Diana DeRicci

Posts Tagged ‘m/m romance’

Diana DeRicci
Cover Art: Annie Melton
Genre: Erotic Romance/Gay Romance, M/M
Length: novella
ISBN: 978-1-936751-60-0
Heat Level: 4
Warnings: This book contains sexual content that may be offensive to some readers: gay sex (male/male), anal sex

A broken engagement, a kiss with a stranger, and now he might be…gay?

Luke Fletcher’s engagement with Sandy has gone bad, and it was all his fault. He’d kissed a guy. And he’d liked it. Luke thinks he can move on and write it off as the drunken, bachelor-party prank it was meant to be, until a virtual clone of Kissy-Face Guy shows up on his doorstep.

Seth Rusko has been a friend of Sandy’s brother for ages, so when he’s asked to drop off a box of Sandy’s ex’s stuff, he figures the least he can do is help the girl out. But he hadn’t planned on Sandy’s ex being so tongue-tyingly, breath-catchingly hot. Of course, being hot is irrelevant—the guy is clearly straight.

At least, he seems straight… until he tells Seth just what he did to cause the breakup… and until Seth remembers the last time he lost his heart to a straight guy who didn’t know what he wanted…

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An excerpt from the book

Moonlight flared across the low tide waves, a long sword of gossamer silver on an inky black canvas. Luke stood on his rear deck, able to hear the quiet shush of the rolling waves echoed by the sucking of the tide as they returned to the Gulf. With his hands braced around the railing, he tilted his chin upward, his eyes closed, breathing in the calm of the summer breeze, the scent of the sea and sand. These moments soothed him like very little could anymore.

His phone rang inside the house behind him, but he ignored the jarring interruption. He was sure it was only his mother. He was proven right when the answering machine picked up.

“Luke, it’s your mom.” She sounded agitated. Her normal state. “Please call home. Sandy misses you. We miss you.”

He snorted. Sandy would be the last person to miss him. Obviously his mother was still clinging to the delusion that they were getting married.

“Not happening, Ma,” he groused coldly, gazing out to the beckoning sea. And for the record, he was home. Luke wasn’t going back. Not to have his heart eviscerated by his ex-fiancée all over again. He ignored the rest of his mother’s pleading, or whatever it was she was saying. By the time she’d hung up, he’d lost himself in the swaying constant of the ocean.

* * *

Seth Rusko slid from his car to stand at the edge of the sidewalk, checked the address on the note in his hand against the numbers on the house and mailbox, then shrugged. Taylor wouldn’t send him to the wrong house. He hefted the box from the back seat, then bumped the rear door with a hip. It was midafternoon on a Saturday. The guy might be home. If he wasn’t, Seth would leave the box on the porch by the door. The stuff inside would likely explain who’d sent it.

Bracing his delivery between a hip and the wall, Seth rang the doorbell and waited.

“Whoa,” Seth breathed when the door was yanked open abruptly. Startled to be greeted by a half-naked guy, he shook himself mentally. “Hi. Are you Luke Fletcher?” Damn. Sandra had good taste. If he was going to open the door naked, Seth wasn’t above looking.

“On most days.”

Seth cleared his throat. It was difficult to not ogle the man’s damp chest. Considering he probably stood a good three inches taller than Seth, he was at eye-level standing on the last step. Sculpted pectorals were lightly dusted with short brown hair. Luke was tight, on his way to a six-pack. Sandy had mentioned at some point that her ex-fiancée liked to work out. It showed, and the view made Seth’s mouth water. Short swim trunks molded to his body. The scent of the ocean clung to him and his dark brown hair looked disheveled, like he’d toweled it dry.

“Can I help you?”

It wasn’t exactly a bark, but it was a definite prod.

“Oh! Right. I’m a friend of Sandy’s—”

Luke’s eyes narrowed a fraction, his expression shutting down, becoming considerably less welcoming.

Seth swallowed. Maybe not mentioning that would have been better. He went with a different tack, their mutual friend. “Taylor asked me to deliver this to you. I think it’s stuff from Sandy’s place. I don’t know,” Seth finished, his voice wavering with uncertainty. The longer he stared, the harder it was becoming to speak at all…

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Mind Games

By: Diana DeRicci | Other books by Diana DeRicci
Published By: Purple Sword Publications, LLC
ISBN # 9781936165742

Word Count: 26997
Heat Index

Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Palm DOC/iSolo, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket, Rocket, Epub

Draven’s Crossing: Tempestuous Crossings

Purple Sword Publications
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From out of the darkness, a voice calls, luring one man into a battle of the unknown.

Jackal has lived a well-guarded secret his entire life. A being of immense power, he understands and accepts the loss and emptiness of never finding a soul to love, yet endures because it is his only path. Eternal life means none who walk the earth could comfort him for long.

The only one who could understand his plight has lived for just as long: a vampire. Taken by surprise and tortured, Kristof’s agony pulls Jackal to him in the dream realm, forging a bond that is unexpected and unexplained.

But now that they’ve connected, will the darkness that hunts all para-kind in Draven’s Crossing destroy them?
Excerpt:

Chapter One

Time. There always seemed to be time. Jackal flitted between dreams. In the surreal world of dreams, time was never an issue.

Until now.

“Who are you?” he murmured, his voice thick. He knew he was asleep, but he was being drawn irrevocably toward something.

A raw voice reached out to him. “Help me.”

Jackal frowned. His body felt sluggish. It was hard to move, like forcing his way through quicksand, or thigh-high swamp water, the silt sucking at his feet with each step. He was reaching for someone, of that he was sure. He cocked his head, listening. “Where are you?”

“Here. Please. They’re coming.” The male voice replied, plaintively filled with wave upon wave of pain and exhaustion.

He froze, his heart racing. Jackal hadn’t expected a literal answer. He’d never received one before. “Where are you?” he demanded, now getting worried. Anxiety made his words sharp. “What’s your name?”

“Kristof. I can hear you.” The words were dragging, confused. “So tired.”

“Don’t speak.” Jackal intensified his thoughts, forcing himself above the suck of the dream weave. Further disembodied, he floated, coursing through time and space. He’d had plenty of dream excursions, but no one had touched him as intrinsically as this voice. Something dire and desperate waited beyond his reach, needed his help. He knew he had to answer.

Soon, images began to form out of the swirls of his dream. Buildings. Street shapes. Sounds. A world at night.

Cautiously, he landed on a sidewalk. The chill of late night filled the air, hazy stars glinting overhead, as though seen through a thin gauze sheet of clouds. “Kristof?” The sound of his voice was a whisper between his ears. It shook him to his soul that this being was reaching for him.

A roar of pain almost threw him completely back into his own body. Staggering where he stood, Jackal shook his head. This was not normal. He could hear them, but never had a dreamer heard him, or responded, trying to reach out for him. It was almost as though he were being pulled in this direction by sheer will. Steeling himself to move forward, he let the fading tremors of pain guide him. Kristof couldn’t speak. A sense of connection lurked between Jackal’s soul and this man’s subconscious. It was the most the other man could manage, and for even that, Jackal was sure Kristof was hurting because he had to stay cognizant for the thread to remain.

“Hear me, Kristof. Help me find you.”

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It’s finally come to the wire… Well, nearly. We have a month to go, but it’s on the Coming Soon page and will be out in the world on April 10th. My first release with Dreamspinner Press. I have to give kudos to Anne and her team. It’s always nerve-wracking heading into unchartered territory. Glad to say I survived.

So here it is: Second Chance at Love

Coming April 10th!! Woot! So mark your calendars…. The countdown has begun…

The hole in Tony Teagan’s heart is slowly shrinking. Since losing the love of his life, he’s buried himself in running West TonDe Press, but now he can remember the good times. Still, that doesn’t mean he’s ready for a new man in his life. Then he meets nighttime delivery guy Brandon, who appears on his doorstep with Thai food. Tony’s interest is piqued despite their ten-year age difference, and Brandon is all for a new relationship. Relinquishing his hold on his deceased lover is the hardest challenge Tony will face, but if his future is combined with Brandon’s, he may have a second chance at love after all.

Excerpt

Chapter One

CAPPUCCINO jelly beans.

Tony held the front door open for a split second as the scent assaulted him. His lashes fell and he almost spoke the name on the tip of his tongue in response. A quick inhale and it was gone, the imagined scent replaced by a very real frown. He knew he was imagining it, a long-ago memory. Devyn and those same jelly beans were gone. Two years gone. His heart still ached, though not as badly. Time had softened the loss. The hole in his heart that losing the love of his life had created was slowly, though no less painfully, shrinking.

Closing the door of his Glendale home behind him, he began to work the knot of his tie loose as he crossed the room to the kitchen table. Thick pile carpet silenced his step until he reached the wood plank of the kitchen, the crisp tap of his shoes the only sound in the home they’d once shared.

After removing his jacket to hang squarely on the back of one of the chairs, he opened his briefcase to palm the two files within. Submissions to review for two new books. The authors were waiting for the final decision and he didn’t like taking more time than was needed to approve or decline. He knew these two personally and didn’t want to delay. Submitting was enough of a hurry up and wait.

With the files staring up at him from the table, he went to the cabinets and withdrew a bottle of wine from its place in the rack. He delved for the corkscrew in the drawer, then with it in hand, popped the cork free to let the wine breathe. He pulled down one glass, barely the slightest hitch in his motions now, when out of habit he would have set two on the counter before.

Taking a few minutes to retreat to his bedroom, he changed from his work clothes. Dressed in shorts and a lightweight T-shirt, Tony was more comfortable against the streaming sunlight entering through the panoramic windows in the living room.

Once he had his glass a quarter full of wine, he grabbed the files and sauntered to his leather couch, where he could read and relax with the broad lines of his home to one side and the lush greenery of the hills on the other. The blazing sunlight sparkled off the nearly mirror-flat surface of his swimming pool. A single glance was all he allowed himself, knowing his memories would overwhelm him if he lingered.

He flipped open the first file. “Okay, Frankie. What did you send me this time, you goddess?” Tony mused. His staff vetted public submissions, but he handled a few long-timers personally. Frankie, AKA Frank Rogel, was a long-in-the-tooth stable author of Tony’s from their early days together. Rarely, very rarely, did he not accept one of Frankie’s stories outright. Tony had spotted her talent early on, when he was still a struggling agent himself and had snatched her up like a hot commodity. She’d been writing for him ever since. West TonDe Press wasn’t her only home, and he was fine with that. Overlap was encouraged and helped promote names readers might not otherwise see. It didn’t hurt one bit that everyone who read her work believed she was a male author of the hottest male-male romances out there. He needed to get down to West Hollywood and take his best girl out to lunch sometime soon.

Shadows lengthened as Tony was drawn into the story—a wild-animal activist for big cats and the one man who was his nemesis, face-to-face. One who was desired like chocolate-covered strawberries when they could actually sit down to discuss things other than the land they both wanted.

Tony had learned early on that if he didn’t skip the sex scenes, he’d be taking a shower more than once with her work in his hands. Frankie put the steamy back into sex, as far as he was concerned.

A grumble of his stomach drew him out of the story and he noted the time. Not that the long shadows decorating his living room didn’t fill him in to begin with. “Did it again,” he grumbled. He still forgot to eat without Devyn there to get his ass off the couch and his nose out of whatever he was reading.

Dropping the pages on the table in front of the couch, he lurched to his feet to find the phone and hit speed dial.

“Hi, Angela. It’s Tony Teagan,” he said to the hostess at his favorite Thai house.

“Good evening, Mr. Teagan.” Her voice was whimsical, warm. “The usual tonight?”

“Yes, please. Delivery.”

Tony heard the tap of keys on the other end. “Look for our driver in about thirty-five minutes.”

“Thank you.” He hung up and reclaimed his comfy spot on the couch, tucking in firmly to the pillows behind him. Devyn would have had a fit if he knew how often Tony was now eating out. Devyn had been the chef, not Tony. He could manage the coffeemaker and the microwave. More than that and he was proven to be the inept one in their relationship. Why change something at this late stage had been his oldest argument, the kind that always had Dev laughing at him right before he would be engulfed in loving arms for a heated kiss or more.

Tony placed the pages in his hand on his thighs, rubbing stiff fingers over his eyes. Moments of melancholy were rarer. At least they’d had twelve years together to make memories, good memories.

Devyn had been a prince, the sweetest man when they’d met.

Tony dropped his chin to his chest, concentrating to even his breathing before the heat in his eyes turned to tears. “I miss you so much, Dev.”

Sucking in a shaky breath, he steadied himself and grasped the loose pages on his lap, determined to give Frankie his absolute attention. At least he knew she’d give him a happy ending, something he once thought he’d have for the rest of his life.

BRANDON popped through the rear doors of the restaurant and walked toward Mikahl’s driver stand. The restaurant did a booming business out front, but the delivery was well-known for being prompt and personable, which put them in high demand. “Here are the receipts for Dessel and Hopkins.”

“Thanks.” Mikahl palmed them and slapped them into the register account book. He quickly wrote down notes on a tablet by his elbow and then spoke into the headset on his ear. Brandon didn’t really focus on any of it, just glad to get thirty seconds to be still.

The quiet didn’t last long before he was handed another order. “Brandon! My man! I have a hot one.” One of the cooks slid it across the rear chrome counter toward Mikahl, who quickly bagged it up and printed the order tally.

“Where to?” He lifted the receipt and read the address. Lucas Street? He swept a quick look to Mikahl. “Wait. Doesn’t Rodney usually take this area?”

“He’s already out, and Mr. Teagan is one of our best customers.” Mikahl patted a shoulder. “He’s a good tipper. Don’t let the area intimidate you.” He gave a directed push to go with an impatient don’t waste time wave.

“Okay,” Brandon said, hiding his tiredness before Mikahl picked up on it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do the delivery, but the houses up in the hills did intimidate him. He slipped out the back door to the alley where the delivery guys parked their cars: his, Rodney’s, and Paul’s, who were both already out. After packing the Styrofoam boxes into the insulated cube carrier, he settled it on the passenger seat, and once he was in, buckled it down, then did the same for himself.

Looking at the clock display, he noticed he still had two hours of deliveries before he would be off for the night. After that, he had about an hour to squeeze in some studying and then sleep before he went into his other job at the coffee shop.

He knew finishing college was going to be hard. Putting the car into gear, he refused to think about where he could have been if only he’d agreed to do things his parents’ way.

As in denounce being gay.

Brandon could denounce a lot of things: his love of mystery thrillers, his love of cheesecake—but he couldn’t denounce being gay.

It had been three years since he’d last seen his parents. They’d withdrawn financial aid for his degree, which had put him working two jobs instead of just the one at the coffee shop. He liked both, for different reasons. The coffee shop because there were always interesting customers and discussion, everything from politics to the latest fashion trends to who in Hollywood had adopted a dog or a kid.

As for the delivery night job, that just kept him moving. No matter how tired he was, he never noticed until he was done for the day. Usually an hour or so of studying and reading was about all his fatigued brain could manage before he dumped himself headfirst into bed. He would rise the next morning, before dawn, to do it all again.

It was hard, but it wasn’t killing him, and until then, he refused to give up on his dreams. He was slowly making progress toward his degree. He wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers now, even without his parents’ help. It would have been easier, but this was life—his life—and he had to work with what he was dealt.

An upbeat song started on the radio and he cranked it. One other good thing about the night job: he could sing to his heart’s content as loud as he wanted. He could be his own rock star behind the wheel, and no one knew anything about it.

Lucas Street appeared in front of him and he made the left, gaping just a little at the large homes. They were beautiful marble and stone creations, with pristine lawns, trimmed bushes and shrubs, and large leaf-filled trees. Paradise in the middle of town, or actually on the north side of town, but no one was that picky, least of all Brandon.

Eyeing the ticket quickly, he released it and hunted house numbers. “Lawdy, Miss Mae. I do hope he’s a tipper,” he drawled in a sultry falsetto. He rolled to a stop at the curb and double checked the numbers.

Brandon hopped from the car in front of the right house and grabbed the insulated carrier in sure palms. He skipped up the four steps to the door and hit the doorbell with a thumb. A moment or two was all it took.

“That was quick tonight, Rod—Oh, sorry. I thought you were Rodney.”

The hunk in the doorway short-circuited Brandon’s brain for about three solid seconds. Sleek, satiny black workout shorts and a soft-as-suede T-shirt that fit his chest like a dream. And that was just what was directly in front of his eyes. He wanted to take all the time in the world to investigate and stare, but the man’s voice dispelled his visual groping.

“How much is it?”

“Huh?” Brandon blinked and shook himself, feeling his face heat like a bonfire on the beach. With his fair skin, he knew it was impossible to pretend it didn’t happen. “Sorry.” He hunted for the ticket, using it as an excuse to get his tongue into the right gear. “Fourteen eighty-three.”

“Sounds right. Are you new?”

Brandon slipped the boxes from the insulator. “No, Rodney was already out,” he replied lamely, hiding his jealousy that this guy was one of Rodney’s regulars. No one in Brandon’s area, as of yet, had turned out looking like this god.

“Oh. Well, here.” He handed over two bills. “Keep the extra.”

“But….” Brandon stared at the two twenties. Forty bucks? Seriously?

A dark-brown eyebrow hiked up over sparkling eyes. “Unless you don’t want it,” he teased.

“Oh! Um. It’s… just… unexpected.”

The man in front of him dipped his head and Brandon realized he was hunting for the name tag on his shirt. “It’s okay, Brandon. I believe in paying it forward. I didn’t always have those two twenties to rub together, much less splurge on Thai food. I remember,” he offered with a smile. “Thanks for bringing it tonight. Maybe I’ll get to see you again.”

He took a step backward and Brandon realized he was going to close the door. Brandon didn’t know how to stop him, so with a final glimpse of the man’s facial features to store and fantasize on later, he spun and trotted to his waiting car.

“God, Rodney. No wonder you love this street,” he muttered when he was sitting behind his steering wheel again.

By: Diana DeRicci | Other books by Diana DeRicci
Published By: OmniLit / All Romance eBooks, LLC
ISBN # 9781936387397
Word Count: 11232
Heat Index
Two men. One roof. Who knew togetherness could be so dangerously tempting?

Korbin is looking for a renter to help make ends meet. Not quite ready to make the offered room a squatter’s paradise with a public ad, he advertises by word of mouth. Turns out he’s doing it at just the right time.

Cage is relocating for a new job and needs a no-hassle place to live. He’s wary about sharing space with a total stranger, but the opportunity to be able to start at his new job without this stress is too good to pass up.

Except one of them is hiding a secret identity and his past has taught him to not talk about it. Friendship brings the men closer, but will the secrets they both carry keep them from exploring a deeper attraction between them?

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Excerpt:

Korbin tapped the wheel, singing to the radio. His foot even bounced a little, trying to keep the beat while paying attention to the road. Where is that stupid stop sign? Aha! The tree branches moved in the breeze and the stop sign appeared. He slowed and made the stop, the lone car at the four-way, then pressed for gas.

A sudden and very loud pop made him startle as he reached the other side. Then his car wobbled and thunked. “You have got to be kidding me.” He smacked the wheel with a fist.

Checking his mirrors more out of habit than there being anyone else on the road, he limped to the side, then put the car in park on the shoulder. After releasing his belt, he raised his left arm out of the way to snag the door handle with his right fingers. Once the latch was loose, he pushed with his shoulder and the door swung open. It was a practiced move, and had been for the last two weeks. The cast on his arm was a hindrance he’d learned to maneuver around.

He walked to the front of the car and groaned, then cussed a little under his breath while he was at it. Now there was no doubt he was going to be late to meet the renter for the interview at his house. Korbin kicked the tire and flinched at the shot of pain that lanced his toes.

“Smooth, dummy.” Why doncha break a foot and an arm? Well, nothing to be done about it now. Maybe if he was lucky, the guy he was meeting was desperate for a place to stay and would wait.

He could hope.

Leaning through the car window, he popped the trunk and turned on the flashers. The tick-tock of the lights blinking made his teeth clench. Today was not a day he needed this to happen.

What sucked was he was off the beaten path, a back road to his place that would have saved him about ten minutes, making it to his house before his visitor easily. That cushion of time was now destroyed.

Rummaging through the trunk, he pulled the floor cover out of the way to expose the wheel well. He was bent over the trunk lip with his rear in the air when the sound of a car right behind him had him peering over his shoulder. He straightened, taking in the bright blue, small- size pickup.

The man behind the wheel gave him a welcoming smile and opened his door with a metal creak. “Need some help?” he called, standing to his feet on the ground. Korbin had become used to the accents of the area since coming to live there, but this man’s was rich and robust, pure southern hospitality.

“Depends. I don’t have any money.”

The guy standing beside the truck blinked and gripped the door, not coming any closer. “Money? I thought you needed help.”

Korbin crossed his arms and leaned a hip on the car’s bumper. “Unofficially, I do. I have to change a tire and this makes it difficult.” He dropped his chin to his healing arm.

A gaze of sympathy swept over the guy’s face. “Oh, man. What happened?”

“Me and a ladder had a disagreement. The ladder won by dumping me twelve feet.”

The man behind the open truck door winced. “Sorry, but ouch.”

Korbin chuckled. “No biggie. I’m a klutz by nature.”

“Well, I can help with that,” he said, meaning the tire with a pointed look to the car. “And I won’t charge you, though if you could tell me how to get to Honeyhock Road, I’d appreciate it.”

“I can do that,” Korbin replied, though he was more afraid of being mugged than having to pay for the help. The man smiled again and Korbin took in his friendly appearance, still on his guard. A man doesn’t move out of the big city and forget everything he’d learned because he was now in some small everyone-knows-everyone country town.

As he approached, Korbin admitted he was good looking. Solid shoulders with a body that tapered to snug jeans and a firm waist. He was probably a few years older than Korbin. From the distance he couldn’t make out his eyes, other than they sparkled and he tended to squint a little when he smiled. Thick brown hair was trimmed over his ears and was most likely finger combed more than not. It looked rugged but good on him.

“Let’s see what we have to work with.”


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Cage straightened to study him, thinking he’d heard wrong. “Someone punched you?”

Korbin’s eyes slid away and he chewed on his lip as he debated something. He nodded then licked his lips, softening the slightly abused spot. “When I told my best friend I’d had my writing accepted. The erotica. He was appalled that I’d been writing it to begin with, angry when I was already making a name for myself, then…”

“Then?” Cage prompted, lifting a hand to run through his hair. Tight curls that welcomed him, clinging to his fingers, coils of softness. It was everything he’d imagined and more. Korbin didn’t flinch or anything. He almost pushed into the caress. I am so going to kill Patty. The witch was right. Again.

Korbin’s gaze rose and locked with his. “Then… He asked if I was gay,” he whispered faintly.

“He hit you when you said yes.”

Though it wasn’t a question, Korbin nodded.

“Damn, Kor,” he murmured, molding them closer together. “That’s why you didn’t want to be touched in the beginning.” Why he didn’t deny being straight.

Korbin lowered his chin, a light tremble vibrating Korbin’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

Cage lifted him from his hiding with a free hand. His chest swelled at the warm trust gazing at him. He never wanted to hurt Korbin, never wanted to see him hurt again. “Never apologize for someone else’s stupidity.” Cage drew a shaky breath, feeling himself be sucked into the brown of Korbin’s eyes. Longing simmered beneath his skin. “Can I kiss you, Korbin?”

With a hesitant hitch, Korbin crept forward a fraction, his gaze sliding from Cage’s eyes to his lips and back again.

Cage closed the distance when he didn’t retreat. Korbin melted beneath Cage. There was no other way to describe it. Lashes lowered, hiding his expressive eyes. Cage held him close, held him tight and Korbin did the same. His lips were soft and smooth, and so perfect.

Cage licked the curve of his upper lip with the tip of his tongue and Korbin whimpered, opening hungrily for more. Cage gave it, thrusting deep and tangling with Korbin.

He pulled away a few minutes later, trying to breathe. Blood pounded against his ears, a heady rush he hadn’t felt in
years. He hadn’t wanted to feel. Korbin was killing him.

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Mind Games

By: Diana DeRicci | Other books by Diana DeRicci
Published By: Purple Sword Publications, LLC
ISBN # 9781936165742

Word Count: 26997
Heat Index

Available in: Adobe Acrobat, Palm DOC/iSolo, Microsoft Reader, HTML, Mobipocket, Rocket, Epub

Draven’s Crossing: Tempestuous Crossings

From out of the darkness, a voice calls, luring one man into a battle of the unknown.

Jackal has lived a well-guarded secret his entire life. A being of immense power, he understands and accepts the loss and emptiness of never finding a soul to love, yet endures because it is his only path. Eternal life means none who walk the earth could comfort him for long.

The only one who could understand his plight has lived for just as long: a vampire. Taken by surprise and tortured, Kristof’s agony pulls Jackal to him in the dream realm, forging a bond that is unexpected and unexplained.

But now that they’ve connected, will the darkness that hunts all para-kind in Draven’s Crossing destroy them?

 
Excerpt:

Chapter One

Time. There always seemed to be time. Jackal flitted between dreams. In the surreal world of dreams, time was never an issue.

Until now.

“Who are you?” he murmured, his voice thick. He knew he was asleep, but he was being drawn irrevocably toward something.

A raw voice reached out to him. “Help me.”

Jackal frowned. His body felt sluggish. It was hard to move, like forcing his way through quicksand, or thigh-high swamp water, the silt sucking at his feet with each step. He was reaching for someone, of that he was sure. He cocked his head, listening. “Where are you?”

“Here. Please. They’re coming.” The male voice replied, plaintively filled with wave upon wave of pain and exhaustion.

He froze, his heart racing. Jackal hadn’t expected a literal answer. He’d never received one before. “Where are you?” he demanded, now getting worried. Anxiety made his words sharp. “What’s your name?”

“Kristof. I can hear you.” The words were dragging, confused. “So tired.”

“Don’t speak.” Jackal intensified his thoughts, forcing himself above the suck of the dream weave. Further disembodied, he floated, coursing through time and space. He’d had plenty of dream excursions, but no one had touched him as intrinsically as this voice. Something dire and desperate waited beyond his reach, needed his help. He knew he had to answer.

Soon, images began to form out of the swirls of his dream. Buildings. Street shapes. Sounds. A world at night.

Cautiously, he landed on a sidewalk. The chill of late night filled the air, hazy stars glinting overhead, as though seen through a thin gauze sheet of clouds. “Kristof?” The sound of his voice was a whisper between his ears. It shook him to his soul that this being was reaching for him.

A roar of pain almost threw him completely back into his own body. Staggering where he stood, Jackal shook his head. This was not normal. He could hear them, but never had a dreamer heard him, or responded, trying to reach out for him. It was almost as though he were being pulled in this direction by sheer will. Steeling himself to move forward, he let the fading tremors of pain guide him. Kristof couldn’t speak. A sense of connection lurked between Jackal’s soul and this man’s subconscious. It was the most the other man could manage, and for even that, Jackal was sure Kristof was hurting because he had to stay cognizant for the thread to remain.

“Hear me, Kristof. Help me find you.”

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