Lou Sylvre's Blog - Posts Tagged "excerpt"

Hi everybody. I posted this excerpt today over at Love Romances Cafe, and at first I thought I'd just post the link to that forum. But then I thought, geez. Why not make it easier? I'll post some other excerpts—and I'll be posting dates and links for upcoming chats which will include giveaways and such. But for now, here's the prologue, setting the stage for Delsyn's Blues, Vasquez & James book 2. (Here's the buy link at Dreamspinner Press.)

DELSYN played the blues, played his frustration and grief away with old songs, heart songs, songs that did the crying for him and let him laugh. Mostly, anyway.

It was hard, and it didn’t get easier. The summer before, he’d nearly died; he’d been long unconscious, and his brain had almost starved for oxygen—lacking the blood that was instead filling the spaces in his joints. He’d surprised everyone but his uncle Sonny James when, despite everything, he lived. Perhaps he’d surprised even Sonny when his brain recovered, worked amost like normal. But his joints hadn’t been so forgiving, and every bend of knee or ankle, every bit of
weight to bear meant pain, sometimes as hot and swift as lightning.

He’d just turned eighteen. This wasn’t the way the world was supposed to work.

Del’s world had narrowed down mostly to Sonny’s acres, a beautiful place that he’d known all his life, but even there he couldn’t go wherever he wanted. A wheelchair is useless over rough, soft ground, and crutches worse, dangerous even. He loved this place and hated it for the trap that it had become. His music—his guitar and his mercifully spared hands—helped. Sonny did what he could: drove him up the coast to Neah Bay, into Port Angeles for a movie, into Port
Clifton—the nearest town—for Frappuccino at Margie’s. A couple of times, Luki Vasquez—the man his uncle loved—had carried him on his back as easily as if he’d been a child, took him down to the beach, and helped him wade through the low waves at the edge of the Juan de Fuca
Strait.

But he hadn’t once been in the forest, Sonny’s forest, the woods he’d grown up in—and that mattered. One night he’d felt particularly lost and frustrated, and after saying goodnight to Sonny and Luki, he’d left the house by the back door and made halting, unsteady progress on his crutches to the line of trees that guarded the thick forest beyond. The smells, cedar and dust and new-formed frost, were memory and real all at once, and Delsyn desperately wanted to be in there with the trees and insects, just breathing the same air. So, placing the crutches carefully where they didn’t sink, following one weak leg at a time, Delsyn went in.

He only made it a few steps before he needed to rest, so he propped his crutches against a familiar stump, a gigantic memory of the old-growth forest that once lived there, still rotting into red dust a century after it had been cut. He settled himself down carefully into its folds, glad he couldn’t see the bugs that were certainly feasting off the soft pulp even at this time of night. By shifting from foot to foot, he could rest his legs, and then he’d leave. But he was glad he’d come. For once, he’d go to sleep with sweet, forest-scented dreams.

He heard a scrabbling at his feet—probably a vole or a shrew, but he wanted to know just what it was that made the sound. “Light,” he mumbled. “I need a little light.” He always had his phone with him even though it was useless for making calls around Sonny’s place, where no signal could snake past the giant barrier of the Olympic Mountains. He used it to play games. He took pictures. He recorded his own music, the blues he loved to play. He planned to add the SD card
to the tapes he’d made on an old cassette deck and give them to Sonny for his birthday in May, if he could wait that long. But for now he thought the phone could help him. He slid his thumb over the screen to light it up but soon realized the glow wasn’t enough to see the ground, and he knew he couldn’t bend down close if he wanted to be able to get back up. “Bummer,” he said and was about to slip the phone back into his pocket when he heard voices.

A man’s voice, rough and hard. “You’re an idiot! A fool, and if I’d known that before I got involved in your little retirement venture, I would have stayed miles away. Those twins are devious, worse because they’re stupid, too, and everyone in the life knows that—even their own
daddy. You managed to pull them in, as lame as you are; that should have told you something.”

“I’m not sure it was them—”

“What an ass! They practically advertised location. They’re the reason we had to move the samples.”

“And you’re the one who brought ’em here. Not the brightest, in my opinion.”

Del caught the sarcasm in the words, could imagine the man’s gesture encompassing Sonny’s land: “Here.”

“I know this place,” the first man said—a voice Delsyn didn’t recognize. “No one will look here. All we need is a little time when the owner—and his latest fuck—are absent, and we can move it again. Arrange it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t even, you bastard. You’re stupid, and thanks to your little minions, nobody’s going to touch this stuff until it cools off. We’ll be lucky to move the goods by spring.”

The men were moving now, Delsyn guessed; their conversation became obscured by a rustle through leaf-trash and brush. Then, suddenly, he realized the voices were getting closer, and all at once he felt very exposed, very crippled, and very scared.

One set of footsteps moved back into the forest, but the other seemed to be looking for an exit, and that one would pass right by Delsyn. If Del had been fully able, if he hadn’t needed the crutches, he could have held still. But he had no faith in his body, and panic sent him stumbling toward the edge of the trees. He wanted to be out before the man caught him.

He might be killed, he thought. He didn’t want to die hidden in the dark.

“Hey!”

Too late. Aching to move legs that wouldn’t cooperate, Del shouted “Uncle Sonny!” But he was so afraid, his voice barely stumbled past the fear in his throat. And he was too far away from the
house. And Sonny and Luki didn’t even know he was out here.

The voice seemed slimy, seemed to ooze up Delsyn’s spine. “Now, Del, take it easy. You know me. You know I’m not going to hurt you. All I need is for you to tell me what you think you heard so I can explain. You probably misunderstood. We wouldn’t want you to get yourself hurt, now would we?”

Delsyn tried to answer, hoping he’d be smart enough to talk his way out of it. But he didn’t because he couldn’t. Ever since last summer, when he got upset—good or bad—his throat and tongue locked up, like he couldn’t get the language in his brain to come out into the world. And then….

A blow—no more than a slap, but Delsyn felt the change. Felt the simple knot that had held his damaged brain together slip free. Not in the dark, he thought, and he pushed forward as he fell. With moonlight in his eyes and shining silver on the coastal fog around him, Delsyn began to die.

Later, he knew he was no longer home, knew they had taken him someplace machines could reach him with their long plastic arms. A place to wait. And while he waited, he heard things.

A doctor said, “… very probably will not wake up.”

Sonny answered, “But he woke up before.”

Sonny spoke to Delsyn, sometimes, discussing and scolding as if they were riding in the Mustang on the way to the store. The nurses came in, usually chattering, one of them sounding young and very sweet. Other patients, still able to cuss out loud. Even Luki singing the blues for him in that scratchy voice when he thought no one else was around. Del wanted to smile. He wanted to touch someone. He wanted to sing, too. Then his brain came apart a little more and he dreamed a little farther down in the darkness where it was far too quiet. He entered a tunnel that led to the other side of that line, that fence between life and death. He felt pretty good about it. He’d done the best he could to say goodbye.

And he thought that, after all, dying might have been his own idea.

Climbing over the gunwale, Luki remarked, “Why did you call this a bucket? Looks like a perfectly good boat.”

“Look over the side, back there.” Sonny pointed.

“Melvern’s Bucket,” Luki read. “Oh.”

“So, anyway,” Sonny said. “Off we go to Mack’s Island.”

Luki had already sat down and started to do his routine weapons check. He tended not to be as heavily armed these days as he had been when they first met. But he still had his favorite handgun and two knives, and of course, a supply of ammunition and nylon handcuffs. He was taking stock now, making sure everything was where and how it was supposed to be, a job clearly requiring that a cigarette hang out of his mouth. He puffed at the damn thing without using his hands, which meant he had to keep his eye squinted like Charles Bronson in The Mechanic and his face scrunched up on one side—the side with the scar. Sonny hated that he looked damn sexy that way.

“It’s not fair,” he said.

“What’s not fair?”

That something can look sexy and kill you at the same time. He shook his head to dismiss Luki’s question, didn’t answer at all out loud.
Besides, there were other things he needed to have his mind on now. And he hadn’t forgotten that one reason Luki seemed lightly armed was because he, Sonny, still had his other gun. Sonny didn’t bring the subject up, but he was pretty sure Luki hadn’t forgotten either.
Sonny set the boat in motion, having a fair idea of the coordinates and a fair sense of direction. Not more than fair, out on the water, just like he only had a fair ability to drive the damn boat. Melvern had insisted he learn, but… well, it just wasn’t a car. He couldn’t remember the first time he’d lain across a hood wrenching on a car engine, but as far as activities go, cars had always been what he loved best—aside from weaving and dyes and that sort of thing. And now, aside from Luki. Everything to do with Luki. Including staring at Luki, watching him smoke his lungs dry and play with guns. Disgustingly, Sonny wanted to weave him like that.

“I hate being on the water,” Luki said.

“Yeah?” It didn’t surprise Sonny; he just didn’t know why.

“I’ve had not so good things happen around water, you know?”

“Like getting beat up and cut and generally gay-bashed?”

“Mm-hm.”

“And almost drowning while getting blown up in a river.”

Luki holstered his gun and adjusted the position of the leather accessory, took the cigarette out of his mouth, and looked up at Sonny.

Not smiling. “That too.”

Sonny sighed and stepped over to his lover, letting the Bucket drive itself for a moment. He stood in front of Luki, so close he had to part his legs to either side, which basically parked his sex in Luki’s face. He wished they had more time, but second best would have to do. He buried his hands in Luki’s curls, forcing him to look up. Then he bent low and eased into a kiss, a long, sweet, sucking and sliding one.

After a moment, he regretfully eased off, kissed Luki’s nose on the way by, and stepped back to the wheel. “Very nice,” Luki said, voice huskier than ever. “But there must be an explanation.”

“Now you’ve had something good happen to you on the water. I hope.”

Luki didn’t answer for a moment—which was okay. He absently patted the big red dog, which had been sticking close to Luki since they’d come on board and now leaned into Luki’s legs and stared with him at the gray planks that made up the deck. There was no way to know if either of them saw what they were staring at. After a moment, Luki looked up, chewing his lip, then he let it slip from between his teeth. “You love me, Sonny.”

Sonny nodded.

Luki said, “I love you back.”

I used to spend quite a bit of time at pow wows, and Grass Dancers were always my favorite. The men who danced in the Traditional category were quite serious and could be intimidating, and both the dances and the regalia they wore was quite varied. My stepson was a Fancy Dancer. Impressive, fast footwork, and very flashy.

But the Grass Dancers always seemed to me so very graceful and down to earth. The dance involves wide steps and pivots and avoiding having two feet on the ground, much of the time. Sonny James was a Grass Dancer, so I thought I'd post a pic here along with a short excerpt Delsyn's Blues.

Down below, I've added a photo of some young Fancy Dancers—like Delsyn tried to be despite his illness. You only see them from the back, their beautiful double bustles, and one of a Jingle Dress Dancer. Jingle Dress is my favorite among the women's pow wow dances, and when Sonny's mother was young, she danced that style.

Sonny’s dance amazed Luki, full of cross-steps, leaning sideways, long legs moving side to side in the midst of a pivot, almost never both feet on the ground on the same time. In the here and now, he looked to the other end of the couch where Sonny lounged in pajamas, scooping up huge tablespoonfuls of Rocky Road out of the carton and then licking it off like a creamy Popsicle.

Erotic, much?

“What is that,” Luki asked. “What you’re doing there?”

“What, this?” Sonny held out the half-eaten spoon of ice cream, a blank look accompanying the ice cream on his chin.

Luki smiled, couldn’t help it. “No, sweetie,” he laughed. “That might be fun to talk about some other time, but I meant what you’re doing on the TV.”

“Grass Dancing.”

“That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

Sonny flashed a smile, then looked more thoughtful, formulating his answer. “Well, you know, there’s lots of stories people tell about how it started. Most often, I think, people say that back in the day, the young men danced like this to knock the grass down and trample it so that the people would have a place to gather.” He put his spoon down and pried open the shortbread tin. “Or to get rid of snakes in the grass. Now it’s a dance style people do at powwows, but it helps if you remember that story, imagine yourself knocking down tall grass.”

“You’re good at it?”

“Was. Haven’t danced for a long time.”

“And Delsyn wanted to be like you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Sonny laughed, “at least he thought he did. Later he discovered he was really a Fancy Dancer. Which was very hard on his knees and ankles, but I couldn’t talk him out of it.”



Here are the Fancy Dancers. It's amazing when you see them in motion! They twirl at high speed, and do complicated steps, and at times even do flips and other acrobatics.



And here are a few young women in their jingle dresses. This style of dancing involves mostly a beautiful shuffle with a sway of the hips, so that the jingles move in unison and keep time with the drum. It seems subdued, but it takes an athlete to do it well.

Hands held tight together, they pushed through the doors, two tall, strong men—still standing—and walked into a pink rain of wind-blown cherry blossoms.

“Spring!” Sonny said, clearly surprised. —from Yes

I got the news yesterday that Dreamspinner Press has accepted this story, and I wanted to share. Yes: A Vasquez and James Novella is a different kind of story—not mystery, no guns, but raw human struggle and the power of love. We have a while to wait (July-August 2012), but this novella is dear to my authorly, human heart, and I truly hope it will touch yours.

This weekend, I'll post a brief excerpt, so please check back. (There just might be a chance to win something, as well...)

Good morning!

This is one of my favorite sequences from Loving Luki Vasquez, (available at Dreamspinner) and I'm not sure if I've ever posted it as an excerpt before. Regardless, a big step in their rocky path toward loving each other, and in the book the jumping off point for some action. I hope you like it. I always welcome your comments!(I'll be back this afternoon with an excerpt from Delsyn's Blues, too.) Oh yeah! I forgot, giving a book away in exchange for a comment here or an email to lou(dot)sylvre(at)gmail(dot)com. Names go in the hat for a random cat-chosen winner. Loving Luki Vasquez, Delsyn's Blues, or Yes: A Vasquez and James Novella when it comes out this summer (winner's choice).

RIVER sounds climbed the muddy bank where Luki stood shivering in moonlight so bright it glared, and he had to shield his eyes. He knew there were other kids in the water, though he couldn’t hear them, could barely make out the dark shapes of their heads, like shadows. He heard a call from a short distance off to his left, and when he turned his head, there was another shape. A boy, and something gleaming silver in the air.

Again he heard his name. “Luki, come on over here. I’ve got something for you.”

“Not again, no,” he whispered to himself.

“Yes,” Ronny said. “Again, and again, and again….”

Luki cried out, woke, and rolled instantly off the bed and onto his feet. Sweat soaked him, and the left side of his face burned as if newly slashed. Fear, then grief took their brief turns with him, each like a punch to his throat, cutting off his air. He hurried past them and embraced rage, stood in its white-hot flame until, for this time, it burned itself out.

He knew the drill, knew the dream, knew how to shake off its remaining shards.

Seconds after he woke, he gauged the light and estimated, morning. Which, he knew, demonstrated his brilliant powers of deduction. “Better than Sherlock Holmes.”

As an alternative to testing his detective skills, he looked at the clock. Eight thirty. Still early by his standards, but he never contemplated going back to bed. He stumbled into the bathroom to vomit—an old and bothersome reaction—not even trying to hold it back this time.

Thanks to his invisible housekeeper, who came every day in his absence, somehow always knowing when he‟d be gone, he had coffee ready to brew by the cup. He brushed his teeth so he could enjoy the taste and did just that. Two cups of black and sweet, into the shower, out again in no time. He put on his old and ragged clothes. Yes, he had some. He remembered Sonny’s blunt question. “Why the getup?” He almost smiled, almost wished the intriguing… frustrating and intriguing man could see him now.

Meanwhile, he got out three handguns of various sizes and capabilities, placed them in a case designed for just that purpose, and added ammunition. He kept his firearms, always, clean and in perfect condition. None of his weapons were intended for sport. Intimidation, protection, and defense constituted the mainstay of his profession and of his habits; a life, even his own, could depend on them. And honing all his skills, working them to stay in top form, fought off the dream and the havoc it would otherwise wreak. Guns and targets this morning, and then perhaps tai chi—which he considered the best and deadliest of his martial arts.

By the time he'd driven to the range outside of Port Angeles, reassured himself, and impressed his fellow shooters, the need for breakfast finally caught up, so he stopped at Front Street, a corner restaurant that served steak and eggs seasoned and cooked to perfection. On the way back to Port Clifton, he set his phone on speaker and delegated the day’s work to his various staff, using his fabulous office admin as a go-between.

“They won't listen to me, boss. You know that.”

“Contrary, Jude. I know you put fear in their hearts every time you speak, and they wouldn’t dare go against you. Make my nefarious plans your orders, and they’ll get it done.”

“Are you coming back soon?”

“No.”

“That’s all I get, just no?”

“Yes.”

After an exasperated groan, Jude hung up. For the second time that day, Luki almost smiled. Which made him think maybe he should go back. Port Clifton was turning him soft.


FOOD digested, business taken care of, cigarette half-smoked, he decided to go straight down to the beach. He could have gone home. He had plenty of room in his condo, or on the balcony, for tai chi. He had a key to the top floor gym, a luxurious space that boasted a three-sixty view. But luxury had never seemed right for tai chi, and, Nebraska child that he was, saltwater still fascinated him.

Besides, this was the closest he’d ever come to a vacation. He might as well at least make a pretense of it.

He drove a little way past town to a stretch not lined by houses and not crowded with people—in fact, it looked deserted. Perfect. For the first part of his tai chi practice, he always worked carefully and slowly through forms; for the next part, he “fought” target posts of various sizes, each about two inches in diameter. In early days, the posts had been wrapped with padding and duct tape, but once he’d mastered the art, he left them bare. The “give” had to be in his own hands, his own stance, and that’s what imbued his blows with deadly force.

He took the targets out of the car, removed his shoes, and walked across the beach to the edge of the water, where the wet sand provided a perfect base. After he’d set his poles and taken a minute to perfect his state of mind, he began the first form, working thoughtfully, slowly, aware of every muscle, every move.

By the time he'd finished, the sun had risen almost midway. With heat and exertion, he'd broken into a profuse sweat. He turned his face into the breeze, let it riffle his curls, took his shirt off, and tossed it to hang on one of his targets.

A dot in the distance moving up the beach toward him. A person. Sonny, no flags in sight.

Crap.

Oh well, no problem. If there was anything he knew how to do, it was shut out emotional disturbance. He’d just continue with his practice, maybe work another form first, as if Sonny weren’t there. But with Sonny’s long legs, he covered a lot of distance in a short time, and now he’d come almost close enough for eye contact. My God, the man is beautiful.

“Hey,” Luki said.

“Hi.”

“Nice out, huh?” Oh, yeah. Great. Talk about the weather.

Sonny ignored the comment.

Thank you, universe.

“It‟s like dancing.”

The conversation seemed like some kind of mirror image of the last time they spoke, when Sonny was checking out colors, which certainly weren‟t all the same, or so Sonny informed him, leaving him to feel foolish. Nice thing was, now they were in his territory. But he had no taste for retaliation.

“It‟s been called that. Tai chi.”

“Oh. Yeah. I’ve heard of it. Sort of dancing that can kill. Seems exactly right.”

Luki didn’t know what he meant by that last remark, so he stayed silent.

“It’s graceful, the way you do it.”

Luki remained at a loss for a response. Was that a compliment?

“I‟ve even thought about trying to learn it. But I could never get away from my studio—or maybe I should say get my studio out of my head—long enough for anything like that.”

Luki still said nothing, but now he subtly eyed Sonny from head to toe—a pleasant undertaking but one with purpose. “You’re in good enough shape to do it well.”

“I suppose.”

Luki didn’t know how he could speak and hold his breath at the same time, but it felt that way. “I could teach you a little,” he said, “right now.”

To his surprise and nervous delight, Sonny agreed after only a second’s hesitation. Soon Luki had him barefoot and mastering a perfect opening stance. From there, he taught him some traditional warm-ups—not part of the forms but a good way to get the feel of the art. Though his long, loose limbs gave him some trouble and made Luki want to secretly and fondly laugh, and though Sonny giggled—yes, giggled—at a few of the early warm-ups, he attended well and learned fast.

They’d reached the last of the warm-up exercises: Pushing Chi. A little more complicated than the ones that came before, it took focused coordination. When Sonny could Push Chi with acceptable grace, Luki decided to introduce him to at least part of the Chen form: First, he revisited the simple but all-important Opening Movement. Then, Pound the Pestle, Lazy Tying Coat, and Six Sealing,
Four Closing.

Single Whip led into White Crane Spreads Its Wings, the name of which made Sonny adorably… all right fine, adorably happy. The sequence involved motions that at first felt counterintuitive. Like probably every student in the centuries tai chi had been around, Sonny needed help with it. As he would with any other student, Luki stood behind him, using his own hands to guide Sonny through the move. He wondered if he could get away with teaching him all the rest of the moves in just that way. Perhaps for hours. Every day. For a long time.

As he was teaching and wondering and probably even almost smiling, a wind rose up, splashing spray and sand and whipping Sonny’s long hair at Luki’s face and right into his mouth. On the word “open,” appropriately enough.

Sonny spun around, gathering up his luxurious baked-earth red hair. Before Luki had a chance to close his mouth, Sonny kissed him. A passionate, seeking sort of kiss. A kiss that Luki instinctively returned, though kissing wasn‟t a large part of his intimate life, and especially not kissing on the beach.

As suddenly as he started it, Sonny ended it, leaving Luki bereft… frustrated and bereft.

Sonny turned away, refusing eye contact. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I shouldn't have done that.” Without any further explanation, he stepped away.

Luki knew fear, could spot it from afar and pick it out in a crowded room. Right now, it ran hot through Sonny’s veins. He reached for Sonny’s arm. “Sonny, what….” What are you afraid of? he ended the question silently. Sonny had already gone.

Luki hated roller coasters, both the mechanical ones and the emotional. In response to hating it, he relaxed completely, letting his tension be soaked up in the wet sand. Then he took that emotion out on his targets. Using tai chi fajin in a rapid-fire assault, he took every one of those posts down before they knew what hit them. Especially the last.

“You never even saw me leap, you stupid post.”

I was reading through some of my WIP, Finding Jackie and I ran across these few paragraphs. They made me smile even though it happens at a crucial point in the story. Sonny has insisted that one leg of their extended honeymoon consist of driving to Nebraska in a rented motorhome. (Luki, of course, never says no to Sonny, and it would likely make little difference if he did.) They're stopped and all set up at an RV hookup site, when they get the phone call from Luki's uncle Kaholo: Jackie is missing. Here's a short bit of what immediately follows:

Sonny, of course, had no qualms about driving The Monster really fast. “Here, Luki,” he said, before Luki even hit ‘end call’ after talking with Josh. “You put these away good enough they won’t fly around and break when we turn a corner. I’ll get this old girl all ready and get her fired up.”

Luki obeyed, stashing the glasses, plates, and knives with extra care, not wanting to get Sonny’s scolding, and besides it calmed his mind. While Sonny jumped—literally—out the door to pull plugs and roll hoses, he stacked dishes and tried to line his thoughts up just as neatly. Where to start? How to find Jackie’s trail? One step at a time. That was the only answer he could come up with.

“You done, Luki?” Sonny flung himself into the driver’s seat, and after a quick rattle of the keys and a single crank of the ignition, the diesel engine purred. “Seatbelt, honey. Let’s go.”
Luki jumped into his seat and pulled the belt across his lap as Sonny started The Monster moving, and by the time it was buckled, they’d made the turn onto the highway.

Sonny said, “Hang on.” This worried Luki. By now he was quite used to Sonny’s driving which often seemed wild, but rarely was, because he knew just what he was doing. The vehicle might spin, slide, or skid, but Sonny had control. It was crazy and it made Luki’s stomach do flips, but it didn’t really scare him—it kind of turned him on. But Sonny didn’t usually say, “hang on.” Luki wondered if perhaps he should have used the bathroom while he could.

His knuckles stayed white for the next half hour, until he acclimated himself to the faint squeal of tires, almost rhythmic on the winding road, the whoosh of cars and trucks as The Monster pushed past them, the rising pitch of the engine’s whine as they picked up speed on every downhill. Finally, he started to believe he was safe in Sonny’s hands even in the oversized vehicle, and he started to believe he would make it through without smoking, and he let hands relax in his lap.

“Sonny,” he said. “First, I love you. Also, I think this is going to be a hard thing for me to work out—finding Jackie.”

Hi! This excerpt from Yes is one that wasn't posted yesterday during the release party, so maybe a new tidbit for the interested reader. It's what happens immediately after the diagnosis.

Here's the link for the post on Sylvre.com.

For the blog tour/contest, give it a read, then leave a comment--anything, and do the same at the other stops (see previous posts). The random pick winner will be chosen Saturday morning, before my chat on the Dreamspinner discussion group, here on Goodreads.

I hope you enjoy the offerings at all the stops! Thanks.

Well, I can't resist posting a little sneak peak at Finding Jackie, the sequel to Delsyn's Blues, which I just submitted to the publisher. Yes, I'm jumping the gun a little, but I thought maybe you readers would enjoy a bit of the Vasquez and James honeymoon in Hawaii. Let me know what you think, if you feel so inclined!

Sonny had worried that Luki wouldn’t enjoy the water, what with his history with rivers, almost drowning twice, once involving a knife and once involving a bomb. And last year he’d said he didn’t like being on the water, when they took the boat out to Mack Money’s island in the San Juans. He needn’t have feared. Luki took to surfing like he was born to it. And maybe it was something inherited, something hidden in the genes until opportunity arose. Kaholo had surfed one day before he left, and as old as he was his body remembered its Hawaiian youth. He let out a “whoop” once, riding just ahead of the crest of a wave, that reminded Sonny of his own uncle, Melvern, at a powwow. So maybe Luki came by his affinity for board and surf naturally. Whatever the explanation, once Luki had a couple lessons, he hardly left the water. He didn’t try any giant combers, of course, and even on a smaller waver his ride didn’t always succeed. He had some spectacular crashes, and sported a gash on his already scarred left cheek from hitting the board fin.

“It figures,” Luki had said, pressing his palm against it.

But even that hadn’t freaked him out about the water and surfing. Because now, here they were, seventy-two hours before they were due to taxi and fly out of Honolulu airport, in the heat of the warmest midafternoon yet. Sonny joined Luki in the waves—he liked them well enough. They were so different than the cold, rocking current of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, where he swam regularly—or at least took a dip almost every day except in a freeze. Here, the water was a whole different kind of playmate. But after Sonny had played a while, he left Luki to surf the aqua sea, and walked up the beach raising white sand in the miniscule breeze. He shook out his towel and collapsed onto it.

He lay on the beach, then, letting the sun and breeze dry his skin, his eyes almost closed, drowsy but not sleeping, surreptitiously watching Luki’s play. Because that’s what it was, Luki at play in the surf, and Sonny loved it. Loved the very idea of it. And Sonny couldn’t get enough of seeing Luki overfull of joy.

I am being so bad, so jumping the gun! Dreamspinner hasn't yet told me that Finding Jackie is in--these things take time! But I can't help myself, I want to share! So here's a few lines here and there from the novel:
................................................................................................................................



At the Hawaiian wedding, Luki's Vow:

“Sonny, I promise to love you, never to try to change you, to trust you with my heart and with everything I have, and always to remember how precious, how fine, how beautiful you are to me. And I’ll keep you safe, Sonny. I’ll always keep you safe.”

................................................................................................................................



A little Sonny + Luki banter:

Riley squirreled away scattering sand. Before he was even out of sight, Luki asked, “What?”

Instead of answering, Sonny said, “That boy has a crush on you, Luki.”

“No.”

“No?”

“He has a crush on us,” Luki said. “He’d like to be a fly on our bedroom wall.”

“That’s worse!”

“Yes. Did you see him blush when you told him to come by the room? So, anyway, what’s the message?”

“It’s kinda cool, I think. The message I mean, not Riley’s amorphous lust.”

“Just to be clear, I don’t, won’t, play that. Ever.”

“Damn, Luki, I think that’s fairly obvious, thinking back a few months to the great big misunderstanding about him-who-shall-not-be-named.”

“Richard.”

“You weren’t supposed to invoke the name, Luki. Obvious I would think. I would think it’s also obvious that I don’t, won’t, wouldn’t ever want such entertainment either. Can I take you back a few days to the wedding? Remember I said, 'Only you?'”

“I know. I love you. Fuck Riley… or rather, don’t. You know what I mean."

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Lastly, Luki lends Sonny a bit of comfort:

Luki sighed and pulled Sonny up out of bed, drew him to stand against him, full contact. It wasn’t sex—well, sex was always there when they touched like that, but that wasn’t the purpose of the hug. When Luki wrapped his arms around Sonny it was solely with the idea of giving his beloved the opportunity to melt for a moment. Give him a few seconds where he didn’t have to be anything, not brave, or witty, or kind, or thoughtful, or angry, or scared.

Nothing.

And Sonny took advantage, or so it seemed to Luki. Despite the fact that Sonny was a couple of inches taller, Luki’s greater mass served as anchor and Sonny simply fell into him, laying his head on Luki’s shoulder and letting himself drift.

When Sonny moved, after a length of time that neither one measured, Luki walked him to the little bathroom, turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature, put Sonny in the shower, and washed him down with sponge, soap, water, and love. Throughout the process he murmured, “Let it go, baby,” and “It’ll be okay,” and “You’re beautiful and I love you.”

In my last post, I mentioned the possibility that I'd come back with an excerpt from my current labors in the world of Vasquez and James. I selected a scene, and I post the start of it here. It's one of those pesky NSFW, 18+ type excerpts--in other words the guys are getting sexy again--so at the end of this post, I'll give you a link where you can find the rest. (It's posted on my wordpress blog, the excerpts page.) Parting the Clouds is still very much in the "in-progress" stage. By the time the work is done, this scene may have changed. Nevertheless, I wanted to share--it's very much "Luki and Sonny," the way they are together. This takes place right after Luki, who's been struggling with his own demons, rescues Sonny from an accidental near drowning. I hope you enjoy, and of course I'd love to hear what you think. ;)



Following the doctor’s orders was easy and in minutes, Sonny was wrapped up, the fire was stoked and hot coffee awaited Sonny’s readiness. Luki stripped off his own wet clothes and stood before the fire, warming his own cold ass, hands, and feet, then made good on the final step of the process for warming Sonny. Applying body heat. By now Sonny’s eyes fluttered open now and again, and his shivers had become intermittent. When Luki tried to lift his blankets to wrap himself inside with Sonny, Sonny clung to them.

“It’s all right, Sonny. I’m not going to take the blankets, I’m just going to lay down with you for a bit, okay?”

"Oh. S-s-sorry.”

“Don’t be, baby. No reason.” Luki lay down mostly on top of Sonny and wrapped the blankets around them both. Sonny’s shivers gradually left off, and at some point Luki found himself singing his favorite song by Etta James, “At last,” he crooned in a smoky whisper, “my love has come along.” Sonny sighed and relaxed under his touch. Luki thought maybe he’d fallen asleep again, but his eyes, though heavy-lidded, were open. “Are you warmer, Sweetie?”

“Yes… yeah. I’m good, now. I’m… Luki I know what it must have looked like but I didn’t mean to… I didn’t have any thoughts about….”

“Suicide. Okay, I believe you. But why did you swim out like you did?”

“I was just blowing off steam. It was really stupid—I know better. I’m glad you were there, Luki.” Here Sonny tilted his head to get a good view of Luki’s face, meet his eyes. “You saved me… I mean, you kept me safe, Luki. It’s what you do, right? Thank you.”

Luki sat up, letting Sonny’s long legs lie across his lap, and looked away. What could he say? What Sonny said was true—Luki had stepped into his protector role like superman changing in a phone booth. Once wearing the role that he’d nurtured over decades, it was like none of the stuff in between had ever happened. He just did what Luki Vasquez did best. He felt odd, now, like perhaps his actions of the afternoon bore some impact on the mess he had in general become. Like maybe he was almost Luki Vasquez, if he just didn’t make any missteps.

One thing he knew, to answer Sonny’s gratitude with the words, “you’re welcome” wouldn’t make any sense. Instead he said, “I made some coffee. When I talked to Donnell—”

“You called the doctor?”

“Yeah, I didn’t—”

“And even with the damn Scottish br-r-r-rogue you could understand him?”

Luki’s eyebrows went up, and he looked critically at Sonny. “Maybe I should call him back. He said if you were still disoriented… You never speak with a horribly fake Scottish accent unless you have shortbread.”

“I’m lucid.”

“No. I’m lucid. You’re Sonny. Do you want coffee, anyway?”

“In a minute. My feet are really cold, Luki. They hurt.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Donnell suggested a tub of warm water, but first let’s just try this.” He turned his body so that he faced Sonny, his back up against the arn of the sofa, his legs running on either side of Sonny’s, and placed Sonny’s soles against his own bare chest. “Oh, fuck! They are cold.”

Sonny giggled. “That feels so good. Stay right there!”

Luki couldn’t help but smile at his lover who could be a bit hedonistic in the best of circumstances. He saw Sonny watching him, and on a whim kissed the closest big toe. (The rest of the excerpt here)