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Welcome, everyone! Here's where I blather about writing, life with my wife BA, and my two basset hounds! I love to hear from readers, so comment here or email me!

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Play Dead

Hey y'all!

I have a new Sip out today!

It's called Play Dead, and it's a short story about two werewolves and a vampire who decide to play nice together...

Can I tell you a secret? This one wants to be long. It wants to be a whole book. The characters are fun, the backstory is wicked, and the boys want to go on and on.

You should read it now in its first incarnation so you can say you knew it when, just in case it becomes a novel!

Check it out here!

Here's a wee bit to tempt you!

He didn’t like the idea of squatting in someone’s occupied house, though, even if the guy was like sleeping beauty. Or sleeping like the dead, all pale and barely breathing and—

Poke. Kayne poked the man again.

“Would you quit it!” God, if the guy woke up now, all bruised and shit, they could be in trouble.

“What? It’s a were-possum.”

“There is no way a possum is going to have a house as nice as this.” Those things were nasty, all teeth and naked tails. This guy, he had smooth skin that smelled like spice, and pretty long hair and wide shoulders…

“Are you jonesing on him?” Kayne asked, starting at him, nose quivering. “No!” He wasn’t. Who needed more than one man in his life? One was rough enough. Kayne frowned. “Well, he does look to have two good legs.”

“Stop it. It’s my fault you almost lost yours.” Beck had been the one stupid enough to challenge the alpha about two men having a wild, passionate affair, and Kayne had been the one to get his ass kicked trying to save Beck’s throat.

It was a thing.

“Besides, it’s not like it really slows you down, baby,” Beck went on. “I think it’s dashing.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it.” Kayne grin chased the frown away. “So, what do we do about the dead guy?”

“He’s breathing. He’s not dead. I say we move on.”

“Oh, come on. We should at least check out his fridge.”

“You’re such a freak. Come on.” Beck was pretty hungry, so he checked on the sleeping man one more time before heading to the kitchen. The place was state of the art for a house that looked so abandoned on the outside, with stainless appliances and marble counters. Nice.

“Huh. Nothing in here but bags, man.”

“Bags?” Beck wandered over to peer over Kayne’s shoulder. “Bags of what?”

“Uh. Blood?”

He tilted his head, staring at the rows of neatly stacked blood, all labeled and dated like a blood bank stash. “Babe? I think we need to get out of here.” “Oh, come on, this guy has got to be weak as a kitten if he needs this much blood.” Beck whapped Kayne on the back of the head.

“Ow! What the hell was that for?”

“Asshole tax.” He stared at the blood, which was marked with a million different blood types. “This is not for transfusions. This guy isn’t dying. He’s undead.”

“How very astute of you.” The voice came from behind them, making them both jump half a foot. “I’m also quite awake now. Which one of you was poking me with the stick?”

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