Jamie's neck would look pooled into the hollow of his throat, the way the ridge of Jamie's collarbone would feel between his teeth. God ...
Then Jamie pulled on the T-shirt, hiding the freckled muscles from view, and Alex managed to look away. "It's kind of snug," Jamie said, flexing his arms. Alex heard the tiny sound of a seam rip, and Jamie laughed. "I like it."
"You would," Alex muttered. He pointed into the trunk and Jamie tossed his tank top inside before Alex slammed it shut. "You look much better."
"Do you think so?" Jamie asked.
When Alex nodded, Jamie unzipped his jeans. "Jamie!" Alex cried, glancing around to make sure no one was watching. "What are you doing?"
"Don't worry," he said with a wink, stuffing the T-shirt into the waistband of his jeans. "I ain't taking it all off. Much as you'd like to see it, I'm sure."
"Jamie ..." Alex closed his eyes as Jamie's hand smoothed the shirt down flat over the bulge that poked through the open zipper, but not before catching a glimpse of light red hair that trailed into his briefs as if pointing the way. Why couldn't this be easy? "Jesus."
He heard Jamie take a step closer, and then he felt hot breath along his neck as Jamie moaned softly into his ear, the sound accompanied by the quiet hiss of the zipper. Alex could feel the press of metal against that budding erection as Jamie zipped up his jeans, and in his pockets his hands clenched into fists, nails eating into his palms because he wasn't going to touch this boy, he wasn't going to let him get under his skin. Too late, his mind whispered as Jamie sighed, and Alex could smell the sharp scent of his sweat when he drew in a shaky breath. "You can look now," Jamie breathed. "I'm decent."
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
However, I did want to share my new 46-second obsession.
I haven't had time to watch the rest of this movie (apparently it's Canadian, although this Canuck has never heard of it), but when I need a little break from work, I keep returning to this clip. There's just something about it....
Monday, April 21, 2008
Finding true love is only half the battle. For Mark and Sam, love and commitment came easily. Holding onto it, won’t be nearly as simple.
Mark Peterson is still deeply in love with Sam, his partner of 15 years. He’s perfectly happy with their relationship, even if their sex life has grown a little stale over the years. When he begins to notice Sam’s gaze wandering toward other men, he fears that his younger lover may be losing interest in him.
When Sam suddenly suggests they broaden their sexual horizons by inviting a third man into their bedroom, Mark reluctantly agrees, willing to do whatever it takes to hold onto his lover. He’s willing to share his husband’s body, so long as he retains his heart.
Together, they answer an ad in an online advertisement. The other man seems to be just what they’re looking for — handsome, hung, and only interested in no strings attached fun just as they are. It isn’t until after the excitement begins that they find out they’ve made a terrible mistake.
Read an excerpt, or buy it now from Loose ID!
“Your sword?” Absolom asked. “I think not.”
“The sword of Damocles is in my possession. Does that not make it mine?”
“Temporarily, perhaps.” Absolom paced the length of the room, his gaze wandering from one item to another, never alighting on any one thing for more than a few seconds. Halfway across the small room, he turned and stared at Samuel with an eerily intense gaze. “You will take me to the sword and relinquish it tonight, or suffer more loss.”
“Excuse me?” Samuel glanced down at the pallid face of his former lover, his beautiful eyes forever closed in slumber, and felt a rage the likes of which he’d never experienced filter through his system in a torrential wave of heat. “You have the nerve to come into my territory, cause havoc and hurt the ones I love, and then make demands on me as if I owe you something? I don’t care if you are more powerful than I am; you will vacate this building at once and for all.”
“Or what? You’ll cry.” Absolom smirked. “I have nothing to fear from you, other than your pitiful tears of anger and remorse.”
Filled with impotent rage, Samuel raced toward Absolom. The change fell upon him, his teeth and nails growing to abnormal length in preparation of the battle to come. It mattered not that he would probably be out thwarted by Absolom; he only wanted to make the creature pay for what he’d done – for Blake and Ken.
He flew into Abolsom, knocking the other creature backward with a mighty lunge of strength. Before he could do any damage, he was spun around and shoved into the wall with enough strength to knock the breath from his body. Absolom grabbed his wrists in an unbreakable grip and pinned them to the wall above Samuel’s head.
Absolom stared down at him with a lecherous, almost amused grin on his ruggedly handsome face. He tsked. “You should know better than attacking one of your elders, boy. I could snap your head clean off your neck with no more than a flick of my talons. Lucky for you that I appreciate a little pluck in my men. However, there’s no time for dalliance just now. I require the sword. Now.”
Samuel’s vision swam, the room dissolving around them in a wild swirl of insubstantial colors. Vicious nausea struck him, sending bile up the back of his throat. He squeezed his eyes closed, hoping to stem the dizzy torrent before he vomited what little sustenance he had on his stomach.
When he opened his eyes, he stood alone in his living room, facing the brick fireplace. Above the mantel, in a place of honor in his household, the sword gleamed like a silver beacon of hope. Could he use it against Absolom. He didn’t know why the other man sought the blade, but surely Samuel could use it to his own advantage.
He nervously gazed around the room, searching for Absolom. He was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t around. If Absolom was capable of teleportation, then it was possible he had mastered the ancient art of invisibility as well. Only the oldest creatures were rumored to have such abilities, but then Samuel had never met someone capable of teleportation either.
Anything was possible.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Last part here.
Samuel ran to the room. The door stood open, the detritus of medical intervention pushed to the side…crash carts and trays with adrenalin shots testimony to tragedy. A lone nurse scribbled the last note on a chart then whisked past on her whisper quite clogs. The silence was astounding. Machines that pinged a pulse, breathed breath into lungs and forced blood through veins bracketed Blake’s bed like pallbearers unable to carry him further.
Guilt crashed down about his shoulders. They must have paged him. Wrapped up with Ken, focused only on that life he’d forgotten about Blake. Abandoned him. Now, eyes that seethed passion stared blindly at a cold ceiling. Accusing him in their vacant glare as he stepped to the side of the bed and swept Blake’s hair from his stone cold forehead.
Rage welled up in his chest, grabbing his heart with claws and squeezing. A bitter snarl of frustration and grief burst unbidden from deep within. Samuel slammed the wall with his fist. The growl turned into a sob that robbed him of breath.
“Tears for the dead, from the dead.” Samuel spun at the sound of a voice. “How quaint.” Deep, rich full of the tones of unturned earth welled up from a shadow in the corner. Sinuous and deadly, the shadow moved coalescing into the shape of a man.
“Who are you?” Samuel hissed. “How did you get in here?”
Deep cinnamon eyes set in a face of burnished brass considered Samuel. His hair, waves of dark almost curls fell to frame a perfect face. “Names, names.” Bright white teeth flashed in a predator’s smile. “You asked my servant that earlier. Although, it did serve you some purpose.” Moving to the bed, the man pushed the corpse of Blake to the side and sat on edge of the bed. “Abalam, Abbadon, Merihem, many things have men called me. You might call me Absolom Shedim.” The heat of a summer sun over the sand pressed through the room as he spoke. “Men now must but have two names, or no one knows who they are.”
The only defense, until he knew what he was dealing with, was scorn. “In my time common men were called after their trade or their fathers.” Often immortal beings were cursed with a pride inverse to their power.
As though it were beneath him to rise to the taunt, Absolom shrugged. “Davidson, does not carry the same ring.”
“You had a father?” That gave Samuel something to seize on. “So you once were mortal?”
“Perhaps, maybe.” Absolom stretched out, forming his body to Blake’s like a beau catching his lover in sleep. Samuel shuddered. “Or I am legend to life.”
“Everything that once was mortal has a weakness.”
“I don’t like low hanging trees much.” The grin flashed again.
“Why did he die?” Even as he said it, Samuel knew he wouldn’t get that answer. “He shouldn’t have died. You did it.” Samuel spat the accusation.
Again, not even a flicker of remorse. “Of course. He served his use.”
“You used him and threw him out.” Even the immortal who lived off the life of others had morals. Not a mortals morals, but morals all the same. “Like yesterdays trash.”
Like a cat, he moved and curled and uncurled until he stood by Samuel’s side. A mesmerizing undulation that Samuel couldn’t even process until it was done. “And how many have you betrayed,” His voice bore the roar of the Sahara winds, “by your love?” Absolom licked his full, brown lips. “You know it, and yet you continue. Selfish. Because you cannot stand to see them die, you condemn them all call it salvation.” Rich laughter bubbled up burning Samuel with its touch. “And oh how you cry when they leave you. Betrayed by those you betrayed. Abandoned without hope as you stole it from others.”
“How dare you…”
“And yet you dare. You tinker with the life of the one you say you love now. Taunting him with tastes of your blood. Every hit an addiction layered into his soul. Twining it with sex and lust…the potions of your poison so that he begs you not to let him be without.”
“But if I left him like that he’d die.” Samuel sputtered.
“And if you bring him over, you betray him. So you string him along with tastes.” The wind turned to the hiss of serpents. “You cannot bear to see him wither and yet you know you will loathe him for your own failing if you cave. Oh what would Damocles do if he knew you had his sword?”
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Last bit here
Samuel was heartily sick of it all. And he was done running from room to room, trying to clean up after this arrogant bastard.
Watch your thoughts, child.
The voice spoke directly in his brain. Medium volume, silken tone.
“Let’s stop the games. What is it you want?” Samuel could only make use of a primitive larynx, but if power made you an asshole like the one before him, he’d take his primitive skills.
Respect. The word cracked like thunder in his skull.
Cecelia crouched unmoving in her corner, the security detail frozen. Thrashing as much as his restraints permitted, Ken murmured then groaned.
He wants me to finish him. To take what remains.
“Well then, you’re both going to be disappointed. I ask again. What do you want?”
What I want is immaterial.
Gregory’s warning had been correct then. The ancient vampire was a pawn.
What I require is a soul. Choose one for me to take. He waved a thin pale hand at the mortals in the room.
“If your master needs a soul, let him have yours.”
How quaint. Do you actually believe creatures such as we possess a soul? Why else should we feed but to replace it?
Samuel didn’t know about a soul, but he did have a conscience. And his conscience told him that these people were his to protect.
Choose or I will rip the choice from your brain. And then I will rip the heart from your chest.
If the being in front of him had that power, he would have acted already. There must be something binding him, keeping him from taking.
“What is your name?”
Do you believe that foolishness? That my name will give you some power? It is Demosteles of Corinth. Much good may it do you.
And Samuel had thought his classical studies worthless. With murmured gratitude to whatever headmaster had dragged him through The Odyssey he said, “You ask because you cannot take one without my permission. To do so would be the greatest breach of hospitality. this building is mine. You are here as a guest. The mortals in it are under my protection. I will not give any to you.”
A sigh blew like wind through Samuel’s mind. It is a public accommodation. I will go make my selection elsewhere.
“I eat here. I sleep here. This place is mine.”
And what of your breach as host? My request is not so improper.
Samuel smiled, showing all of his teeth. “Your customs, Demosteles of Corinth, not mine. In my world, you might have been permitted to leave your card—at the back door like any laborer or tradesman.”
Instead of darkening, Demosteles grew paler with rage, but if he could have acted he would have, long since. The lights in the room flickered as quickly as a strobe, but Samuel’s immortal eyes could witness Demosteles’ ignoble retreat out of the window. He’d won them a small measure of safety.
When he turned back, the security guards were helping Cecelia to her feet.
“Doctor Wexler? What happened?”
“I don’t know.” Samuel offered them all a calm smile, without the show of teeth. “I heard you scream and came in.”
Ken was still thrashing beneath the restraints.
“Would you leave me alone with Doctor Dahl? See that no one comes in,” he added to the security guards.
“Of course, Doctor.” Whatever Demosteles had done to blur the three mortals’ memories, Samuel could still smell their fear. All three were desperate to get out of this room.
When the door shut behind them, Samuel pushed a chair in front of it and crossed to Ken’s bedside. Those sea blue eyes opened and fixed on him, clearing for an instant. “Samuel. I need…”
“I know.” Samuel hoped he did know. There was only one cure he could think to offer.
He freed Ken’s hands, and then his chest. Ken’s mouth attacked his, arms pulling Samuel down. Threading his fingers through those sun-streaked curls, Samuel used the pressure of his hand and mouth to slow the kiss. Ken relaxed as arousal began to replace the gnawing hunger within him.
Ken now followed Samuel’s lead and for a moment, it was easy to forget about the events of the night, to lose himself in the familiar exciting taste and feel of Ken’s warm tongue stroking against his own. The heat of Ken’s body. The smell of life so strong as it beat through him.
Samuel wanted nothing more than to sink inside that warmth. To surrender to the rhythm of their hips meeting as he sank deep inside that hot tight hole. But that’s not what this was for. Not for Samuel, but for Ken. To save his life, his soul.
They’d gotten him into a hospital gown, and for that Samuel was thankful. As Ken relaxed back against the pillow, Samuel shoved the gown to his neck, licking the salt from that tanned skin. Ken soaked up so much sunshine, he carried it with him, let Samuel have a taste of what he could no longer fully enjoy.
Normally, he’d take his time on that expanse of bronze skin, tongue the dark nipples, the flat planes of muscle, the fine gold hairs leading him down, but the night was waning, and his own strength with it.
Ripping off the last restraint, Samuel pinned Ken’s legs apart and drew his cock into his mouth. Ken arched off the bed, driving forward and Samuel let him go deep into his throat, swallowing around him with a quick flutter.
Backing off for an instant, Samuel soaked two fingers with his spit and pressed them down under Ken’s balls. Gulping that hard cock deep again, Samuel let his fingers slide down and into Ken’s ass, twisting and rubbing.
“Shhh, love.” Samuel lifted his head again to murmur, hoping the security detail was more interested in what was going on outside the room than in it.
Unable to resist a moment for his own pleasure, Samuel ran the flat of his tongue along the shaft and then swirled the top, tasting a drop from the slit. Then he widened his jaw and took Ken to the root, breathing in the sweat and musk of his arousal, soft curls brushing Samuel’s nose as he swallowed and hummed. He used his thumb to press on Ken’s prostate from the outside, even as his fingers rubbed the gland from within.
Ken arched, fucking Samuel’s throat, words lost in indistinct gasps. When the first spurt of come hit the back of his throat, Samuel swallowed and then pulled off to sink his teeth into the inside of Ken’s thigh, while Ken bucked and shuddered, soaking his belly and Samuel’s hair.
Blood filled his mouth, the sensation dizzying on top of Samuel’s own arousal. It coated his tongue, his throat, the salty tang rich and sweet. He took as much as he dared, and by the time Ken’s breathing had slowed, he was licking the wound to seal it.
“Again. Fuck me. Please, Samuel. I need it.”
“Here. This is what you need, love.” Samuel bit deep into his thumb and coated Ken’s lips with what his veins had blended. Ken’s blood. Samuel’s immortal blood. His blood, his saliva could heal some wounds. He only hoped it could heal Ken’s soul.
Ken licked his lips, eyes wide and fixed on Samuel’s. “What—”
Samuel drove his thumb between the parted lips. Ken sucked. The tug went straight to Samuel’s unsatisfied cock, and it was all he could do not to rut against Ken’s belly.
When Samuel felt a bit lightheaded—from more than the blood pumping into his cock—he pulled his thumb free. He cleaned Ken’s lips with his tongue, the soft texture and the taste of blood almost robbing him of Samuel’s last ounce of control.
He waited, watching. Ken blinked and then looked at him. His Ken-doll. Home behind those beautiful eyes. “Sleep, Ken. You’ve had quite a night.”
The eyes blinked again. Of course, with Samuel’s blood freshly in Ken, Samuel could bid him do anything. Years from now, if he Called Ken, he would come. Is that what he had done to Blake? Was it Samuel’s unconscious need that had brought Blake into the midst of all this?
Samuel washed up at the bathroom sink, the ache of his denied cock bleeding into his thighs as the erection eased. His balls were still on the edge of mutiny when he stepped into the hall and nodded at the security guards.
He took a few steps away, exhaustion weighing down every bone and muscle he could name. Since he could name them all, he had to stop and rest against the wall.
That was where Cecelia found him. A light touch on his arm had him blinking awake and staring into her face.
“Doctor Wexler, I’m terribly sorry, but your other patient, Blake Bothman?” She lowered her eyes. “Doctor, I’m afraid he’s dead.”
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
With all his considerable strength of both body and will, Samuel tore free of Blake’s grasp, shoving him away so hard that Blake stumbled back against the bed. Blake laughed and shot him a wicked grin. “Save a little something for me, won’t you?”
“Oh, we’re not done,” snapped Samuel, although he couldn’t have said just what his promise might encompass.
As he ran from the room, the scream came again. Was that Cecilia? Shit! Where the hell was security?
This was not how he’d planned to spend his shift--racing between an ex-lover intermittently possessed by another, dead, ex-lover and a current fling who’d had enough of his spirit sucked out of him by an elder vampire that he was craving the stimulus, the quick fix, that only sex could bring. How the fuck had Samuel come to this point? In one hundred and seventy-eight years, he’d never experienced anything as bizarre as tonight...and that was saying something.
He rounded the corner into the room where he’d left Ken and Cecilia and stopped short in the doorway. Ken lay where Samuel had left him, still and slack but now also strapped down. Cecilia, usually calm and steady under the most intense pressure ER could throw, was crouched in a corner, shaking, her mouth gaping in a rictus of terror.
Security was there all right--two tall, burly men whom even your above-average hospital crazy would hesitate to challenge. Neither of them was remotely equipped for what they now faced.
Angelic face masking the vampire within. Sweet smile holding nothing but malice. The ancient one stood at ease in the middle of the room, one long-fingered hand resting idly on Ken’s foot where it poked from underneath disheveled blankets. His eyes shifted languidly from the cowering Cecilia, past the guards as if they didn’t exist, and focused on Samuel.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Sam’s hands rose to lay on Blake’s chest as if to push him away, but the moment his hands came in contact with his ex-lover’s skin heat shot up his arms and heat suddenly overwhelmed his body. He didn’t know what was going on, but it made him grow thicker, harder, until Sam felt as if he was about to explode.
“What are you doing to me?”
Those beautiful green eyes Sam remembered so well sparkled with lust and domination. Hard to believe that not long before, he’d been injured. Whatever Gregory did to Blake allowed him to heal even quicker than he normally would. Sam wasn’t sure to be grateful or not.
“Nothing you don’t want.” Blake’s hand slid down Sam’s side to his hip then inward until he was gripping the erection scrub bottoms couldn’t hide. Sam groaned and felt helpless to push his ex-lover away. “You remember now, don’t you, Sam?” His hand squeezed Sam’s cock tighter, drawing another groan. “What it was like between us?”
Words were lost on Sam as the past came back to him. The long nights that ended with cuts, bruises, sore muscles, and…lots of great sex. Rough, demanding sex. Two tops struggling for control, but even with his supernatural strength and speed, Blake most often won the battle. And he never let Sam forget as it was Sam’s fiercest enemy. Even worse than the noon sun.
Blake bit the flesh between Sam’s shoulder and neck, definitely leaving a mark. Sam’s fingernails raked Blake’s bare chest, drawing tiny drops of blood. The scent, all too familiar, assaulted his senses.
Violent. No other word for what Sam and Blake had. It was the main reason Sam finally left. He should stop this now. The logical part of his brain that was drowning in lust and want struggled to surface and force his body to do just that. It was close. Right there, the word stop on his tongue.
Then Blake kissed him and logic lost the fight and fell into the abyss of physical desire. Sam welcomed Blake’s tongue, his taste, his scent being rubbed on him like a cat would mark its territory. Sam was lost.
That was until a scream wrenched him from the dangerous bliss he’d sunk into.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Winged is the short but sweet story of Rory and Tad and what happens to them when Rory wakes up to find he has... well, wings. Here's a wee snip:
On the first day of summer, Rory Donovan woke up to find wings.
“What the fuck are those?”
Rory looked up from where he’d been studying his shoulder blades in the mirror. His boyfriend, Tad Henderson, stood in the doorway of the bathroom with his mouth agape. “I don’t know,” Rory admitted, looking over his shoulder again to see his reflection. “They look like… wings.”
“Wings?” Tad said in disbelief, and crossed the threshold to stand next to Rory. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”
“Then what the hell do they look like to you?” Rory turned slightly to the left and right, trying to see from all angles.
Tad pushed at his shoulder and turned Rory completely around so Tad could examine the things that had suddenly sprouted from Rory’s shoulders. Tad touched one of them and Rory felt it clear down his spine. Whatever they were, they sure had a fuck of a lot of nerve endings. “They look like…” Tad stopped and considered his answer. “They look like wings.”
They have fun with them, never fear. You know, in the way boys do.
The second thing available from Torquere Press is also a bit on the fantasy side. Still Waters was originially published as part of Torquere's Birthstone line, and when my contract for it ended I was asked if I'd like to renew it as a Single Shot Classic instead. I'm really fond of this boy-meets-merman tale, so I said yes. Little clip of Cody and Tristan:
It was warmer than usual, even for August. He dove into the water and relished the feel against his skin, not finding it unusual at all that the water matched the temperature of a bathtub. He dove and dove and didn’t seem to need air, and the water was like silk against him.
A face rose out of the sea on his next dive, a face with eyes that matched the color of the water and hair the same color as the black sand beaches in
He woke up with a gasp and looked wildly around his room, as if expecting the creature from his dream to somehow be there.
That was not what he’d seen in the ocean today, Cody scolded himself. He’d seen a dolphin that had separated from his pod. They did that all the time. Or even a sea lion, maybe, although it was unusual for them to get so close to humans.
But he had not seen a fucking mystical creature from a childhood picture book.
He checked the clock. Three in the goddamned morning. Cody closed his eyes again and tried to will himself back to sleep, but his mind raced and spun with pictures of dark-haired men that swam like fish.
Throwing off the covers, he sighed in disgust and reached over to the nightstand for the pair of drumsticks that were ever present. They were cool and familiar in his fingers and he beat out a staccato rhythm with them on his thighs, using the soft cadence to lull himself back to sleep.
There was nothing left of his dream in the morning.***
Both books available now at Torquere Press. Check them out. :)
Friday, April 11, 2008
|Earlier this week, I had my latest release with Loose Id, Pawprints 2: Second Nature. This installment in the series gives man's other best friend a shot at the limelight in this yaoi-inspired gay romance. I really enjoy writing these books, and I hope readers have fun with them too! *hearts*|
But now that I've written about both cats and dogs, I'm curious what everyone's favorite pets are. Some of my friends are strict dog-people, but I say they just haven't met the right cat yet. ;) At one time or another, I've had a rabbit, cats, dogs, a bird, a mole, a crab (don't ask)...I've always loved all animals, and I don't think I can choose a fave. *g*
Pawprints - Second Nature
by Anne Cain
Gabe and Hayden have been sweethearts since high school, and as college seniors, they can't keep their hands -- or mouths -- off each other. As hot as things are in the bedroom, it's their love that really keeps the fire burning in their relationship. But there's a problem that makes Gabe nervous about accepting Hayden's proposal to spend forever together. Gabe is actually a dog...and Hayden is terrified of them!
Bitten as a kid, Hayden runs from anything that barks, and that's kept Gabe's lips firmly muzzled until now. There's no way he can keep his four-pawed, tail-wagging side a secret when he's supposed to share everything with the man he adores. Just as Gabe decides to come clean with the truth that he's not human, Hayden makes a shocking discovery of his own: he's not human either.
Caught between two worlds and the sex-driven beings known as Wairs who inhabit both realms, Gabe and Hayden have no idea if their love can survive. Especially when the full moon brings out a demon sorcerer set on coming after Hayden -- to either claim him or destroy him.
Publisher's Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, male/male sexual practices...
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Now I just need to catch up on other edits, plus get a few things written.
The work is never done. ;)
Monday, April 7, 2008
Sam stared into Blake’s fathomless eyes and prayed it was his lover running the larger man’s body and not the thing—Gregory—that had been in control earlier. Poor Greg had never been the sharpest crayon, but Sam’s guilt-ridden decision to transform his then lover had only made things infinitely worse. He should have killed Gregory when he had the chance, instead of letting him live, and go on to become the ghoul he was today.
None of that mattered now though. What concerned Sam was whether or not he could discreetly find out who he was dealing with, without informing the staff of what they were dealing with. He had too much on his hands to spend the night in a straight jacket, and that was what would surely happen if he started spouting nonsense about vampires, ghouls, and whatever-the-hell-else was lurking around the corner and waiting to take him on the moment his back was turned.
“Blake,” Sam said, taking a step toward his ex. “You shouldn’t be up, babe. You should be resting.”
“Babe?” Blake said, one dark brow arcing. “You know I hate pet names, Samuel.”
“I’m sorry.” Sam exhaled in relief. He could deal with Blake. “It slipped my mind.” He took Blake by the arm and guided him toward a chair sitting directly inside the door. “Sit please. I need to take care of this,” he gestured to Ken, “and then we need to talk.” If the man was able to walk, then he felt no guilt about putting him on hold while he tended to Ken.
A man could only juggle so many lovers, whether they be ex or current, over the course of one night.
Sam could feel Blake’s angry gaze on his back as he rushed to help Cecilia tighten the restraints on Ken’s arms and legs, but, thankfully, the man remained silent. He ordered a sedative for Ken, praying it would work and buy him some time, and then found an abandoned wheelchair sitting out in the hall for Blake.
He pushed it inside the room, stopping in front of where Blake sat, and set the brake. “Get in.”
“I am not—”
“Shut up,” Sam ordered, the last of his patience withering away.
Blake’s full lips pursed and stood. He stared at the chair as if the seat was going to bite him in the ass the moment his cheeks pressed against it.
“Thank you. Now sit, please. We need to talk in private, but you’re in no shape to be up on your feet.”
Sam pushed Blake down the hall, trying to think of somewhere they could talk without being overhead. There really wasn’t anywhere they could go and be assured of any privacy, so he chose to head back toward Blake’s room. He waited until they were inside, the door closed tight and locked, before letting go of his temper. “All right, big boy, spill your guts. I want to know what’s going on and, so help me God, you’re going to tell me.”
“Or, what? You’re going to have a temper tantrum.” Blake smirked. “The Samuel I knew and loved knows better than to make a threat he can’t back up.”
Sam leaned over the chair, his hands fisting the cold metal framing the chair. “I’ve been threatened, my boyfriend has been attacked and is lying tied to his bed, and I’m fucking exhausted. You have no idea what I’m capable of right now, Blake, so don’t fuck with me.”
Between one needless breath and the next, Blake exploded out of his chair and had Sam shoved up against the wall. He fisted one long-fingered hand in Sam’s hair and jerked his head back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat. “What was that, boy? Don’t fuck with you? I seem to recall you liking my cock buried in your ass. How could I forget the pretty way you begged for me to take you, over and over again until you’re tight hole couldn’t take any more?”
“I…” Sam panted, wide-eyed and hard, as he felt the evidence of Blake’s desire pressing into his abdomen. Jesus, how did he get himself into this shit? “I… We don’t have time for these games right now, Blake.”
Blake licked a long trail up Sam’s neck, from bottom to top, and then nipped at the fleshy lobe of his ear. “I’d say this is exactly what you need. Maybe after I fuck some sense back into your head, you’ll remember your place.”
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Last part here.
Samuel pounded down the hall, cursing under his breath. Leaving Blake -- no, Gregory; God this was confusing -- alone was a bad idea. But Ken wasn't truly Ken anymore. Samuel had no idea what the boy might do, and Cecilia didn't deserve to suffer for something she had no part in.
He heard Ken's growls and Cecilia's panic-shrill voice before he got to the room. He skidded around the corner just in time to see Ken's big hand close over Cecilia's slender throat.
"Ken, no!" Samuel launched himself across the room, grabbed Ken's arm and wrenched it upward.
Ken's hand clipped Cecilia's chin, sending her sprawling to the floor. She scrambled to her feet and backed out of reach. "God, what's wrong with him?"
Samuel almost smiled at the way Cecilia's voice quavered. It took a lot to shake her up.
Ken's hands clamped onto Samuel's cheeks, holding his head in a vicelike grip. "Want," Ken grunted. "Want. You."
Predictably, Samuel's cock responded. He ignored it and pressed both hands to Ken's chest, trying to push him away. The young man seemed to have gained enormous strength in the past few minutes. Or maybe Samuel had just never known how strong Ken was.
Something about that made Samuel's chest constrict with regret that he'd never gotten to know Ken as well as he'd wanted to.
After a few moments, Samuel managed to wrestle himself from Ken's grip. "Cecilia, get security," he panted, holding Ken off as best he could. "We need to get him in a locked ward."
Ken's arms went unexpectedly limp. His blank eyes stared into the middle distance.
The back of Samuel's neck prickled. He turned slowly.
Cecilia stood still and quiet, staring at a figure in the hallway. Dreading what he might see, Samuel followed her gaze.
When he realized what he was looking at, he groaned aloud. "No. Oh, no."
(to be continued...)
Ha! Someone else's turn! Lazy Ally leaves it up to another author to explain what the heck's going on *g*
Friday, April 4, 2008
Yakuza In Love (manga) - Shiuko Kano has yet to dissappoint with her sexy stories and expressive artwork.
Best Gay Romance 2008 (anthology) - I cheated and read a couple of the short stories instead of waiting for the weekend. There's one called "Endless Against Amber" by a young Australian author that's bittersweet, romantic, a little sad, and great all-around.
The Back Passage (novel) - I've had this one a while, and the Agatha Christie-style mystery set-up didn't grip me...at first. But after pressing on for a bit, all I can say is that this book is FUN. Very sexy, gratuitously so, but that works since the novel is so over-the-top and enjoyable.
And there's also the uber-fun round robin that's happening right here at Slash & Burn. Stay tuned for more installments! :D
Thursday, April 3, 2008
A sea of sweet tasting death moved about Absolon as he leaned against an antiseptic wall. So impersonal now, these passings of men. No old women to wash the dead. No families holding their beloved’s hand as they sloughed off the world. Death surrounded by machines and strangers. So much better. His wary, hard eyes tracked the man who burst from one room almost taking a nurse to the floor as he careened around the corner. Such haste. Such fear. All over two mortals. How droll. How sweet. How wonderful. Waves of the doctor’s panic rolled over him. For a creature a century and a half old, Samuel wore his humanity like an unneeded but favored garment. Like a fine wine, age refined and developed his flavor. A pain that could be cultivated, savored for ages.
A cough at Absolon’s shoulder barely registered. Gregory’s voice, far more intrusive and irritating, did. “I did as you bid.”
Absolon barely turned his head. “I know.” The unwashed reek of a transient’s clothes and skin hit his senses. Far more subtle, the tang of loneliness…hopelessness swept over Absolon. He opened his mouth and breathed the desperation deep. The muted scent, dampened by Gregory’s own hollow wants, charged through Abolon’s frame.
“Let me go then.” The words of Gregory through another man’s mouth. His desires trapped in a sickened shell.
For a moment, Absolon toyed with leaving Gregory in the bum’s body. Unfortunately, he’d need him later and it would just call attention to Gregory. Still, he had no intention of freeing the spirit. “Why would I do such a thing?”
He whined. “But you promised.”
Absolon pushed away from the wall. A non-descript man in hospital scrubs, everything calculated to present as unremarkable. Except for his eyes. “You were a fool,” he snorted, “when you were mortal, you were a fool when you were undead, and you still are a fool.”
“You have the vampire.” Gregory plucked at his sleeve. The dead were such inveterate beggars. “You have others.”
“And I have you. Go until I call.” Absolon shrugged. "When I need you no more, then you shall have what I promised."
As he walked away, Gregory’s fading voice caught him. “What if I don’t come.”
“That…” He turned and for a moment the mask dropped away, “would be a mistake.”
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Last part here
*closes eyes and jumps in*
Samuel ran a hand through Blake’s hair, the dark strands still stiff with dried blood. Each touch brought the acrid scent to his nostrils, a smell like dawn. Like danger.
Like the danger facing two of Samuel’s mortals. Even though playing with Ken had never engaged Samuel’s quiescent heart, the boy had earned Samuel’s protection. Besides, he hated sharing his toys. Since being in two places at once wasn’t one of the advantages of his immortal existence, he’d have to use the advantages of his mortal persona if he were to keep them both safe. Sometimes being the head of trauma care was more useful than all his preternatural powers.
He punched the call button and told Cecilia to have Ken moved down to this room. As she agreed, a familiar voice rose behind him.
Blake’s voice. Blake’s body sitting upright on the gurney, but not Blake. All the extra drug had done was put the mortal to sleep and who—or whatever Samuel had seen looking out of his eyes had taken control.
The blood animating his body responded as Samuel stiffened his spine and tensed his muscles. “Did you have some sort of point or did you just come here to call me names?” He now had no doubt that everything that had happened tonight had been planned, arranged. The demon had put the idea in Blake’s head, weakened him with the accident, and sent him straight to Samuel.
“Don’t you recognize your old lover, Sam-u-el?” The inflection as the creature spoke his name blew through Samuel’s mind, awakening a memory. A memory that had nothing to do with the skin and flesh and voice sitting so still on the gurney.
“You’re not Blake.”
“No. Guess again.” Blake’s teasing tone, but a cold bitter layer kept Samuel from responding with a smile. Green eyes looked up through dark lashes. The thing was using Blake to flirt with him. “I’m crushed that you could forget me so easily, when you swore we’d be together. For eternity.”
If he weren’t already room temperature, Samuel’s body would have gone cold. As it was, the fresh blood froze in his veins. “Gregory?”
And in that instant he went back in time. His lover died on the Crimean battlefield in his own hospital tent, and Samuel so desperate, so inexperienced had given him the Gift only to watch it drive Gregory mad. So mad that Samuel had finally had to kill the man he had loved to keep him from destroying so many others, to keep him from exposing them all.
“See? It’s only been—oh how to reckon mortal time—a century or so? I never forgot you. Your promises. Your body. Your lovemaking. You were, as your newer conquest here might say, a hell of a fuck. Still are if the memories he holds of you are accurate. Though your tastes have grown—hmmm, exotic?”
“But you’re—“ Samuel stepped closer.
Those familiar green eyes held no trace of Blake. Just this thing that claimed to be Gregory. Blake’s lips curved in a smile, those lips whose satin warmth Samuel could still feel on his mouth, his body, his cock.
“A demon?” Gregory finished for him. “You could say that. Far better than the half-life you offered me. It took me a long time to track you down, lover.”
“To help you, of course."
“Something’s coming, Sam-u-el. Something so big and dark that every horror you’ve seen or imagined in your puny time will seem like one of your drives through Hyde Park in your old mortal body.”
Samuel thought of the ancient one he’d seen, the one who had stolen essence from Ken. “It’s already here.”
“Him?” Blake had never smiled so menacingly. “He does the bidding of what’s coming. His power is nothing to what awaits.”
Samuel sometimes missed the ability to sweat, but not now. He wrapped himself in a calm he didn’t feel. “You’ve delivered your message. Now will you leave him?”
“Eager to have his body again? To bend his mind and will with your promises, those small tastes of power you will allow him before you deny him the Gift again? I know everything your Blake feels, everything he thinks. Would you like to hear more?”
“Leave him alone.”
The com buzzed. “Dr. Wexler? Cecelia is having difficulties with Dr. Dahl. Room 18. Stat.”
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
The eyes were Blake's, but the person behind them wasn't the man Samuel knew. They held a flatness, a coldness that didn't belong to his ex-lover. He recognized it and cursed its demonic origins.
As swiftly as he identified it, it was gone. The vestige vanished and a flash of clarity lit the green depths as Blake's gaze focused on him. "Samuel?"
"Shh." He put a gentle hand on Blake's shoulder, prepared to shift to force to hold him down should the apparition appear within him again. Samuel had a good idea what the momentary trace had been and only hoped Blake's preternaturally strong immune system was defense against more than physical injury. "You need to rest."
"No. No time." Blake shook his head against the pillow, mussing his already disheveled hair.
"It's all right." Samuel held him by both shoulders now, trying to still him, not wanting him to dislodge the bandage that covered the gash along his left temple. Even as quickly as Blake healed, the wound was still fresh enough to open up again.
Blake was stubborn even in his weakened state. "No. I have to warn you."
Samuel shushed him again. "Don't worry. I'm here now. You're safe." Blake was growing agitated and the last thing they needed right now was for the machines to pick it up. Their increased beeping would bring Cecilia or one of the other nurses running to check on the patient. He reached out a hand and adjusted the IV drip that ran into Blake's arm, upping the dose a fraction. His aim was to calm Blake, not send him back under. "Everything's fine."
It was a stupid thing to say for so many reasons and Samuel silently cursed his inanity. An elder vampire was casing Samuel's territory with an eye for the people Samuel cared about. Blake was fighting injuries both physical and spiritual. Ken doll was suffering, possibly dying, from soul-loss. And on top of it all, Blake had always been able to tell when Samuel was lying.
The corner of Blake's lips curled into the smallest of sardonic smiles. Even as Blake's eyes fluttered shut and he drifted back into drugged slumber, Samuel heard him mutter, "You're so full of shit."