Ana Bosch's Blog
December 15, 2012
The Unlikely Inspiration Behind Lucky
The rulers of the Philistines went to her and said, “See if you can lure him into showing you the secret of his great strength and how we can overpower him so we may tie him up and subdue him.
--Judges 16:5
I’ll be the first to admit that I get inspiration from some very odd places. Getting inspiration from the Old Testament isn’t odd or unusual in itself, but I think it’s a little more unusual for it to serve as inspiration for a sweet, feel-good gay Christmas romance.
I hadn’t intended on writing anything for Dreamspinner Press’s Evergreen anthology, but inspiration happened to strike. While I was trying to brainstorm some extras to offer the readers of my webcomic, one reader suggested doing a spoof of Samson and Delilah. I decided that it would be a good time to brush up on the actual story of Samson, so I read the bible verses and checked out Wikipedia and a few other sites as well. Rereading the story reminded me of how I always used to feel about Samson.
Samson has to be either the stupidest or the most ungrateful man in the bible.
God gives Samson this amazing gift of strength. Then he meets Delilah, and Delilah says to him, “Tell me the secret of your great strength and how you can be tied up and subdued.” Samson says that if she ties him with seven bowstrings, he’ll lose his strength. And Delilah tries it. It fails, so she asks him again, and he lies again. And again, she tries it. And then—because he’s “sick of her nagging”—Samson tells her the truth: if she cuts the seven braids of his hair, he’ll lose his strength.
Keep in mind, every time Samson told this lady how to get rid of his strength, she tried it—and he knew that she tried it. So why would he ever tell her the truth? This is why I think he has to be either incredibly stupid or incredibly ungrateful.
All throughout the story, you can see that Samson is kind of an entitled jerk, although I’m sure that wasn’t anything unusual at the time. Heck, it’s still nothing unusual. But when I read the story, I really felt that Samson was so spoiled by his gift from God that he took it for granted. After his strength was depleted, the Philistines blinded Samson and put him to work, but I believe he’d been metaphorically blind his entire life.
This was the unlikely inspiration behind Lucky, my Christmas novella, and if you look closely, you’ll notice a hell of a lot of references to Samson’s story while you read. At the time I wrote the story, I’d also been reading a lot about racism and classism and privilege, and it made me realize just how blind we often are to the gifts and blessings that we’ve had all our lives but didn’t necessarily have to earn.
And that’s where Martel Heller comes in. Martel is the main character in Lucky, and for seven years, he’s had the privilege of being able to pick and choose the hottest dates because he happens to have these dreadlocks that make him really attractive. As a result, he’s pretty shallow, and he’s used to getting exactly the type of guy he wants. But when he has to cut his dreads, his luck seems to magically disappear. Like Samson, he feels disabled by the loss. But this loss might be just what he needs in order to open his eyes and see clearly for the first time.
Buy Lucky from Dreamspinner Press
Buy Lucky from Amazon
--Judges 16:5
I’ll be the first to admit that I get inspiration from some very odd places. Getting inspiration from the Old Testament isn’t odd or unusual in itself, but I think it’s a little more unusual for it to serve as inspiration for a sweet, feel-good gay Christmas romance.
I hadn’t intended on writing anything for Dreamspinner Press’s Evergreen anthology, but inspiration happened to strike. While I was trying to brainstorm some extras to offer the readers of my webcomic, one reader suggested doing a spoof of Samson and Delilah. I decided that it would be a good time to brush up on the actual story of Samson, so I read the bible verses and checked out Wikipedia and a few other sites as well. Rereading the story reminded me of how I always used to feel about Samson.
Samson has to be either the stupidest or the most ungrateful man in the bible.
God gives Samson this amazing gift of strength. Then he meets Delilah, and Delilah says to him, “Tell me the secret of your great strength and how you can be tied up and subdued.” Samson says that if she ties him with seven bowstrings, he’ll lose his strength. And Delilah tries it. It fails, so she asks him again, and he lies again. And again, she tries it. And then—because he’s “sick of her nagging”—Samson tells her the truth: if she cuts the seven braids of his hair, he’ll lose his strength.
Keep in mind, every time Samson told this lady how to get rid of his strength, she tried it—and he knew that she tried it. So why would he ever tell her the truth? This is why I think he has to be either incredibly stupid or incredibly ungrateful.
All throughout the story, you can see that Samson is kind of an entitled jerk, although I’m sure that wasn’t anything unusual at the time. Heck, it’s still nothing unusual. But when I read the story, I really felt that Samson was so spoiled by his gift from God that he took it for granted. After his strength was depleted, the Philistines blinded Samson and put him to work, but I believe he’d been metaphorically blind his entire life.
This was the unlikely inspiration behind Lucky, my Christmas novella, and if you look closely, you’ll notice a hell of a lot of references to Samson’s story while you read. At the time I wrote the story, I’d also been reading a lot about racism and classism and privilege, and it made me realize just how blind we often are to the gifts and blessings that we’ve had all our lives but didn’t necessarily have to earn.
And that’s where Martel Heller comes in. Martel is the main character in Lucky, and for seven years, he’s had the privilege of being able to pick and choose the hottest dates because he happens to have these dreadlocks that make him really attractive. As a result, he’s pretty shallow, and he’s used to getting exactly the type of guy he wants. But when he has to cut his dreads, his luck seems to magically disappear. Like Samson, he feels disabled by the loss. But this loss might be just what he needs in order to open his eyes and see clearly for the first time.
Buy Lucky from Dreamspinner Press
Buy Lucky from Amazon
December 2, 2012
Lucky, my Christmas novella, has been released!
Woohoo! Check out my newly released ebook! It’s a holiday-themed contemporary m/m romance.
Lucky $3.99
By Ana Bosch
Ever since Martel Heller rolled his first dreadlock, his love life has been blessed. For seven years he’s had the luxury of cherry-picking the hottest men available. But when the dress code at his new job forces him to hack off his lucky locks, his good fortune comes to an end.
To make matters worse, if Martel shows up at the company Christmas party alone, his creepy coworker Phil will know he’s single. As a last resort, Martel enlists his best friend, Felix, a fashion photographer, to hook him up with a model. Then plans fall through, and Martel ends up stuck at the Christmas party with the last person he expects—but as the hours pass, he wonders if he's finally learned what it means to be lucky.
Buy the ebook now from Dreamspinner Press!
(you can also read an excerpt on that page)
Next Monday or so, I'll post a little bit of background about my inspiration for this story. I suspect that my inspiration was pretty unusual at least for a contemporary m/m holiday romance. ;)
Lucky $3.99
By Ana Bosch
Ever since Martel Heller rolled his first dreadlock, his love life has been blessed. For seven years he’s had the luxury of cherry-picking the hottest men available. But when the dress code at his new job forces him to hack off his lucky locks, his good fortune comes to an end.
To make matters worse, if Martel shows up at the company Christmas party alone, his creepy coworker Phil will know he’s single. As a last resort, Martel enlists his best friend, Felix, a fashion photographer, to hook him up with a model. Then plans fall through, and Martel ends up stuck at the Christmas party with the last person he expects—but as the hours pass, he wonders if he's finally learned what it means to be lucky.
Buy the ebook now from Dreamspinner Press!
(you can also read an excerpt on that page)
Next Monday or so, I'll post a little bit of background about my inspiration for this story. I suspect that my inspiration was pretty unusual at least for a contemporary m/m holiday romance. ;)
November 10, 2012
Lifelines - Undead Series #3 Sneak Peek
Thank you so much to everyone who attended my Meet the Author chat on Goodreads! I really hope you guys enjoyed it.
As I promised during the chat, I'm posting a special excerpt from Lifelines, the third and final book I have planned in the Undead Series. In the third book, Riley accompanies Lychgate to his hometown near Chicago, upon rumors of dead humans being kept in a state of puppet-like animation by way of an undead-worshipping ritual.
Meanwhile, someone from Riley's past is not ready to see him with another man. Not only has he dug up Riley's most shameful secret, he's devised an elaborate scheme that puts Riley and Westwood's relationship—and their lives—in jeopardy.
Going back home for Riley is not an easy thing, as the excerpt I'm about to share shows. Before the start of Lychgate's assignment, Riley spends the night at his sister's house, but he's blindsided when his parents show up out of nowhere for a visit. This scene takes place that night after they leave. And we see that after four years with Nick and now a year with Westwood, Riley is still having trouble opening up.
---
When Riley entered his bedroom, the first thing he saw was his reflection in the mirror on the far wall. He looked haggard, old, worn out. He looked a lot like he did after coming out of a fight in Barclay’s class, except without the visible bruises.
He looked depressed.
Closing the door behind him, he headed across the room. He took the mirror down and turned it around to face the wall. Then he retrieved his toiletries from his suitcase and headed around the corner to the bathroom.
After getting ready for the night, he climbed into bed and turned off the lights. But even after closing his eyes, his mind raced with repetitions of all the painful little phrases he’d heard throughout the day. Being away from his parents for so many years, he had finally managed to build himself a new identity, something different from the weak, irrational, unstable, incapable kid they had previously convinced him he was.
Tonight, he felt like that kid again.
Half an hour passed, and the racing, repetitive thoughts didn’t cease. He stumbled out of bed and grabbed his cell phone and then climbed back under the covers, drawing them tight around him to keep in the warmth. He ran his fingers over the phone’s smooth, hard surface. Then he turned it on and scrolled through his contacts.
Westwood’s number appeared on the screen. He stared at it. Just a touch of the screen, and he could hear his lover’s voice.
He tapped the button.
Four rings. Five rings. Leave a message after the beep.
He froze. What was he doing? Why was he calling Westwood? What would he say to the man? That he was sad? That he needed someone to reassurehim, like a goddamn toddler during a thunderstorm? Westwood had never seen this side of him before. And if he saw it now, he’d probably start to have doubts about whether Riley was still competent enough to participate in Lychgate’s mission.
He lost track of how long it’d been since he’d heard the beep on the other line, of how long he’d been breathing into the phone without saying anything.
Abruptly, he hung up.
Sleep came and went, flitting in and out and making Riley toss restlessly in his bed. He sank into darkness, only to be jolted half-awake by the erratic beating of his own heart. He heard the eerie creak of taut rope being stretched. He saw a dangling shadow swaying in the wind beneath the branches of a tree. He felt himself screaming—Andrew—against the wind. Screaming over and over, until his throat burned. But not a sound emerged from his mouth.
His eyes sprang open. He stared up at the ceiling, seeing nothing but black. It took a moment for his supernatural night vision to kick in and the room to come into focus. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage, so hard he could almost hear it. His own heartbeat unnerved him to the point that he finally scrambled out of bed and rushed for the window.
The moment he pulled back the curtains, he felt that startling pang in his chest again. His skin went cold with dread—or perhaps fear—when his gaze settled on the apple tree in the backyard.
Someone was standing under the tree.
He recognized the figure’s familiar build—broad shoulders, skinny torso and arms, and long, skinny legs. A teenage body that hadn’t yet filled into its new adult framework. Torn jeans. Sandy blond hair. Emerald eyes that mirrored his own.
No, it couldn’t be. His brain was filling in details that his eyes couldn’t possibly see from such a distance.
He heard a knocking sound behind him and whirled around, his breath catching. In the window of the adjacent wall, another figure loomed. Riley jumped.
The figure knocked again on the window, and suddenly Riley recognized Westwood across the pane of glass. He raised a hand to his pounding heart, willing it to slow while he took in a few controlled breaths.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glanced out the window at his side again. He saw no figure under the apple tree.
Westwood knocked one more time. Riley yanked the curtains closed over the window beside him and headed across the room to allow his lover entrance.
“What are you doing here?” Riley whispered. He was embarrassed to hear a tremor in his voice.
“I got your message.” Westwood climbed the rest of the way into the bedroom and closed the window behind him. Then he took Riley by the arms and pulled him close.
Riley didn’t resist. Rather, he wrapped his arms around his lover and squeezed him as hard as he could. “God, I’m so glad you’re here,” he gasped, even as he willed himself to play it cool. “I didn’t say anything on the phone. How did you know to come?
”Westwood stroked Riley’s hair. “I could tell by the sound of your breaths.” He continued stroking for another moment before pulling back and looking into Riley’s eyes. “What’s wrong? You’re upset.”
“It’s nothing.”
Westwood continued to stare at him, his gaze unwavering. “Liar.”
Riley shook his head. “I don’t want to talk. I just… I just….” He tightened his grip on Westwood’s sleeves. “I just want to be with you.”
“You’re cold,” Westwood said. “You’re shaking. And you look like hell.”
Riley felt his throat tightening, and he felt a dangerously telling sting along his lower eyelids. He blinked and shook his head again. “Just be with me. Please.” He grabbed Westwood’s hand and pressed it against his bare chest, but Westwood pulled his hand free.
Westwood glanced across the room and then back, and Riley knew he’d been looking at the mirror that was facing the wall. “Riley, cut it out. Talk to me.”
Riley lunged and kissed Westwood on the lips. Again, Westwood withdrew, but Riley leaned in again. When Westwood tried to turn his face away for a second time, Riley pushed forward and bit his lip hard enough to nick the skin.
Westwood sucked in a pained gasp and shoved Riley back. “What the fuck?”
“Come on, Westwood.” Riley grabbed Westwood’s arms again, digging in with his fingertips. He dragged his nails all the way down Westwood’s left arm, closing his fist around the man’s hand and yanking it close. He pressed it against the bulge in his tight boxers. “Just do it. Fuck me.” He squeezed Westwood’s wrist as hard as he could. “Make it hurt.”
Westwood wrenched his hand free. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
“What’s the matter with me?” Riley asked. “What’s the matter with you? What happened to the guy who used to be able to fuck me till I could barely walk? Where’s that guy now?”
“Riley—”
“I bet you can’t. You don’t even have it in you anymore—not even if you tried. You’re acting all sensitive, but the truth is you’ve gone weak. You probably can’t even get it up. Maybe I should be the one fucking you this time around.”
He saw the flicker in Westwood’s eyes and the twitch in his cheek, and he braced himself. Westwood was no idiot. The man knew he was being manipulated; Riley was sure of it. But still he charged, tackling Riley and knocking him flat on his back across the nearby mattress.
Riley gasped, winded. He felt Westwood stripping off his underwear and then trying to flip him over. But even though his blood rushed with desire, he twisted out of Westwood’s grip and pushed him back. It wasn’t enough. Westwood had to try a lot harder than that. He wanted all of Westwood’s strength, all of his roughness. He wanted to be pinned so hard it hurt, to be squeezed and crushed under Westwood’s weight. He wanted Westwood to pound him until he couldn’t take any more.
No, he didn’t want it. He needed it—desperately.
He needed it, so he wouldn’t have to think.
November 8, 2012
Meet the Author Chat on Goodreads - This Saturday 11/10!
This weekend I'm doing a "Meet the Author" chat on Goodreads, courtesy of Dreamspinner Press. I'd love it if you guys can come and join me!
You can find all the details and RSVP here:
http://www.goodreads.com/event/show/830955?si=true&utm_content=A&utm_medium=email&utm_source=event_invite
Of course, you're also welcome to just drop in without notice. On the day of the event, there will be a thread here:
http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/45452-dreamspinner-press
The more, the merrier! It's this Saturday from 3pm to 6pm ET. Even if you can only pop in for a little while, that's fine. I'll be talking about all my published m/m novels, especially my newest release, Bonds of Death. There will be excerpts from my current and upcoming releases, and there will be book giveaways! I'll also be there to answer questions and chat about whatever you want to know.
I hope to see you guys there!
You can find all the details and RSVP here:
http://www.goodreads.com/event/show/830955?si=true&utm_content=A&utm_medium=email&utm_source=event_invite
Of course, you're also welcome to just drop in without notice. On the day of the event, there will be a thread here:
http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/45452-dreamspinner-press
The more, the merrier! It's this Saturday from 3pm to 6pm ET. Even if you can only pop in for a little while, that's fine. I'll be talking about all my published m/m novels, especially my newest release, Bonds of Death. There will be excerpts from my current and upcoming releases, and there will be book giveaways! I'll also be there to answer questions and chat about whatever you want to know.
I hope to see you guys there!
November 1, 2012
Lucky - Christmas Novella
I have a whole lot to catch up on, including my adventures at GRL and random stuff about the Undead Series, but for now, have a cover and a blurb about my upcoming Christmas novella!
Lucky $3.99
By Ana Bosch
Ever since Martel Heller rolled his first dreadlock, his love life has been blessed. For seven years he’s had the luxury of cherry-picking the hottest men available. But when the dress code at his new job forces him to hack off his lucky locks, his good fortune comes to an end.
To make matters worse, if Martel shows up at the company Christmas party alone, his creepy coworker Phil will know he’s single. As a last resort, Martel enlists his best friend, Felix, a fashion photographer, to hook him up with a model. Then plans fall through, and Martel ends up stuck at the Christmas party with the last person he expects—but as the hours pass, he wonders if he's finally learned what it means to be lucky.
This story is part of the "Evergreen" Advent Calendar Anthology, and it will also be available for individual purchase starting December 1.
Lucky $3.99
By Ana Bosch
Ever since Martel Heller rolled his first dreadlock, his love life has been blessed. For seven years he’s had the luxury of cherry-picking the hottest men available. But when the dress code at his new job forces him to hack off his lucky locks, his good fortune comes to an end.
To make matters worse, if Martel shows up at the company Christmas party alone, his creepy coworker Phil will know he’s single. As a last resort, Martel enlists his best friend, Felix, a fashion photographer, to hook him up with a model. Then plans fall through, and Martel ends up stuck at the Christmas party with the last person he expects—but as the hours pass, he wonders if he's finally learned what it means to be lucky.
This story is part of the "Evergreen" Advent Calendar Anthology, and it will also be available for individual purchase starting December 1.
October 18, 2012
Bonds of Death has been released!
You can now purchase Bonds of Death through Dreamspinner Press's site! It's available in ebook and paperback.
Since I'm an author attending GayRomLit this weekend, the ebook is 25% off until 10/21. (The ebook for Art of Death is also 25% off!)
The first 20 copies of the paperback sold through Dreamspinner's site have signed sketches inside!
Buy it in ebook
Buy it in paperback
3rd party listings (Amazon, etc.) will probably be up later tomorrow. When I get a chance, I'll make an announcement.
Fresh out of a messy breakup, starving artist Riley Burke has found happiness with Westwood, his new undead lover—enough happiness that when his friend Porter warns him that the undead only see humans as flashy playthings, Riley looks the other way. After all, he only wants a bit of fun. It's not like he's asking Westwood to put a ring on his finger.
Once a brutal and violent criminal, Westwood now atones for his past by punishing the undead for crimes against humans. But his job doesn't make him popular with his undead brethren—and someone has a thirst for revenge.
That someone has uncovered Westwood’s weakness and is on the hunt. To withstand an attack, Westwood must bolster his strength by taking on a human worshipper. He turns to Riley, but Riley is terrified of the bond Westwood's ritual will create. He would rather risk his life pursuing Westwood's attacker than risk opening his soul to a man who doesn't respect him. But time is running out, and if Riley and Westwood can't come together, one of them might pay the ultimate price.
I'll try to put up a more thorough and informative post later in the weekend. Right now, I'm at GayRomLit in New Mexico, and having a great time! I've been getting reacquainted with several authors I met at the Dreamspinner weekend in March, as well as authors I've known online but never met before. At my current level of tiredness (and lack of sobriety), I don't yet want to attempt to list all the awesome people I've talked to, but I will definitely be mentioning many of them in the near future. I caught my first glimpse of the paperback of Bonds of Death in the swag room yesterday, and I was really happy with the way the cover printed. It looks great!
And hey, if you're also attending GayRomLit, come say hi to me! I'm the one with the name tag that says Ana Bosch. ;) And you can pick up my books in the swag room at Dreamspinner's table for only $15.
Since I'm an author attending GayRomLit this weekend, the ebook is 25% off until 10/21. (The ebook for Art of Death is also 25% off!)
The first 20 copies of the paperback sold through Dreamspinner's site have signed sketches inside!
Buy it in ebook
Buy it in paperback
3rd party listings (Amazon, etc.) will probably be up later tomorrow. When I get a chance, I'll make an announcement.
Fresh out of a messy breakup, starving artist Riley Burke has found happiness with Westwood, his new undead lover—enough happiness that when his friend Porter warns him that the undead only see humans as flashy playthings, Riley looks the other way. After all, he only wants a bit of fun. It's not like he's asking Westwood to put a ring on his finger. Once a brutal and violent criminal, Westwood now atones for his past by punishing the undead for crimes against humans. But his job doesn't make him popular with his undead brethren—and someone has a thirst for revenge.
That someone has uncovered Westwood’s weakness and is on the hunt. To withstand an attack, Westwood must bolster his strength by taking on a human worshipper. He turns to Riley, but Riley is terrified of the bond Westwood's ritual will create. He would rather risk his life pursuing Westwood's attacker than risk opening his soul to a man who doesn't respect him. But time is running out, and if Riley and Westwood can't come together, one of them might pay the ultimate price.
I'll try to put up a more thorough and informative post later in the weekend. Right now, I'm at GayRomLit in New Mexico, and having a great time! I've been getting reacquainted with several authors I met at the Dreamspinner weekend in March, as well as authors I've known online but never met before. At my current level of tiredness (and lack of sobriety), I don't yet want to attempt to list all the awesome people I've talked to, but I will definitely be mentioning many of them in the near future. I caught my first glimpse of the paperback of Bonds of Death in the swag room yesterday, and I was really happy with the way the cover printed. It looks great!
And hey, if you're also attending GayRomLit, come say hi to me! I'm the one with the name tag that says Ana Bosch. ;) And you can pick up my books in the swag room at Dreamspinner's table for only $15.
October 15, 2012
Another Bonds of Death Excerpt
Bonds of Death releases on Friday! FRIDAY! Until then, enjoy this excerpt.
(FYI, a wights-only party is a party where the undead are hooked up with human worshippers.)
----------------------
On Wednesday night, Porter shyly asked Riley if he’d be willing to pose for a painting, “for old time’s sake,” as he put it. The setup in his bedroom wasn’t ideal, but at the moment he couldn’t afford to rent a studio space.As requested, Riley sat sideways in a wooden chair, facing away so Porter could paint his back. Riley usually preferred Porter’s paintings when they included the model’s face because he had a knack for capturing likenesses and subtle hints of emotion, but a painting from behind meant he didn’t have to keep a rigid expression, and they could even converse while Porter worked. As Porter laid down the underpainting on his canvas, Riley filled him in on what had happened during the days he’d been gone, including all the details of Riley’s foray into designing baby dolls and Matt’s promise to send him more work.A couple hours into the pose, Riley asked, “How does my back look? Is it getting too bony?”Porter laughed out loud. “Relax, Riley. It’s just a painting.”“I’m curious, that’s all.”“You’re as gorgeous as always, okay? Jeez, I never understand you people with your perfect bodies who fret about every pound you gain or lose.”After a pause, Riley reluctantly explained, “Westwood thinks I’m getting too skinny.”“Is that why he hasn’t been coming around lately? What a douchebag.”“How do you know he hasn’t been coming around? He usually lets himself in through my window.”“Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard your bedsprings screaming for mercy.” He chuckled. “Or you, for that matter.”Riley’s face went red. “I didn’t think you could hear.”“Uh, yeah. I can hear. Mrs. Mason and I always analyze your performances when we run into each other in the stairwell.”“Mrs. Mason? The old lady from the third floor?”“Yep. I love her. She’s hilarious.”“Man, you suck.” He waited, listening to Porter’s rhythmic scratchy brushstrokes for a minute before speaking again. “But no, that’s not why Westwood hasn’t been around. I think he’s… mad at me.”“Why should he be mad at you?”Riley frowned. “Well really, it’s all Quinn’s fault. She put me on the spot. She said Westwood needed to get stronger in order to survive an attack with your blood, and she asked me to worship him.”The brushstrokes stopped. “And?”“I said no. Well, I didn’t exactly say no, but I didn’t say yes, and Westwood obviously knew I was about to say no. He walked out of the meeting. And he was my ride, so Quinn had to drop me back at his house to pick up my car. And by the way, it doesn’t get any more awkward than being stuck alone in a car with Quinn.”Porter began painting again. After a minute, he said, “In a sense, I see where Quinn is coming from. I personally don’t care if Westwood bites it, but apparently he does good work for Lychgate, so I guess it would be best for him to pick up a follower and get stronger.” He paused. “But you and Westwood are sleeping together. You’re the last person Quinn should be asking.”“You think so?”“Definitely,” Porter said. “You know how I feel about Westwood. He’s in it for himself. He always has been. You’ve been seeing each other for six months, and he probably doesn’t even know your middle name.”“We didn’t see each other much for the first three months. Things only started picking up in June. And besides, I’m fine with things the way they are. He doesn’t need to know my life story.”“But he’s already taking advantage of you, and if you start worshipping him, it’s just going to go to his head.”“He doesn’t take advantage of me,” Riley protested. “I know how to take care of myself, Porter. And when he and I are together, I want it as much as he does.”“I’m sure you have wonderful sex together,” Porter said. “But that’s not what I mean. It’s like when you were telling me about your big car chase. All Westwood cared about was running that other car off the road so he could save his own skin. You said it yourself; he didn’t even consider what it could have meant for you until Quinn told him off.” Again, the brushstrokes slowed. “Even though I’ve been undead for twenty years, I live as a human, and most of the undead I run into think I’m human. It’s become clear to me that most undead don’t have a lot of respect for humans. They think humans are inferior, and they don’t have much consideration for a human’s life. Since they can die and come back over and over, they forget what it’s like for the people who only have one shot at it.”“Westwood is ignorant,” Riley admitted. “He doesn’t know any better. But that doesn’t mean he can’t change.”“Do you think worshipping him is the way to get him to change?”Riley didn’t reply. He remembered the last time he and Westwood had slept together. He remembered Westwood holding him down, positioning Riley’s body to his liking, and going at it without another thought. That night, Riley might as well have been a hole in the mattress, for all Westwood seemed to care about his half of the experience.After a moment, Porter asked, “Can you relax your shoulders? Your muscles are bunching.”“Oh, sorry.” Riley corrected his posture.“Perfect. Thanks.” The brushstrokes resumed. “I’m sure there’s another human out there who’s willing to worship Westwood. It may be hard for him to find and seduce that person. He doesn’t know how to turn on the charm like, say, Thackary for example. But he’ll find someone. Heck, maybe you can help him look.” Another pause. “I just don’t know if you want to go opening yourself up to him like that.”“I kind of feel the same way.” Riley gave a wry laugh. “You know, I’m going to a wights-only party this weekend. Maybe I’ll meet someone for him there.”At this, Porter sputtered. “Wait a minute—you’re going to a wights-only party?”“Yeah. Why is that so surprising?”“Those parties are hardcore, dude. You don’t go to a wights-only party unless you really want to become a part of the world of the undead. I guess I figured that even though you were dating an undead guy, you still wanted to live a normal human life.”“I do want to live a normal human life.” Riley hesitated. “To be honest, the main draw for me is the prospect of free food.”Porter’s resulting cackle was so loud it made Riley wince. “Why is that funny?” he demanded.“Dude, you’re delusional! I don’t even know what to say to you! If I invited you to an S&M orgy, would you come just for the hors d’oeuvres?”“Not for, like, a cheese cube tray. But if you did something cool with smoked salmon or maybe some of those Thai lettuce wraps—”“My God, Riley!” Riley heard the sound of paintbrushes clattering on the ground. “That’s it. I’m buying you groceries with my next paycheck.”Riley glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, why did you stop painting?”Porter tossed Riley his maroon silk robe. “I’m done.”“Really?” Riley pulled on the robe, heading around to the other side of the easel to take a look. As usual, he was awestruck by Porter’s talent.Porter’s hand lowered onto his shoulder, bringing him out of his trance. “Hey, buddy?”Riley turned and met Porter’s gaze. His roommate looked unusually serious. “What?”“If you’re really going to go to that wights-only party, just… just watch your back, okay? As much as I hate Westwood, at least he’s an honest guy. He doesn’t play games. Not everyone else who goes to those parties is like that.”Riley considered his words. He knew it was silly, but the more people warned him about the dangers of wights-only parties, the more he wanted to go. He still didn’t see the harm in it. After all, no one could force him to perform a ritual if he didn’t want to. He’d go, scope the place out, and politely excuse himself. No big deal. “Thanks,” he said to Porter at last. “I’ll watch my back.”
(FYI, a wights-only party is a party where the undead are hooked up with human worshippers.)
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On Wednesday night, Porter shyly asked Riley if he’d be willing to pose for a painting, “for old time’s sake,” as he put it. The setup in his bedroom wasn’t ideal, but at the moment he couldn’t afford to rent a studio space.As requested, Riley sat sideways in a wooden chair, facing away so Porter could paint his back. Riley usually preferred Porter’s paintings when they included the model’s face because he had a knack for capturing likenesses and subtle hints of emotion, but a painting from behind meant he didn’t have to keep a rigid expression, and they could even converse while Porter worked. As Porter laid down the underpainting on his canvas, Riley filled him in on what had happened during the days he’d been gone, including all the details of Riley’s foray into designing baby dolls and Matt’s promise to send him more work.A couple hours into the pose, Riley asked, “How does my back look? Is it getting too bony?”Porter laughed out loud. “Relax, Riley. It’s just a painting.”“I’m curious, that’s all.”“You’re as gorgeous as always, okay? Jeez, I never understand you people with your perfect bodies who fret about every pound you gain or lose.”After a pause, Riley reluctantly explained, “Westwood thinks I’m getting too skinny.”“Is that why he hasn’t been coming around lately? What a douchebag.”“How do you know he hasn’t been coming around? He usually lets himself in through my window.”“Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve heard your bedsprings screaming for mercy.” He chuckled. “Or you, for that matter.”Riley’s face went red. “I didn’t think you could hear.”“Uh, yeah. I can hear. Mrs. Mason and I always analyze your performances when we run into each other in the stairwell.”“Mrs. Mason? The old lady from the third floor?”“Yep. I love her. She’s hilarious.”“Man, you suck.” He waited, listening to Porter’s rhythmic scratchy brushstrokes for a minute before speaking again. “But no, that’s not why Westwood hasn’t been around. I think he’s… mad at me.”“Why should he be mad at you?”Riley frowned. “Well really, it’s all Quinn’s fault. She put me on the spot. She said Westwood needed to get stronger in order to survive an attack with your blood, and she asked me to worship him.”The brushstrokes stopped. “And?”“I said no. Well, I didn’t exactly say no, but I didn’t say yes, and Westwood obviously knew I was about to say no. He walked out of the meeting. And he was my ride, so Quinn had to drop me back at his house to pick up my car. And by the way, it doesn’t get any more awkward than being stuck alone in a car with Quinn.”Porter began painting again. After a minute, he said, “In a sense, I see where Quinn is coming from. I personally don’t care if Westwood bites it, but apparently he does good work for Lychgate, so I guess it would be best for him to pick up a follower and get stronger.” He paused. “But you and Westwood are sleeping together. You’re the last person Quinn should be asking.”“You think so?”“Definitely,” Porter said. “You know how I feel about Westwood. He’s in it for himself. He always has been. You’ve been seeing each other for six months, and he probably doesn’t even know your middle name.”“We didn’t see each other much for the first three months. Things only started picking up in June. And besides, I’m fine with things the way they are. He doesn’t need to know my life story.”“But he’s already taking advantage of you, and if you start worshipping him, it’s just going to go to his head.”“He doesn’t take advantage of me,” Riley protested. “I know how to take care of myself, Porter. And when he and I are together, I want it as much as he does.”“I’m sure you have wonderful sex together,” Porter said. “But that’s not what I mean. It’s like when you were telling me about your big car chase. All Westwood cared about was running that other car off the road so he could save his own skin. You said it yourself; he didn’t even consider what it could have meant for you until Quinn told him off.” Again, the brushstrokes slowed. “Even though I’ve been undead for twenty years, I live as a human, and most of the undead I run into think I’m human. It’s become clear to me that most undead don’t have a lot of respect for humans. They think humans are inferior, and they don’t have much consideration for a human’s life. Since they can die and come back over and over, they forget what it’s like for the people who only have one shot at it.”“Westwood is ignorant,” Riley admitted. “He doesn’t know any better. But that doesn’t mean he can’t change.”“Do you think worshipping him is the way to get him to change?”Riley didn’t reply. He remembered the last time he and Westwood had slept together. He remembered Westwood holding him down, positioning Riley’s body to his liking, and going at it without another thought. That night, Riley might as well have been a hole in the mattress, for all Westwood seemed to care about his half of the experience.After a moment, Porter asked, “Can you relax your shoulders? Your muscles are bunching.”“Oh, sorry.” Riley corrected his posture.“Perfect. Thanks.” The brushstrokes resumed. “I’m sure there’s another human out there who’s willing to worship Westwood. It may be hard for him to find and seduce that person. He doesn’t know how to turn on the charm like, say, Thackary for example. But he’ll find someone. Heck, maybe you can help him look.” Another pause. “I just don’t know if you want to go opening yourself up to him like that.”“I kind of feel the same way.” Riley gave a wry laugh. “You know, I’m going to a wights-only party this weekend. Maybe I’ll meet someone for him there.”At this, Porter sputtered. “Wait a minute—you’re going to a wights-only party?”“Yeah. Why is that so surprising?”“Those parties are hardcore, dude. You don’t go to a wights-only party unless you really want to become a part of the world of the undead. I guess I figured that even though you were dating an undead guy, you still wanted to live a normal human life.”“I do want to live a normal human life.” Riley hesitated. “To be honest, the main draw for me is the prospect of free food.”Porter’s resulting cackle was so loud it made Riley wince. “Why is that funny?” he demanded.“Dude, you’re delusional! I don’t even know what to say to you! If I invited you to an S&M orgy, would you come just for the hors d’oeuvres?”“Not for, like, a cheese cube tray. But if you did something cool with smoked salmon or maybe some of those Thai lettuce wraps—”“My God, Riley!” Riley heard the sound of paintbrushes clattering on the ground. “That’s it. I’m buying you groceries with my next paycheck.”Riley glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, why did you stop painting?”Porter tossed Riley his maroon silk robe. “I’m done.”“Really?” Riley pulled on the robe, heading around to the other side of the easel to take a look. As usual, he was awestruck by Porter’s talent.Porter’s hand lowered onto his shoulder, bringing him out of his trance. “Hey, buddy?”Riley turned and met Porter’s gaze. His roommate looked unusually serious. “What?”“If you’re really going to go to that wights-only party, just… just watch your back, okay? As much as I hate Westwood, at least he’s an honest guy. He doesn’t play games. Not everyone else who goes to those parties is like that.”Riley considered his words. He knew it was silly, but the more people warned him about the dangers of wights-only parties, the more he wanted to go. He still didn’t see the harm in it. After all, no one could force him to perform a ritual if he didn’t want to. He’d go, scope the place out, and politely excuse himself. No big deal. “Thanks,” he said to Porter at last. “I’ll watch my back.”
October 12, 2012
Bonds of Death - Opening Excerpt
Bonds of Death releases in exactly one week! I can't believe how quickly the time has come. I'll be at GayRomLit from 10/17 until 10/21, so I'll be out of town on the day of the release, but I'll be sure to find some time to post news and excerpts and other fun stuff regardless.
For today, I'm sharing an excerpt. This is opening of Bonds of Death, and we get to find out what Riley, Westwood, and Porter have been up to for the past six months since the end of Art of Death.
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A wash of yellow light spread across Westwood’s arm, hitting with a pinprick highlight at the height of his bicep and diffusing over his taut bronze skin. Riley feathered the surface of his canvas with his dry fan brush, blending the previously rough brushstrokes for a softer finish. For a moment, he sat back to admire his subject at the far end of the bedroom. Westwood’s face was partially buried in the crook of his hefty arm, exposing the small star-shaped tattoo on the back of his shoulder. His legs were bent as he lay on his stomach. The white bedsheet laced between his muscular thighs barely covered his nudity.A better artist would have been able to portray the chasteness of the scene, but to Riley, there was no chaste way to look at Westwood’s body, even if his most intimate areas were covered. Riley knew too well the touch of those hands, the power in those limbs. With all his bulk, Westwood would have been plenty strong as a mere human. But Westwood was no mere human, and the jutting, vein-laced curves of muscle Riley replicated on canvas did little to portray the true strength within his lover’s seemingly mortal frame.He attempted a few more brushstrokes, but he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering, from remembering the way those arms felt last night when they squeezed him tight and pushed him into the mattress.Five years ago, when he was in college, he could have painted an attractive nude male model without batting an eye. Then again, none of those models were anything like Westwood.As his eyes lingered on the bare-skinned man amidst the scattered sheets, he began idly chewing the back of his paintbrush.Blech. Oil paint doesn’t taste good.He scrubbed at his tongue and spat. Disgusting.Sheets rustled, and Westwood groaned like a disgruntled wolf. He raised his eyes, fixing his coal-black gaze on Riley. “The fuck are you doing?”“Nothing!” Riley squeaked, attempting to turn his easel as if he were painting the bare wall.Westwood scrambled up to his seat, pulling the bedsheets close in an unwitting caricature of a demure maiden. “Were you painting me while I slept?”“I….”“Goddamn, Riley. Since when did you become a creeper?”Riley scowled, tossing his paint rag onto the drop cloth he’d stretched across the carpet. “I think I like you better when you’re not awake.”“Spoken like a true creeper.”Riley scooped up his paintbrushes and shoved them into a bucket before reaching for the canvas. “Whoa!” Westwood called, rising from the mattress. “You’re not going to let me see?”“Of course not.” Riley tried to shield the canvas with his body as Westwood approached. “You know oils aren’t my strength. I’m a digital painter. I’m really rusty when it comes to traditional media.”“Excuses, excuses. Let me see.”“But I….”Westwood shoved him aside indelicately, eyeing the canvas with all the artistic discretion of a teen flipping through a Playgirl magazine. “Hmm. You got my nose wrong.”“Your nose was smushed into the pillows. I got it exactly the way it looked.”Westwood gave a careless shrug. “You know, this is the first time I’m actually seeing your artwork.”“And?”“I guess you’re okay at it. At least you’re better than me.”“I should hope so. I have a degree in this, you know.”“Porter doesn’t have a degree, but he’s still better than you.”“Porter only doesn’t have a degree because he keeps dying before he can get through college. He may look like he’s only twenty, but he’s got decades of practical experience more than me.” Riley whipped the canvas out of Westwood’s hands. “And did I ever tell you you’re kind of a dick?”Westwood tapped the surface of the painting. “You got that part wrong too.”“You were on your stomach.”Westwood raised his eyebrows as Riley shoved the canvas into a narrow gap behind his computer desk. “I don’t see why you have to paint me in the first place. Why don’t you grab a bunch of fruit and stick it on your table and paint that? Isn’t that what you artist types do? Still life paintings?”“I don’t think a couple packets of ramen and a bag of frozen vegetables would make for a very compelling still life.” He frowned. “In case you forgot, I’m no longer the kept boyfriend of a rich lawyer. I’m the single unemployed artist who moonlights as a nude model at Prestwick College of Art. Fresh fruit is a luxury I can’t always afford.”Riley idly examined a spot on the bedroom wall where the painters had spackled over a flattened roach. Gems like this were plentiful in the new two-bedroom apartment he shared with Porter Gomez. It had only been a few weeks since they’d moved in, but he was already beginning to wonder if it was even worth the minuscule amount he’d have to scrape together for rent every month.“I’m not so sure about this apartment,” Westwood said as if reading his mind. “I thought I heard something in the middle of the night, but I was too tired to check it out.”“Oh, that was the police. They arrested the crack dealer downstairs.”“Lovely.”“This was all I could afford,” Riley said defensively. “I couldn’t stay at Nick’s place, and staying with Mr. Tobias, my old painting teacher from Prestwick, was just awkward. I mean, unless you want me to move in with you….”“Don’t even joke about that.” Westwood gave Riley a shove that was only half-playful.Riley finished gathering his paints in uncomfortable silence. In truth, he didn’t want to move in with Westwood any more than Westwood did. The way Riley saw it, things were fine as they were. He went about his daily business, worked, chatted with his roommate, tried to navigate through the daunting world of networking with other artists, and occasionally woke up to Westwood climbing through his window and tackling him—an impressive feat considering the apartment’s location on the second floor. Riley was happy enough with their current arrangement. Even after six months, it felt like he was in a brand new relationship. Sex and independence, along with the occasional conversation. It was exciting, and he didn’t spend enough time with Westwood to get annoyed by his personality.“You have to work today?” Westwood asked.“Yeah.” Riley finished stowing the last of his painting supplies and collapsed his easel. As he folded the drop cloth into a crinkly square, he added, “I thought it’d be nice to get a little bit of painting in before I have to be on the other side of the easel at nine.” He glanced at the alarm clock on his thirty-dollar IKEA nightstand. “Speaking of which, I have to hop in the shower, so unless you want to join me, you should probably get going.”“Your shower’s too small. I’ll go. But I want to get a glass of water first.”“Wait!”Westwood stopped midstride, his hand on the doorknob. “What?”“I don’t want you to scare Porter again.”Two days earlier, Westwood had wandered naked out of the bedroom exactly as he was about to do now. Porter had been at the fridge, and upon seeing Westwood, he’d yelped like a startled Chihuahua and dropped an entire milk carton on the floor. It had been a rare half-gallon carton of organic milk from Whole Foods that Riley had been looking forward to using in his coffee. But as sad as he’d been to say good-bye to the five-dollar milk, he’d felt even guiltier for having put Porter in that uncomfortable situation.“Porter’s had twenty years to get used to seeing me,” Westwood said.“Not in his house without warning, though. I don’t blame him for being freaked. You were the one who took his mortality, after all.”“You kill a guy once, and he never gets over it,” Westwood muttered under his breath.“Twice,” Riley corrected.“Whatever. Anyway, I don’t hear him out there. I’m going.”Riley pulled on a robe as he followed Westwood to the door. When he stepped out into the hallway, he saw no signs of his lanky, shaggy-haired roommate. Porter usually slept late, but across the cramped living room, Riley could see that his door was wide open and the bedroom unoccupied. Unlike Riley’s room, which was still lined with unpacked boxes, Porter’s room was bare, instantly displaying his characteristic lack of personal effects.“You think he slept over at the bar?” Riley asked.“I don’t know. I don’t care.”Riley cringed as Westwood helped himself to Sarasota’s questionable tap water. He then watched the water disappear from the glass in four impossibly large gulps. As Riley turned toward the bathroom, Westwood caught his arm. “One more thing before I go.”“Yeah?”Westwood tore open the belt of Riley’s robe, lifting him off the ground and slamming him on his back across the kitchen table. He whipped off Riley’s underwear and grabbed him below the knees, pulling him close. With a mischievous laugh, Riley dug his fingers into Westwood’s shoulders and readied himself for the ride.
For today, I'm sharing an excerpt. This is opening of Bonds of Death, and we get to find out what Riley, Westwood, and Porter have been up to for the past six months since the end of Art of Death.
----------------------
A wash of yellow light spread across Westwood’s arm, hitting with a pinprick highlight at the height of his bicep and diffusing over his taut bronze skin. Riley feathered the surface of his canvas with his dry fan brush, blending the previously rough brushstrokes for a softer finish. For a moment, he sat back to admire his subject at the far end of the bedroom. Westwood’s face was partially buried in the crook of his hefty arm, exposing the small star-shaped tattoo on the back of his shoulder. His legs were bent as he lay on his stomach. The white bedsheet laced between his muscular thighs barely covered his nudity.A better artist would have been able to portray the chasteness of the scene, but to Riley, there was no chaste way to look at Westwood’s body, even if his most intimate areas were covered. Riley knew too well the touch of those hands, the power in those limbs. With all his bulk, Westwood would have been plenty strong as a mere human. But Westwood was no mere human, and the jutting, vein-laced curves of muscle Riley replicated on canvas did little to portray the true strength within his lover’s seemingly mortal frame.He attempted a few more brushstrokes, but he couldn’t keep his mind from wandering, from remembering the way those arms felt last night when they squeezed him tight and pushed him into the mattress.Five years ago, when he was in college, he could have painted an attractive nude male model without batting an eye. Then again, none of those models were anything like Westwood.As his eyes lingered on the bare-skinned man amidst the scattered sheets, he began idly chewing the back of his paintbrush.Blech. Oil paint doesn’t taste good.He scrubbed at his tongue and spat. Disgusting.Sheets rustled, and Westwood groaned like a disgruntled wolf. He raised his eyes, fixing his coal-black gaze on Riley. “The fuck are you doing?”“Nothing!” Riley squeaked, attempting to turn his easel as if he were painting the bare wall.Westwood scrambled up to his seat, pulling the bedsheets close in an unwitting caricature of a demure maiden. “Were you painting me while I slept?”“I….”“Goddamn, Riley. Since when did you become a creeper?”Riley scowled, tossing his paint rag onto the drop cloth he’d stretched across the carpet. “I think I like you better when you’re not awake.”“Spoken like a true creeper.”Riley scooped up his paintbrushes and shoved them into a bucket before reaching for the canvas. “Whoa!” Westwood called, rising from the mattress. “You’re not going to let me see?”“Of course not.” Riley tried to shield the canvas with his body as Westwood approached. “You know oils aren’t my strength. I’m a digital painter. I’m really rusty when it comes to traditional media.”“Excuses, excuses. Let me see.”“But I….”Westwood shoved him aside indelicately, eyeing the canvas with all the artistic discretion of a teen flipping through a Playgirl magazine. “Hmm. You got my nose wrong.”“Your nose was smushed into the pillows. I got it exactly the way it looked.”Westwood gave a careless shrug. “You know, this is the first time I’m actually seeing your artwork.”“And?”“I guess you’re okay at it. At least you’re better than me.”“I should hope so. I have a degree in this, you know.”“Porter doesn’t have a degree, but he’s still better than you.”“Porter only doesn’t have a degree because he keeps dying before he can get through college. He may look like he’s only twenty, but he’s got decades of practical experience more than me.” Riley whipped the canvas out of Westwood’s hands. “And did I ever tell you you’re kind of a dick?”Westwood tapped the surface of the painting. “You got that part wrong too.”“You were on your stomach.”Westwood raised his eyebrows as Riley shoved the canvas into a narrow gap behind his computer desk. “I don’t see why you have to paint me in the first place. Why don’t you grab a bunch of fruit and stick it on your table and paint that? Isn’t that what you artist types do? Still life paintings?”“I don’t think a couple packets of ramen and a bag of frozen vegetables would make for a very compelling still life.” He frowned. “In case you forgot, I’m no longer the kept boyfriend of a rich lawyer. I’m the single unemployed artist who moonlights as a nude model at Prestwick College of Art. Fresh fruit is a luxury I can’t always afford.”Riley idly examined a spot on the bedroom wall where the painters had spackled over a flattened roach. Gems like this were plentiful in the new two-bedroom apartment he shared with Porter Gomez. It had only been a few weeks since they’d moved in, but he was already beginning to wonder if it was even worth the minuscule amount he’d have to scrape together for rent every month.“I’m not so sure about this apartment,” Westwood said as if reading his mind. “I thought I heard something in the middle of the night, but I was too tired to check it out.”“Oh, that was the police. They arrested the crack dealer downstairs.”“Lovely.”“This was all I could afford,” Riley said defensively. “I couldn’t stay at Nick’s place, and staying with Mr. Tobias, my old painting teacher from Prestwick, was just awkward. I mean, unless you want me to move in with you….”“Don’t even joke about that.” Westwood gave Riley a shove that was only half-playful.Riley finished gathering his paints in uncomfortable silence. In truth, he didn’t want to move in with Westwood any more than Westwood did. The way Riley saw it, things were fine as they were. He went about his daily business, worked, chatted with his roommate, tried to navigate through the daunting world of networking with other artists, and occasionally woke up to Westwood climbing through his window and tackling him—an impressive feat considering the apartment’s location on the second floor. Riley was happy enough with their current arrangement. Even after six months, it felt like he was in a brand new relationship. Sex and independence, along with the occasional conversation. It was exciting, and he didn’t spend enough time with Westwood to get annoyed by his personality.“You have to work today?” Westwood asked.“Yeah.” Riley finished stowing the last of his painting supplies and collapsed his easel. As he folded the drop cloth into a crinkly square, he added, “I thought it’d be nice to get a little bit of painting in before I have to be on the other side of the easel at nine.” He glanced at the alarm clock on his thirty-dollar IKEA nightstand. “Speaking of which, I have to hop in the shower, so unless you want to join me, you should probably get going.”“Your shower’s too small. I’ll go. But I want to get a glass of water first.”“Wait!”Westwood stopped midstride, his hand on the doorknob. “What?”“I don’t want you to scare Porter again.”Two days earlier, Westwood had wandered naked out of the bedroom exactly as he was about to do now. Porter had been at the fridge, and upon seeing Westwood, he’d yelped like a startled Chihuahua and dropped an entire milk carton on the floor. It had been a rare half-gallon carton of organic milk from Whole Foods that Riley had been looking forward to using in his coffee. But as sad as he’d been to say good-bye to the five-dollar milk, he’d felt even guiltier for having put Porter in that uncomfortable situation.“Porter’s had twenty years to get used to seeing me,” Westwood said.“Not in his house without warning, though. I don’t blame him for being freaked. You were the one who took his mortality, after all.”“You kill a guy once, and he never gets over it,” Westwood muttered under his breath.“Twice,” Riley corrected.“Whatever. Anyway, I don’t hear him out there. I’m going.”Riley pulled on a robe as he followed Westwood to the door. When he stepped out into the hallway, he saw no signs of his lanky, shaggy-haired roommate. Porter usually slept late, but across the cramped living room, Riley could see that his door was wide open and the bedroom unoccupied. Unlike Riley’s room, which was still lined with unpacked boxes, Porter’s room was bare, instantly displaying his characteristic lack of personal effects.“You think he slept over at the bar?” Riley asked.“I don’t know. I don’t care.”Riley cringed as Westwood helped himself to Sarasota’s questionable tap water. He then watched the water disappear from the glass in four impossibly large gulps. As Riley turned toward the bathroom, Westwood caught his arm. “One more thing before I go.”“Yeah?”Westwood tore open the belt of Riley’s robe, lifting him off the ground and slamming him on his back across the kitchen table. He whipped off Riley’s underwear and grabbed him below the knees, pulling him close. With a mischievous laugh, Riley dug his fingers into Westwood’s shoulders and readied himself for the ride.
October 4, 2012
Signed/Sketched Copies of Bonds of Death!
The release of Bonds of Death is just about two weeks away, and I just finished signing my vellums to be inserted in the first 20 paperback copies sold through Dreamspinner Press's site! And just like I did with the first 20 copies of Art of Death, I did 20 new sketches along with my signature for Bonds of Death.
The vellums got to me earlier this time, so I was able to put a little more time into the sketches as well. I worked on them all through the presidential debate, but don't worry, there are no Obama or Romney portraits on the vellums. ;) This time I did all characters and items from Bonds of Death. So here they are!
1. Riley Burke
2. Westwood
3. Porter Gomez
4. Arman
5. Quinn Harcourt
6. Charlotte
7. Rico
8. Chester
9. Lucy
10. Jasmine
11. Riley Burke 2
12. Porter Gomez 2
13. Westwood 2
14. Arman 2
15. Quinn Harcourt 2
16. Thackary Jones
17. Red Wine
18. Westwood 3
19. Riley Burke 3
20. Porter Gomez 3
Riley, Westwood, Porter, and Quinn of course were all in Art of Death, and Thackary was mentioned, but the rest are making their first appearances. Charlotte happens to be the central character in my very favorite scene of Bonds of Death—which is actually probably my favorite scene out of any I've ever written. And I love Rico. Arman didn't come out exactly as I imagined him.... Sometime I'll have to do a full painted portrait of him.
Anyway, I'm really excited about being able to have these sketches in the first 20 paperbacks. They'll be available through the Dreamspinner Press site starting on October 19!
The vellums got to me earlier this time, so I was able to put a little more time into the sketches as well. I worked on them all through the presidential debate, but don't worry, there are no Obama or Romney portraits on the vellums. ;) This time I did all characters and items from Bonds of Death. So here they are!
1. Riley Burke
2. Westwood
3. Porter Gomez
4. Arman
5. Quinn Harcourt
6. Charlotte
7. Rico
8. Chester
9. Lucy
10. Jasmine
11. Riley Burke 2
12. Porter Gomez 2
13. Westwood 2
14. Arman 2
15. Quinn Harcourt 2
16. Thackary Jones
17. Red Wine
18. Westwood 3
19. Riley Burke 3
20. Porter Gomez 3
Riley, Westwood, Porter, and Quinn of course were all in Art of Death, and Thackary was mentioned, but the rest are making their first appearances. Charlotte happens to be the central character in my very favorite scene of Bonds of Death—which is actually probably my favorite scene out of any I've ever written. And I love Rico. Arman didn't come out exactly as I imagined him.... Sometime I'll have to do a full painted portrait of him.
Anyway, I'm really excited about being able to have these sketches in the first 20 paperbacks. They'll be available through the Dreamspinner Press site starting on October 19!
September 24, 2012
Bonds of Death - Cover Reveal and Blurb
As promised, I'm revealing the cover for Bonds of Death today! And oh man, this one is a little..... I don't have words.
After the preliminary sketch, I mentioned on Twitter that the idea for the cover seemed much less suggestive in my head than it did once I put it on paper, and that's still the case now that the image is complete. It's definitely the most suggestive cover I've done so far.
Like the Art of Death cover, I found inspiration in Male Nude Known as Hector, by Jacques-Louis David. Unlike Art of Death, where Riley's eyes were in shadow, I wanted them to be highlighted on this cover.
So anyway... here's the cover and the blurb!
Fresh out of a messy breakup, starving artist Riley Burke has found happiness with Westwood, his new undead lover—enough happiness that when his friend Porter warns him that the undead only see humans as flashy playthings, Riley looks the other way. After all, he only wants a bit of fun. It's not like he's asking Westwood to put a ring on his finger.
Once a brutal and violent criminal, Westwood now atones for his past by punishing the undead for crimes against humans. But his job doesn't make him popular with his undead brethren—and someone has a thirst for revenge.That someone has uncovered Westwood’s weakness and is on the hunt. To withstand an attack, Westwood must bolster his strength by taking on a human worshipper. He turns to Riley, but Riley is terrified of the bond Westwood's ritual will create. He would rather risk his life pursuing Westwood's attacker than risk opening his soul to a man who doesn't respect him. But time is running out, and if Riley and Westwood can't come together, one of them might pay the ultimate price.
After the preliminary sketch, I mentioned on Twitter that the idea for the cover seemed much less suggestive in my head than it did once I put it on paper, and that's still the case now that the image is complete. It's definitely the most suggestive cover I've done so far.
Like the Art of Death cover, I found inspiration in Male Nude Known as Hector, by Jacques-Louis David. Unlike Art of Death, where Riley's eyes were in shadow, I wanted them to be highlighted on this cover.
So anyway... here's the cover and the blurb!
Fresh out of a messy breakup, starving artist Riley Burke has found happiness with Westwood, his new undead lover—enough happiness that when his friend Porter warns him that the undead only see humans as flashy playthings, Riley looks the other way. After all, he only wants a bit of fun. It's not like he's asking Westwood to put a ring on his finger.
Once a brutal and violent criminal, Westwood now atones for his past by punishing the undead for crimes against humans. But his job doesn't make him popular with his undead brethren—and someone has a thirst for revenge.That someone has uncovered Westwood’s weakness and is on the hunt. To withstand an attack, Westwood must bolster his strength by taking on a human worshipper. He turns to Riley, but Riley is terrified of the bond Westwood's ritual will create. He would rather risk his life pursuing Westwood's attacker than risk opening his soul to a man who doesn't respect him. But time is running out, and if Riley and Westwood can't come together, one of them might pay the ultimate price.
