Wednesday, October 31, 2012

Wednesday Briefs

This is the last flash on the brothers. Welcome to the Wednesday Briefers flash group. The short stories have a maximum of a 1000 word count plus links at the bottom to the other flashers. Either use word prompts or pic prompts.
The word prompts for this week are: “Welcome to my home, I am...” 
or use: ghost, lightning, fear  
or use Halloween candy in some way  
or "It's alive!"  
or use any sort of vampire or werewolf or mummy or witch. 
Choices #5
Sandler raised his head, but didn’t have time to think as Cooper stripped him bare. Before he had time to question, Cooper was pushing him toward the bed. Toppling back, he set quietly as Cooper undressed. Tattoos covered Cooper’s body. Both arms, his chest, his legs, his stomach… Sandler gulped as Cooper finally finished undressing and stood before him, naked and proud.
The tats weren’t the only new things Cooper had done to his body since he left home. Both his nipples were pierced, as was his belly button. But what really caught his eye was the Prince Albert Cooper was sporting. Holy hell, he’d seen pictures on the web, but seeing it for real was something else. What the fuck would that feel like when Cooper plowed his ass? For that matter, his throat?
“Like what you see, little brother?” Copper stepped closer, his dick pointing up toward his stomach, inches from Sandler’s face.
“Oh God, it’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, every bit of you.” Sandler reached out, his hand trembling. “Did it hurt bad?”
“Want to find out?”
Sandler eyes snapped up.
Cooper had a slight grin on his face. “You’d be so sexy with a PA and pierced nipples. Then I could attach a chain between the rings.”
Sandler turned pale. “I-I-I…”
“But not right now, right?” Cooper moved closer, his cock brushing against Sandler’s lips. “Maybe a little later when things aren’t so overwhelming. How about something that’s not quite so frightening, hmm? Suck me, pet. I want to feel your mouth on me.”
Sandler sighed softly as he closed his lips over the head of Copper’s dick. This he could do. And yes, he could feel the PA as he bobbed on Cooper’s dick, taking a bit more each time, his eyes drifting close. Cool silken flesh filled his mouth. Jesus, Cooper was hung like a horse. He himself was no slouch in that department either, but wow, his brother had been truly blessed.
Cooper tasted unlike any other guy he’d ever sucked; the musky scent of aroused male filled his head. His own unadorned cock begged for attention, but he ignored his need. He’d dreamed of this for way too many years and nothing was going to distract him now. Humming happily he sucked Cooper deeper, his hands latching on to Cooper’s ass, pulling his closer.
“Look at me,” Cooper whispered, his hands threading through Sandler’s hair.
Sandler opened his eyes and looked up. For a moment they stared at each other, time slowing down.
“You need to stop or I’m going to come. And when I come, I want to be buried in your virgin ass.”
Sandler pulled off, eyes still focused on Cooper and what he saw on his brother’s face: desire, strength, love. He didn’t give a damn what society had to say about their relationship, this was right, and nothing was going to stand in their way.
The next few minutes were a blur of movement. Then Sandler found himself on his back in the middle of the bed with Cooper looming over him.
“Bend your knees and spread your legs open.”
Cooper was next to Sandler, on his knees, looking down at his brother. There was a flash of fear, then those legs moved like he asked. Heaven help him, Sandler was in his bed and spread out… waiting. He fumbled in the night side table, knocking things around, until he found the lube and condoms. Quickly he slicked his fingers.
Kissing Sandler’s bent knee, he looked at his brother. “Oh, how sexy. Jack that cock for me, pet. That’ll help with the sting you’ll feel. I’m going to take it easy, but, don’t come until I say.”
Sandler bit his lip as Cooper’s finger teased his hole, spreading lube. Then that long finger dipped inside, and the burn hit. How the hell was he going to take Cooper’s cock when one finger burned that way? He already felt like he was stuffed to the breaking point. He moaned, unsure if pleasure or the burn was winning, then Cooper’s lips were on his and it didn’t matter anymore. Minutes passed as Cooper fingered him, opening him, then another finger entered his ass. He stiffened, ready to tell Cooper he couldn’t do this… when suddenly pleasure ignited and flashed through his body.
Jerking his mouth away from Cooper’s, Sandler arched on the bed, his half-hard cock surging to full hardness. “Oh… God!”
“That’s it, ride the feeling, love.” Cooper’s smile was strained. Seeing Sandler react like that pushed his limits. “That’s your prostate I’m stroking. Nothing like it in the world, huh?”
“Oh, God… oh God… please! Please… do something. I-I… need…”
Cooper added another finger, watching as Sandler’s head thrashed on the bed. Might not exactly be what Sandler meant by do something, but he needed to be stretched up a bit more.
“Please, Cooper! Fuck me, take me… just do something… it’s too much and not enough. I-I… please!”
Cooper had Sandler’s legs on his shoulders before the desperate rant finished. One hard thrust and he was seated… moving in tight heat. Hoarse yells and scratching hands surrounded him as he finally, finally, was where he dreamed of being… balls deep in his little brother. The pain gave way to pleasure and Sandler moved with him, their bodies singing together in a dance as old as time itself. The room receded, sounds faded, and even the air around them seem to wait for that momentthere was nothing but them…

This was where he belonged. No matter what happened for now on, they'd face it together. "Love you." Sandler gasped as he came. His orgasm triggered Cooper's.

Cooper grinned as he filled Sandler up. "Love you, too. Always." 

Yes, Sandler knew he had made the right choice.
Make sure to visit the other flashers!
Happy Halloween, guys! Keep an eye out for the kiddo's tonight. For the adult kiddo's... *grin* have fun and be safe.
And here's hoping my house won't get rolled AGAIN this year. *sigh*

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Howloween Blog Hop Winners

And the winners for the Howloween Blog hop Are:


1. Rush- taina 1959


2. Pam- eventingmom


3. Ceagles


Buwahhhhhha-answer My EMail at Your Own Risk


It's Halloween! It's Halloween! The moon is full and bright
And we shall see what can't be seen On any other night.
Skeletons and ghosts and ghouls, Grinning goblins fighting duels
Werewolves rising from their tombs, Witches on their magic brooms
In masks and gown we haunt the street
And knock on doors for trick or treat
Tonight we are the king and queen,
For oh tonight it's Halloween!

-Jack Prelutsky

Emails have been sent, so claim your PDF copy soon. Hope everyone has a safe and fun Halloween tomorrow night. I also wanted to welcome the new followers too! Please stick around, lol. I'm always doing stuff and running giveaways. :)

Nighttime Dreams release date!

Hey everyone! Good news! I have a release date for Nighttime Dreams-Nov 9th. It'll be at Smashwords, ARe, and Amazon. This is the book that comes after Nightime Wishes.

Bryan, a simple country sheriff, is ready to shoot someone and hide the body. One particular homophobic FBI agent is really pressing his buttons. Along with that he finds himself in the middle of an FBI investigation revolving around a recent UFO crash landing, is questioned about a missing friend targeted by the FBI, and makes first contact with the very alien the FBI is hunting. 
Daroshi, Ma’Rairan warrior, has fulfilled his obligation to his species, and is ready to mate. As second in command he monitored the rescue of his captain who crashed on Earth while collecting his mate, and witnessed the confrontation between a country sheriff name Bryan and his captain. Impressed by how courageously the brawny human male handled meeting a fully armed alien warrior, Daroshi asks permission to take Bryan as a mate. 
Neither male is ready for the problems that come with Daroshi’s decision, nor the passion that explodes between them.

Ziang and Daroshi transported down into Bryan’s backyard. The night was pitch black, the moon hid behind layers of fluffy clouds. Branches in the trees danced soothingly to gentle breezes. An abundance of shrubs moved silently in the quietly swirling wind. Bryan’s small house was set away from the main road and deep in the woods, alone and isolated. Much like the owner.
“Interesting set-up he has.” Daroshi looked around. “Bit cut off, though.”
“That’s good for us. The last thing we need is more attention, and that FBI agent showing up,” Ziang said. “I want this to go clean and fast.”
“True. Of course, if he did show up, we could give him to Haya.”
“I don’t like the human, but I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy.” Ziang tapped the communications device on his wrist, loading in their landing coordinates. “Since Bryan is a law enforcement officer, set your weapon to low stun, just in case.”
“Ziang, I don’t want to stun him if it can be avoided.”
“Neither do I, but Shawn’s words keep replaying in my head. Most bullets won’t hurt us, but then, Bryan isn’t most humans. I’m sure he has other weapons in his house that could be dangerous.”
“But their weapons are so primitive.”
“That may be, but primitive can wound just as easily as advanced. Set your stunner to low, and use only if needed.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll distract him, and you unarm him, if necessary. I know you don’t want me touching him.”
“No more than you’d want my hands on Shawn.”
“Understood. And no, I wouldn’t.”
“Should we activate our invisibility?”
“No, it’s dark enough. If we just appear, we may scare him even more.”
They crept around the house, moving carefully though the darkness. Both activated their face shields for night vision. They blended with the night, silent hunters that became one with the darkness and shadows; predators with a mission. The prey was inside, unaware of what was closing in on him. Ziang opened his wrist weapon and pinpointed Bryan in the house by his body heat. He motioned for Daroshi to follow him to the back of the house. They’d enter through the back door in the kitchen. As they passed the open window, Daroshi came to a stop when he heard Bryan’s comment about his hand and a big red dildo.
His body came alive and his tentacles jerked against his back. A low growl of desire slipped out. Ziang immediately sliced his hand through the air, calling for silence. Daroshi couldn’t help himself; the very image of Bryan working a dildo up his ass inflamed him and sent his desire for the human spinning out of control. Daroshi respected this human’s bravery and his dedication to an often thankless job, but now there was more. He could scent Bryan’s arousal. The scent was unlike anything he’d ever smelled, sharp and musky. From the depths of his soul the word mine exploded in his head. He wanted Bryan with a passion he hadn’t felt, ever, and he’d do whatever it took to ease him into his new life.
In his excitement, he made a rookie mistake. As he passed the window, he didn’t bend down low enough to conceal himself.
* * * *
Bryan sat at the table, waiting for the cookies to bake, when he heard a low growl, quickly smothered, outside the window. He’d heard something very similar, and not long ago. It wasn’t a sound he’d ever forget. Every hair on his body stood up, adrenaline spiked, and his heart kicked into high gear. A cold flush spread though his body. From the corner of his eye, he caught the blurry shape of something moving under the window. He glanced at the back door and his stomach cramped. It was unlocked. There was no way he could lock it before the intruder busted through. And if he was right, and what was out there was what he thought it was, a wood door wasn’t going to stop it. Plus, the window was open.
Calmly he stood and reached for the drawer by the stove. His off-duty weapon was stored there. He grabbed the taser, too. Why was the alien back and sneaking around his house? If it was the alien that Shawn left with, why not just show itself? He’d seen it before, so why act like this? He’d seen lights in the nighttime sky shortly after Shawn left with his alien, but he assumed they were monitoring the situation, to make sure all was okay before they left. It never crossed his mind they were watching him. Why would they be watching him? Another unsettling thought hit Bryan. Had something bad happened to Shawn? If that was Shawn’s alien, and he wasn’t sure it was, had it returned to let him know? But that was silly; he couldn’t communicate with it like Shawn could.
What the hell was going on?
The handle on the back door turned slowly. Bryan tried to slow his breathing; he was sucking air and that wasn’t good. The door eased opened, an inch at a time. He held his ground as the door opened and he found himself staring at a seven and half foot alien… again.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Guest post by Tali Spencer-Devil's Night Anthology

(the Howloween blog hop post is below this one!)

 Conquistadors and Amarus 

Thanks to M. for hosting me. She hasn’t been to Bolivia as far as I know, so I thought I’d share a small travelogue of my own experience and how one of my stories came about.

During my time in Bolivia and Peru, I grew to know a great deal about the history of the region. My husband’s father and uncles would regale me with tales of Incas and Spaniards, all of whom they referred to by name just as my family in the States would talk about Franklin, Lincoln and Lewis and Clark. My nights were filled with stories about Manco Capac and how the Incas created their empire, Pizarro’s conquest, de Orellana’s journey down the Amazonas, the riches of Potosi, and Tupac Amaru’s indigenous rebellion. According to the men, the lost gold of the Incas was possibly hidden somewhere on the mountain that was the family hacienda, buried in some Inca ruins there. The hacienda had come to the family through a conquistador ancestor.

Over several months, I compiled quite a lot of tales—some amusing, some terrifying, and many so fantastical they compelled my imagination. The women and Aymara maids (every family of means had one or more indigenous servants) told me some of the more amazing stories. In particular was my mother-in-law, a woman whose intelligence and humor I appreciate more with every passing year. She was part-Aymara and once she knew I was interested in the tales of her people, she opened up like a book. One day while we went to market in La Paz she directed me to look across the plaza at the Church of San Francisco.

“That church,” she said, “is built on an Inca temple. See the street? Those are the stones of the temple. There was a river here. It’s underground now. The river had gold because it was home to an amaru. The Spanish destroyed the temple and in a few years the river had no more gold.”

And so I was introduced to the concept of the amaru, which came to play a role in one of my stories. So did something else she told me about the church. The church’s Inca foundation and origin as a holy place to the indigenous people meant they continued to revere it as their church for many more centuries. My mother-in-law pointed out the carvings on the church exterior and how pagan they were. She told me how snakes infested the bell tower and people believed someday the snakes would escape to herald the return of the Inca. The amaru, I learned, was an entity of life, strength, wisdom, and power. It was associated with rivers and considered a bringer of change, both destructive and beneficent. The Andean creator god Viracocha holds two staffs: thunderbolts in one hand and a serpent in the other. Power and an amaru—the capacity to bring about change.

My mother-in-law was a good Catholic and didn’t worship other gods. She did, however, believe that this church, San Francisco, was just a bit more holy than other churches—and that the most holy of all was the Basilica of the the Virgin of Copacabana. That church is located on an island in Lake Titicaca where, not coincidentally, Viracocha created the Sun and the Moon. The Incas claimed descent from the Sun.

The conquistadors conquered the Inca Empire. They never fully eradicated the pagan religion of the natives. The old ways live on in Virgins who overshadow Christ and are dressed in bejeweled gowns that would look at home on Inca princesses. Old beliefs live on in traditions like pouring a few drops of drink on the ground to honor Pachamama, or asking Pachamama’s blessing before building a house. The three main laws of the Incas are still spoken aloud and held to be the Golden Rule: Ama Sua. Ama Llulla. Ama Quella. Don’t steal. Don’t lie. Don’t be lazy.

When I wrote “The Seventh Sacrifice” for the Devil’s Night anthology, I wanted to bring readers into this world I love. “The Seventh Sacrifice” depicts a collision of cultures, sex, and fate: In modern day La Paz, a young Spaniard hell-bent on revenge is attracted to a native sorcerer determined to break a centuries old curse. Seems there’s a church in the way….

Excerpt: “The Seventh Sacrifice”

Two stone steps flanked by tables of packaged, prefabricated charms led to the narrow hole-in-the-wall that constituted a store.  Every spare millimeter of space was packed with arcane objects.  Fully furred llama fetuses with huge, black eyes and grimacing teeth hung from a pole over the doorway, while more of the samemummified and without furlay piled in baskets.  The dried husks of armadillos, toads, and starfish held sway among racks of cheap beads, brass bells, and trays of colored powders.  Beltran hoped the powders were herbs, but at least one looked like dried blood, and he knew the others could be anything from antlers to hooves, teeth, or bones.

But what caught his eye next, and took away his already scanty breath, was the man sitting on a stool just inside the doorway.  Black hair, straight and shining, framed a brown face with strong features and high cheekbones.  The heavy mane cascaded behind broad shoulders and a red poncho of alpaca wool.  As the man rose to his feet, Beltran saw that he was taller than most native men, with a wiry, powerful frame.  The shopkeeper’s eyes commanded him most of all: deep and black, they locked onto his with a hunger so fierce, the compulsion in them made him quiver.

Holy Mother of God, Beltran thought, forcing himself to breathe normally.  Marisol never told me her shaman would be gorgeous!

* * * *

Devil's Night is now available through Storm Moon Press.

If the spirit moves you, please visit my blog or send me a Follow request on Twitter or Facebook. I’m always looking for fun new friends.

Twitter: @tali_spencer

Friday, October 26, 2012

Howloween Blog Hop

Who says trick-or-treating is strictly for the kids?

Welcome to the Howloween Blog Hop! There are 270+ authors and tons of goodies to be won. So put on your costumes, PJs, or fanged teeth and go a knockin’ at each of the blogs below! Click on the link for a spooktacular time. *evil cackle*


Friday, October 26, 2012


Monday, October 29, 2012 @ midnight.

Come in, come in! The drinks are over there-à


ßAnd the food is over there!

Bruahhahahaha.  Welcome to my blog! Halloween is my favorite holiday, lol. Can you tell? So, in horror *snicker*  of Halloween I’m giving away a copy of any book from my backlist to three boo-rific winners. Here’s what you do…


~Join my blog and make sure to let me know. :)

~Leave me a comment. Tell me what your favorite kind of candy you’d like to get as you trick or treat through the blog hop. LOL

~Leave me an email address!! Please remember to do that. Without it, I can’t contact you!

I’ll announce the winners Tuesday evening by email and on here. Please respond to the email I send so I know I have the correct addy. Hope everyone has fun during the hop.


Thursday, October 25, 2012

In the Spotlight - Julie Lynn Hayes


Hey everyone! Today I have Julie Lynn Hayes in the spotlight. I first met Julie months ago when she was the EIC for Nighttime Wishes.
Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking.
When there are clouds in the sky
you'll get by. 

Actor/director/composter Charlie Chaplin wrote the music for this song in 1936 for his film Modern Times. The lyrics weren’t added until 1954. In the film, Chaplin’s best known character, the Little Tramp, struggles to survive in a highly industrialized world. Although the film is ostensibly a comedy, it is also a commentary on the life of the common man, and the struggle faced by many people during the Great Depression. Even though by the time that the words were put to the melody, the Little Tramp had made his last film—The Great Dictator, in 1940—the message is one that was always taken to heart and displayed by the character throughout his career, displaying the dichotomy which existed within him. The tragedy within the comedy.

Not only is there a fine line between humor and drama, the same precarious balance exists between love and hate, life and death. And sometimes little to distinguish between them. Yes, Chaplin’s films are comedies, certainly on the surface, but dig a little deeper and what do you find? Much much more. Who can ever forget the scene in The Kid, when the orphaned boy whom the Tramp has taken under his wing and loved and cared for is being wrenched from his arms? He’s crying, the Tramp’s crying, it’s a heartbreaking moment.  Who didn’t cry?  I did. Or what about the tender love which the Tramp displayed for the poor flower girl in City Lights? How hard he fought to help her, and how much he loved her, never knowing if that love would be or could be returned?

What am I trying to say? Basically, you can’t have one without the other. Your character does not exist in a world solely composed of all comedy or all drama. all love or all hate. He or she has to have layers because in the real world, people are not one-note wonders. Successful characters need to be much more. You  can tell when a character doesn’t work—when his motives are unrealistic or his personality is too wooden.  When he’s too perfect to be real. That can be a definite fatal flaw to a story, one that is sure to make us close the book and not bother to finish. Sure, we like to write about our pretty boys, and how wonderful they are. But make them interesting – give them flaws, give them hobbies and interests (outside of sex, please!) Make them human, and make them believable.

Chaplin’s Little Tramp wasn’t necessarily much to look at—with his trademark bowler, tight coat, oversized shoes and cane, but you know what? He was instantly recognizable. Sure, your guy has abs and buns of steel, but so does every other hot hero on the block. Give yours something that makes him stand out in the crowd, in the line that’s vying to get all the readers’ attention. I think this is why vampires have their Achilles’ heels, the rules and regulations they must conform to, because otherwise they’re all powerful and where’s the challenge in that? The reader is going to remember what’s in your hero’s heart and soul a lot longer than what’s in his pants. Also, lots of sex doesn’t necessarily equate to a good story.

If you smile through your pain and sorrow 
Smile and maybe tomorrow 
You'll see the sun come shining through 
For you. 

Let’s take this a step further, shall we? If we make it too easy on our heroes, if everything comes easily to them because of their great beauty and gorgeous physique, then what are we reading about? Stories need conflict, so to satisfy the reading public, you have to torture your hero in some way. Give him obstacles to overcome, problems to solve, tragedies to survive. Make him human—even if he isn’t. He’ll thank you for it. After he gets over being mad.

Give them goals, give them dreams, give them something to live for. The path of life can be a rocky road, but it makes for better reading than the story of a person whose life gets handed to them on a silver platter.

In Leonardo di Caprio is a Vampire, Fisher Roberts thinks he has his life laid out pretty well—he has a good job, he co-owns his own home, along with his best friend Hunter Long, he does the things that society says he should, and he’s good to his mother. What more could he want? Maybe to be honest with himself about how he feels about his best friend and about what he really wants out of his life?

His life starts to unravel at Halloween, a holiday that Fisher does not enjoy, but Hunter does. Fisher has promised to attend a Halloween party he has no wish to go to, his job may be in jeopardy, and Hunter is acting stranger than usual. At the party, Fisher learns something that potentially threatens to tear their relationship apartment for good.

And then things proceed to get weird.

Remember to make your characters multi-dimension. Give them personalities beneath their pretty faces. And throw some boulders in their paths when they’re skipping down them. You’ll be glad you did! 

Leonardo di Caprio is a Vampire

“Tis the night before Halloween, and Fisher Roberts wishes it was over, not being a fan of this or any other holiday.  But he tolerates it because his roommate/best friend Hunter Long takes a childish glee in all things Halloween.  And Fisher has a vested interest in keeping Hunter happy.  If only he could find the nerve to tell his childhood friend that he loves him, and has for a very long time.

Fisher thinks Hunter is carrying things a bit far this year, though.  First Hunter claims to be a vampire, and he just won’t let the silly joke go.  Then he forces Fisher to go to a costumed Halloween party which Fisher would rather avoid, especially when he realizes where it’s being held, and whose house it is. Things at Fisher’s job might just be going south, too, when he receives a mysterious summons to report to the editor’s office the next morning.  And then Fisher goes and does something stupid—like kissing Hunter!

Bad leads to worse when Fisher ends up at the Halloween party from Hell, and he learns something that threatens to destroy his and Hunter’s relationship forever.  Running from his fears, Fisher encounters a strange young man with an unusual resemblance to Leonardo di Caprio, who shows him things he never realized before, truths about his life and the people in it.

Can Fisher find his way back to Hunter, and can he find the courage to do what his heart wishes?

Excerpt:  Leonardo di Caprio is a Vampire

 “Did you know that Leonardo di Caprio is a vampire?”

            Fisher Roberts stopped in mid-chew of a mouthful of fibrous cereal to cast a wary, disbelieving glance at his best friend and roommate Hunter Long on the other side of the table.  Wary, because he wondered what in the world Hunter was going on about so early in the morning.  Disbelieving, because he only had so much time for breakfast before he had to get going to work, and he had a bad feeling that Hunter was trying to eat into that time.  Why he wanted to do that was beyond Fisher.  Of course, a lot of things about his roommate were beyond Fisher, despite the fact that they’d been friends since they were—well, too young to actually remember how long they’d known each other.  But for as long as Fisher could remember, he and Hunter had been best buddies.  And he’d learned over the years that, with Hunter, longevity did not equate to knowledge-ability, far from it.

            Now, Fisher could react in one of two ways.  He could ignore his roommate and keep eating.  Pretend he’d heard nothing.  But from past experience, that would only cause Hunter’s performance to escalate.  Which would entail taking more time to decipher what he was saying, and in the process make Fisher even later to work.   Or he could simply bow down to the inevitable and give in by asking him the question he was doubtless waiting to hear.  Even if it brought about that smug smirk he was so fond of wearing.

            Fisher finished chewing, swallowed, and managed not to roll his eyes as he reached for his juice to kill off what was left in the glass.  Waste not, want not.  “What do you mean?”

            Hunter Long might be six foot two and possessed of a body that many a male model would kill for—at least that’s what Fisher heard the girls who flocked around him say—with the palest of blue eyes that twinkled all the time, and a smile that could and did light up a room.  But honestly, he had the capacity to be an overgrown child at times, and this was one of those times.  Fisher chalked it up to it being that time of year.

            “Well,” Hunter replied, “look at him, going on forty, and he looks just like he did what, fifteen years ago?  It only stands to reason he must be a vampire.  They never age, you know.  I mean take a look at us.  We’re almost his age, but over the years we’ll grow up to be little old men and he’ll still be playing sweet baby-faced guys even when he’s collecting social security, know what I mean?”

            “There are no such things as vampires,” Fisher made his typical logical reply, “and just because it’s Halloween tomorrow night, and you’ve got the house all decorated for it, doesn’t mean you have to bring it to the table.  Know what I mean?”  He arched a no-nonsense brow at the other man.  This was not Fisher’s favorite time of year.  Neither was Christmas, come to think of it.  Or any other holiday.  Ironic that he should write articles for a living that meant he was forced to expound on such seasonal topics for Midwest Home and Fantasy, a regional online magazine with a growing fan-base, when he had no real interest in them himself, being a practical, no-nonsense kind of a guy.

            “I’m a vampire.” Hunter smiled, leaning across the table toward Fisher.  “Want to see my fangs?”


Julie Lynn Hayes was reading at the age of two and writing by the age of nine and always wanted to be a writer when she grew up. Two marriages, five children, and more than forty years later, that is still her dream. She blames her younger daughters for introducing her to yaoi and the world of M/M love, a world which has captured her imagination and her heart and fueled her writing in ways she'd never dreamed of before. She especially loves stories of two men finding true love and happiness in one another's arms and is a great believer in the happily ever after.

She lives in St. Louis with her daughter Sarah and two cats, loves books and movies, and hopes to be a world traveler some day. While working a temporary day job, she continues to write her books and stories and reviews, which she posts in various places on the internet. Her family thinks she is a bit off, but she doesn't mind. Marching to the beat of one's own drummer is a good thing, after all. Her published works can be found at Dreamspinner Press, Silver Publishing and MuseitUp Publishing.


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