April Moone's Blog

It's finally here, The Dragonfly Theory is available for preorder at Amazon. Due out on Decemeber 20.

***

Infamous assassin Edmund Hughes is hired to kill a man. Shamed ex-Agent Nigel Reid will do everything in his power to stop that from happening.

The one marked for death, only known by the moniker of “Kagerō” proclaims his innocence despite the fact that he is carrying the formula for the newest kick on the streets. Hellseher is a dangerous drug monopolized by a large shadow organization and new player is trying to take over the distribution. Unwilling to let thousands of innocent people die in the inevitable drug war, Kagerō fights to stop spread of hellseher even at the risk of his own life.

Angry Germans, oversexed Frenchmen, a loudmouthed Goth teen, dark secrets, complicated genetics and simple human emotions make a mess of Kagerō’s mission to stop the spread of hellseher. And as his new partner comes to find, Kagerō himself is more of an addiction than any drug, one that cannot be resisted.

My newest title :The Dragonfly Theory is actually something I'd been working on for some time but never really found the focus to finish/edit until recently. (I have quite a few of those, actually, in my backlog). Originally I had the publication slated for September but due to circumstances I've had to push that date back a bit. Possibly looking at late Oct/early Nov. I'll let you know when I know. ^^ In the meantime, here is chapter one in its entirety. I'd put this title in the 'gay romance/action' category. It's a bit darker than my other titles and not the typical slice-of-life theme I tend to lean towards.

one
 
I HAD been paid to kill a man with no name. All there was to go from was a blurry mobile photo and that photo did not match the face of the man I just shot.

“Bollocks,” I hissed, still sighted down my gun where the fellow with the foul mouth had just been. Under him lay the man he’d been totting about, currently unconscious—a man that I suspected was my target. A man that I had boldly claimed as mine, which then led to the confrontation with Mr. Smelly here.

I stared a moment, the world holding its breath as reality set in, and when it did, I lowered the gun, took in a deep, deep breath and then let out a loud, “Damnation!”

Very aware of my surroundings, I rushed to dig the unconscious man from under the dead one. I tossed the man and his bag over my shoulder and walked around the corner to wedge him just inside the parking structure, out of sight before rushing back out, heart pounding to gather the other one. The one I’d killed.

I hissed a small oath as I slipped into a pair of sheepskin gloves lined in soft rabbit. I bent down and collected the dead man, gagging when the man’s stink permeated my sinuses.

“Good god man, do American’s not understand the complexities of a proper bath?”

Of course the body wouldn’t answer me, but I often spoke to things incapable. Most of living society was like that anyway, brain-dead sheep. Explained their newest obsession with that designer drug, hellseher, anyway.

The drug wasn’t ultimately the reason for my being in this bloody annoying country, but my true purpose would have to wait. This city, it birthed hellseher and now that I was here, I would find its father. This job in particular was supposed to be my way in, to verify the truth my instincts had led me towards. And if I was correct, than that meant the man—the boy I’d been hired to find, was an important key in the hellseher formula.

And I found him, the boy from the photo, but he wasn’t alone. Which led me to this moment, with a dead man needing to be disposed of and the one I was paid to kill lying unconscious in a car park.

My car was several blocks away and needing an out now, I quickly perused the car park for a vehicle to haul off my new companions. Of course the sort of vehicle that fit my refined sense of fashion had too little trunk space and too much look-at-me. Grudgingly, I chose a beat up gold Honda with dull gold rims—it had big enough back end on it, if nothing else.

Breaking in was like popping open a soda can, even with one hundred and ninety pounds of stinking dead meat slung over my shoulder. I opened the driver’s door and knelt for the boot release when a new stink hit me.

“Good god!” I exclaimed loud enough that my voice echoed in the cement structure. I stumbled back, dropping the dead man so that his head hit the cement with a sickly crack. “Are all American’s so bloody foul!”

The stink inside the car was a mixture of moldy tacos and stale weed. And diseased feet. I stood and brushed off my suit, a nervous gesture I refused to fully acknowledge. When I noticed my new, and very expensive, shoes were scuffed I made an angry noise and spun to the dead man, delivering a swift kick to his ribs. “Rotten bugger!”

Done with my terribly childish mini temper tantrum, I huffed and released the boot latch to deposit the dead man inside. I had to fold the smelly fellow in half to make him fit, but it was done. I then returned to retrieve, well, let’s call the boy what he was: my mark. The poor sod I was paid to kill.

The kid was where I’d left him, slumped forward, chin to chest, looking like a homeless fellow taking a nap on the footway. Feeling a sudden fit of uncertainty, I flung back the grey hood to show the boy’s face and confirm he was really the one I’d been hired to kill. “The Jap Boy”, as my current employer had so callously called him, looked exactly like his photo under the freshly new dark marks on his face where someone had hit him recently.

But, oh my, the young man was attractive—sans the unsightly blemish, of course, and his unkempt appearance. He had smooth skin, slight features and silky black hair. Rather delicate, actually. He might have been older, but he looked to hardly to manhood.

I’d been staring and cleared my throat when I realised it. “Right, come on, then.” I scooped up the unconscious Oriental and carried him back to the car. Since my plan was now shot and pronounced dead, I decided my first order of business was to take care of the deceased man.

If there was ever a time to curse, a gritty, all-encompassing curse, it was now. The day had only just started and already things were a total cock up. My composure was unraveling, something that hadn’t happening in an age. I needed to take a moment and relax, gather my senses but there was no time, dawn had past and soon these streets would be full of curious eyes.  

After wiring the stink box car, and cleaning off the front seat of the old food wrappers and other junk for the boy to sit, I pulled out into traffic. The street, which was quiet up until the moment I picked up the kid minutes ago, was now bustling with morning commuters and early tourist. I was thankful my luck wasn’t so bad that I was caught doing unsavory things by decent society.

By the time I reached my destination, I was predictably cross. Not only had the radio not worked, neither had the climate system and the heat was stuck on high. To make matters worse, rub it in my bloody face as it were, the window buttons were rendered inoperable, making the little shitbox stink to high hell. Perhaps the stink would never leave my person, baked in so. I grumbled to myself the entire way across town about bloody stupid cars, smelly wankers, fat Germans and the like. The boy never stirred.

I’d grudgingly called ahead to warn Misha of my arrival. The Russian was already in a foul mood himself and not happy to hear from me. We were not friends so much as indentured business partners. Misha was a member of very exclusive group of people I trusted. I wondered if it were more than luck that Misha happened to set up shop in the same city I had ended up in—this city lost to hellseher. I would never suggest such a thing to the man though.

Misha was standing outside the workshop when I arrived, smoking a hand rolled fag. I had to smile at the familiar scowl on the man’s hard face.

“Morning, ole chap,” I greeted cheerily as I walked towards him. “Haven’t seen you for an age… all right, then?”

Misha grunted, squinting up at me and dropped his half-smoked fag to the ground. “What so good ‘bout shit morning, huh?”

I smiled to myself thinking Misha never changed. “About the same for you, then? Right, well, bit of a pickle this morning.” Putting it mildly.

“Why else you come bother Misha?” The man grunted. “Where it at?”

Right to business, good man. No questions, less embarrassment. I guided the Russian to the car.

“What piece of shit,” he muttered.

I chuckled softly. “That it is. Can you dispose of ‘piece-of-shit’ and that?” I said as I popped the boot and frowned at the body I’d stuffed inside.

Misha made a surprised little noise. “You have…” The man made a motion with his hands and I knew he was trying to find the right English word. “Disagree?”

“You know the bloke?”

Mischa grunted again, a strange sort of frown on his face. “Cassie.”

“Huh,” I grumbled ineloquently. I’d heard plenty of the American killer, rather revered, actually. Never thought I’d mistake the infamous Cassie Winters for a homeless junkie. At any rate, it explained our unfortunate run-in; we were both after the same boy. “Right, well… can’t be helped.”

Misha made a low noise in his throat that might have been a laugh, nodding his answer and picked up the body. He started to turn away, but stopped when he saw the shadow in the car. “That one too?”

I lifted a brow at the man, hoping my message was understood. “That one is still breathing.”

The Russian scowled harder. “Misha no do live, агент.”

I scowled, knowing the word all too well and all that it could mean if someone overheard it. In a low tone I warned, “Mind yourself, ole chap.”

Mischa gave me a slight nod, acknowledging everything in our past, and our current convoluted present. Mischa wasn’t wrong in calling me… that. I wasn’t the only one with a nickname, but something about The Cleaner calling me by it made it sound dirty. Too raw. Indeed, I was not over that part of my life yet.

Misha turned away with the dead body. I wasn’t entirely sure what the man did with such rubbish but had a fairly good notion. The small building Misha worked out of was on the far end of a very large car park that separated it from the main structure, a meat processing plant. Misha owned that plant. So... right.

I turned to the car with a sigh. Just as I opened the passenger door of the car I hoped died a gloriously grotesque death and laid eyes on the boys’ bag at his feet, a voice called out behind me that made me cringe.

“Eddy!”

I shut my eyes, heaved a sigh. Counted—one, two, three, bloody four… Nope. No good. No matter what, the girl always grated my nerves. She was the youngest professional killer I had ever met, though not by much—that is, if she were an actual killer. Sure, she touted such a title, and loudly, but I knew the truth of where her talents lie. And I was professional enough to keep her truth to myself, but wasn’t past using such information should I come to an impasse with the girl.

Cherry red hair, dark make-up, tight leather, fishnet, piercings and tattoos, she preferred the punk look to something more subtle. I never understood how she made a living looking so flashy. Or perhaps it was her flashiness that drew her clients to her. Bloody men.

I turned slowly and greeted the decidedly unwanted guest with a severe smile. “Good morning, Theo.”

“Awfully early for a hit, ain’t it?”

Ugh, American slang, so harsh on sensible ears. I ignored the jab and foolishly slung one back without a thought. “Never too early to do one’s job.”

She laughed, flipping her bright hair over her shoulder. “Ah-huh, and Misha? It’s definitely too early to be visiting The Cleaner.”

If she wanted to play childish and petty, I could too. Yet with more class. “Theodora, my dear—”

“No! Dude.” She stomped a high heeled boot against the ground and pulled a gun from under her motorcycle jacket. “I told you I’d fucking shoot you if you called me that again. In. The. Face.”

I chuckled softly. “I remember, darling. And you remember what I said I’d do to you if you pulled on me again, do you not?” Her expression fell and she even paled a little as she slipped her gun away, nodding fervently. She was oh so young and ridiculously impressionable. My simple, but graphic threats had stuck with her. I’d never actually done any of the things I described, but had often witnessed them, the horrors others inflicted upon their fellow man.

“Tell me, what are you visiting The Cleaner for so early?”

Theo shrugged and shoved a stick of gum into her mouth. She was trying to look cool but I could see that she was still shaken by the threat and I nearly felt rotten for it. Nearly.

“Was bored. There’s no jobs at all lately. Well,” she said smacking her gum. “Except from that pedophile German, but you’d have to be a fucking monkey’s ass to work for him. Man, I tell you—”

“The German?” I said without giving the troublesome girl a chance to finish speaking, full of apprehension. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” She smacked that blasted gum again. “I heard that the last two hired guns that worked for him ended up—” She made the chopping gesture across the front of her neck.

My pulse sped up. Yes. I knew of them. And perhaps now there was a third if Cassie Winters, professional assassin, had been hired by the German too. But yes, I knew of the others before accepting the job from Schafer. I knew plenty about Herr Schafer.

Indeed, to the public Luther Schafer was nothing more than an importer/exporter of foreign treasure. How he ever managed to maintain such a gross façade, I had yet to fully understand. For the man’s treasures weren’t always limited to fine art. No, I knew first hand that the chubby German bastard had an eye for foreign skin. Young skin. The man loved children and not in the fatherly sort of way.
However, during my one and only visit to the Schafer mansion, to accept this job, I found myself leaving plagued with troubling thoughts. Something was profoundly wrong with the whole bloody place—all those clone bodyguards and the angry looks they gave the half-naked boy servants, there was something more happening there.

 I cleared my throat and needlessly prompted, “What precisely happened?”

She shrugged and shoved her hands into her back pockets and rocked back on her heels. “Don’t know. I mean, one was black… and bi—you know, liked both men and women. Apparently, Schafer didn’t like that. Hmm, oh and the other dude was an out-of-towner, so, dunno what the deal is. Just that there’s a ton of weird shit going on with Schafer Industries lately, is all.” She shrugged again.

I was an out-of-towner myself, even if I’d been squatting here for nearly a year. But then, Edmund Hughes’ reputation was such that even someone like Schafer couldn’t ignore. Again, there was that niggling that something was wrong with the whole situation. I knew about the other two assassins. And, yes, the possibility that the one died simply for having dark skin and tendencies I myself had, had occurred to me.  But then, why? He had all of those children he collected, children of all races, male children. What was I missing?

“Theo, are you—”

There was a surprised Russian exclamation and both Theo and I turned to look at Misha. His gruff face was drawn into a deep frown. He lifted an arm and pointed. “Your bunny is run off.”

I turned in time to see “the bunny” stumbling off, tripping on clunky wooden shoes.

“Bugger me,” I muttered and started after the boy.

Theo laughed and yelled after me, “I’ll take you up on that offer!”

I rolled my eyes and kept running.

“Oh!” she chirped behind me. “Nice bag... Huh, what’s this?”

I ran as fast my long legs would propel me. I couldn’t lose the boy with no name, there was too much at stake. I was no longer a young man, but I liked to think my daily activities kept me in decent enough shape. I quickly caught up to the boy and grabbed him, wrapping the small frame tightly in my arms. The boy let out a scream that gave me gooseflesh. He’d screamed like this before, when Cassie hit him to render him unconscious earlier.

“Bloody hell, not this again. Listen, boy, belt up or I’ll give you a right whack.” The boy continued to writhe and scream, but when I pulled out the small leather Billy club, a beloved gift from an old friend, the boy seemed to realise I was serious. He fell still, gasping for air and glaring at the club in my hand.

“Good boy,” I whispered close to the Oriental’s ear and he gave me a lovely shudder in response. I couldn’t help but smile. “You listen to me, boy. I don’t plan to hurt you but if you insist on carrying on, screaming like a sodding loon, running and the like then I will knock you on your arse. Am I understood?”

The boy only gasped, making a half-hearted attempt to get away.

I sighed, wondering if the boy even spoke English, and hauled him back with me to the car to find the others ogling a bit of paper Theo had found in the boy’s rucksack. I cringed and hoped they weren’t seeing something they weren’t meant to.

“What’s that you’ve found, Theo?” Did I sound as casual about it as I hoped?

Theo waved a placket of papers in my face. “I think you should see this.”

“Bloody hell,” I muttered and moved to pass the boy over to Mischa for a moment.

 My left forearm burst into pain. I cried out but managed to hold onto the boy, realising in a moment what had happened when I saw the knife in his hand stained with blood. It’d been careless not to pat the kid down before.

Theo let out a surprised yip and jumped back. I let out an angry growl and grabbed the boy’s hand, crushing it, making him scream and drop the knife. I caught the weapon before it fell and turned it around on the kid, pressing it to his delicate throat. The boy froze, eyes wide and wild, scared yet fiercely angry and I couldn’t help be feel a sizzle of pleasure at his silent defiance.

“Hold still or you’ll be cut,” I said sweetly. “I’ve seen how much blood the human body holds, but perhaps you’d like a personal demonstration.” This time the boy whimpered, ceasing his thrashing, giving way to tremors of rage and fear. Even Theo’s eyes widened. Must have sounded pretty bloody convincing.

I sighed and looked at my aching arm. I couldn’t tell how deep the wound was only that it stung like hell. “You’ve ruined my favorite jacket.” I shoved the boy at Mischa and Theo jumped past them and right at me.

“Duuuude,” Theo drawled out. “This is so not cool. I don’t want anything to do with this, notah.” She shoved the papers against my chest so that I was forced to take them.

“What?” I asked, looking to Misha.

The older man was scowling more than usual and it worried me. “Girl with loud mouth right.”

“What are you on about?” I asked, impatience rising.

Theo motioned frantically at the papers she’d shoved at me as she took up a line of nervous pacing. The front page had foreign writing on it and a diagram. While I couldn’t read any of words, I knew that bloody picture, that icon and my pulse jumped. That was a chemical formula there on that first page, wasn’t it? And that logo there, the big, bold dragonfly was as familiar as any popular, legal, household brand.

Theo stopped and turned frantic, wide blue eyes onto me. “Dude, he’s a hellseher pimp! We’re all so fucking dead!”

I wasn't sure I was actually going to admit to this, ever, but I am also the author known as Christina Moore. I write urban fantasy under that name, my real name. April's my middle name and I suppose you can see where I got Moone from... Anyway, I've been busy being Christina, writing or not, and have had little time to even consider April's writing. The only way I can explain it is here from my other blog:
   
    I had debated on whether this was something I wanted to share publicly or not and I think that it's important to share, as hard as it is to say. For the past three years my darling husband had been fighting cancer. Our daughter has only ever known daddy as sick. He fought against this aggressive disease over and over again as it kept coming back. But it had gotten to the point where it was stronger than any method of treatment. He lost the battle days ago. We all lost with his passing.

    I know I don't have many readers, hell, no one may even see this, but in the chance that someone does and wants to know the why for my sudden silence I wanted my intentions known. I'm not walking away from the Uruwashi project, simply delaying it while I take time to grieve. The first draft of book four, White Lies, is nearly finished and I will get back to that last chapter and editing once I can focus again. But it may not see publication in 2015. Then again, it might as I try to break away from the chaos. Writing for me has always been therapeutic and I foresee it helping me again through these terrible times.

As I said in a old post from early last year, I'd hoped to get at least one April title out a year. That may not be a realistic goal now but it is something for me to focus on. Hopefully life won't throw any more darkness my way.

So, I've been pretty quiet lately. Life takes it toll and gets in the way of, well, life itself. The past two years have been rough. I welcomed a daughter in 2011 and less than a year later, my husband had his first cancer surgery. Since then, the baby's gotten bigger and my husband's had two more surgeries to remove recurrences. On top of that, I started releasing a new series (under another name) in the urban fantasy genre. To say that I've been busy is a big understatement.

With all the other stuff, I've been neglecting my precious yaoi. I have a huge list of stuff I want to do, but am remiss to find time. So, in an effort to set a goal for myself of getting at least one project done this year (I know, a ridiculous number), I've made this little post. Its my way of bringing the work to light and maybe it'll get my ass in gear.

So, I've been toying with the idea of a Strawberries and Beast sequel and even started the first chapter. Then there's Dragonfly, which is about 3/4 written. I'd love to edit Love's Mask (my freebie online serial) and get that into a low cost/free PDF for your enjoyment. Then there's a racy little story called Vexed that's not just m/m, but m/f, f/f and menage that I'd like to get beta read. I also have ideas for two new stories started, both of which I foresee as freebies and therefore can stay on hold really... There you have it. It may seem short, but it's really a lot to do on top of writing my other series with regularity. It's good to be busy though and I look forward to a more yaoi productive 2014. Ja na! 

Yes! I changed my webpage, again. I've been struggling with something aesthetically pleasing and functional. And despite my general loathing of the color pink, I think this newest version is the right fit for the type of stuff I write. Speaking of writing.... now that things in my personal life are starting to look normal again, I can look to finishing some suspended projects.

One I remember enjoying very much called "Dragonfly" is about an assassin and a Japanese man with curious infliction that sends him to illegal drugs just for relief. That story is at about 40k words and about half done. I've got a few other first chapters started of other ideas but I think most of those might end up being free (on AF fiction).

Lastly, I'd like to send you to www.thebeautifuldeath.com for a new Urban Fantasy series featuring Japanese mythology and alchemy (vampires too!). The cannon love interest is a hetero relationship, but many of the side relationships are "other".

I'll do my best to not be a stranger in 2014 and get new stuff in your hands. :)

Well, it's not really new. Most of the same content on a different server. I hope to get it filled again soon and add more information. Still working on a title for release... if I can ever find the time to finish it. Also, I'm updating two stories on AF Fiction about once a month that are free to read. (And looking to start a new one soon). In the meantime, I'd like to recommend you check out www.thebeautifuldeath.com if you're into Urban Fantasy. The primary relationship in the series isn't m/m but there are many secondary characters that are. That's due to come out soon.

2012 was a
quite year for me. It should have been a big bang, a burst out into the world
as a new author with new titles to sell. Instead, I spent my year struggling
with cancer. My husband, at 32, was diagnosed with an epithelial myoepithelial carcinoma
of the parotid gland. Its removal took a 12 hr surgery, a secondary surgery to
put a weight in his eyelid and 8 weeks of radiation. The radiation was the
hardest part to get through, all the while I was trying to edit Fallen Sakura with my publisher for
release—I wasn’t even thinking about creating new stuff at that point. There
was no focus, everything I did just didn’t make sense. All I could do was keep
my infant daughter happy—which incidentally I failed at since she started to
sense the stress and pull out her own hair. Yeah.

All of the
treatment to save his life, so that he could see his (then) 1-yr-old daughter
grow up, left him with palsy on the entire left side of his face, missing
patches of hair and other long term and inconvenient side effects. But he was
healing and we were just getting back to normal again. That was until last
week. Almost a year to the day, we are told the cancer is back. We have to
start all over again. Another long surgery. Another round of radiation. Another
year of just getting by, mentally. Only, things are worse this time around.
Surgery will leave my husband deaf in his left ear, not to mention the paralysis
he already has on the entire left side of his face. Nerve and skin grafts to
harvest healthy tissue will leave the harvest areas scarred, and worse, numb—dead.
And there’s a risk for serious complications as this new tumor looks as if it
might have started to invade the lining of his brain.

Throughout
all the stress last year, I did manage to keep up on writing at least one
chapter per month to the free stories I offer on Aarin
Fantasy, keep that part of my brain functioning at its minimum. And I
managed to start the idea/drafts on at least four m/m stories after radiation
ended, one of which is half through a very thorough first draft at 40k words.
And I have a very hefty (HET vampire series of) novel(s) that I started years
ago and recently submitted to Harper Voyageur during their open call in hopes
of getting that published… finally.
I’ve been trying desperately to force
myself to start the draft for book three of the vampire series and finish that
other m/m story I’m half through. But I’m at a stand-still again. Lost in my
own dark thoughts consumed by cancer—which I’d incidentally would like to point
out is my zodiac.

So, to wrap
up this long thought, I’d just like to say, I appreciate my (few as they are)
fans and I’m sorry I don’t have more to give you right now. I’m sorry I’ve
been… well, just not here. Checked out. But, as you can see, life happened. It
just happens harder to some.

To
celebrate the one-year anniversary of my first book release,
"Strawberries & The Beast", I'm having a giveaway. There will be
three (3) prizes, each containing:

     *one (1) signed paperback copy of Strawberries & The Beast 
     *one (1) bookmark with a strawberry handmade from authentic kimono fabric (each are a little different from one another
     *one (1) Kose Precious Kiss Strawberry lip gloss
     *one (1) Lotte Strawberry Chocolate sticks candy
     *one (1) Strawberry themed bag to carry it all in!

Entering this contest is super easy, just fill out the form on my website giveaway page with your name and email and a short blurb as to why you like m/m romance. One entry per person please. Entries are being accepted October 15-October 19. Winners are chosen at random using RandomPicker and will be notified on the 20th via email and asked to provide a shipping address. If a reply is not received by the 23rd by a winner, then another name will be drawn. Open to the US and Canada only, please. Thanks for entering!

Today is the one-year anniversary release date for “Strawberries and The Beast”. To
celebrate, I’m going to be giving away some things. What sort of things? one may ask. Hmm, well, they involve
strawberries. The official giveaway entries will start on Monday, October 15. Info
will be posted on my website: www.aprilmoone.com
Stay tuned, folks, more info to come soon!

October is just around the corner. I like October.
October is a good month. Okay, so I don’t care for the cold that usually
follows, but I’m all for Halloween—the one time of the year when having my hair
purple doesn’t garner as many looks. Then again, I must just have one of those
faces that no matter what color my hair is, people still talk to me a lot. A
LOT. Grocery stores, Target… wherever. Could also be the cute baby I’ve usually
got on my arm. I’m thinking I’ve got a little Nel on my hands for a costume
this year. You know, something to go with my Bleach uniform…

Ahem, anyway. The point I was trying to get to
before being distracted: October. October 10 is the one year anniversary of Strawberries & The Beast. Yep. Already.
So, I was thinking that I need to have a giveaway. A book (maybe two), some fun
Japanese gifts and… well, who knows. Stay tuned, I’m going to try to announce
what’s happening soon.