SILENCE OF THE MISSING Audiobook Gets Another Rave!

 A new and excellent review for SILENCE OF THE MISSING...

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Audiobook: https://www.amazon.com/Audible-Silence-of-the-Missing/dp/B0CZTYVFRZ

Paperback: https://www.amazon.com/Silence-Missing-gripping-psychological-thriller/dp/1915905168

Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/Silence-Missing-gripping-psychological-thriller-ebook/dp/B0C4M7TKQV

My Friend and Extraordinary Author, Damian Serbu Has a New Novel Out and It's Fanastic

Witch in the Wind is a book you don't want to miss!

ABOUT THE BOOK

A winter storm blows through Salem, Massachusetts, setting young witch Alexander MacBeth on a perilous path to adulthood as his dying mother gifts him an heirloom and pleads for him to use it to survive. 

To do so, he will need to perfect his inherited witchcraft to protect himself from those who want him dead. In his journey to adulthood, he falls in love with dashing nobleman Crispin Nottingham. Abandoned by Crispin and pursued by the Puritans, he finds he must harness the wind to assist his escape and flee his homeland aboard a pirate ship led by the handsome captain, Henri the Twisted. 

Struggling against distrustful pirates, an evil witch, and his continued longing for Crispin, Alexander sharpens his magical skills and falls into a romance with Henri. Chaos and danger confront him at every turn, even as he searches for love and belonging. A new sail on the horizon may signal hope or more danger than ever before—if Alexander can survive to meet his future.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Damian Serbu lives in the Chicago area with his husband and two dogs, Mika and Chewbacca. The dogs control his life, tell him what to write, and threaten to eat him in the middle of the night if he disobeys. He has published Witch in the Wind, The Vampire’s Angel, The Vampire’s Quest, The Bachmann Family Secret, The Vampire’s Witch, The Vampire’s Protégé, and The Vampire’s War, as well as Santa’s Kinky Elf, Simon and Santa Is a Vampire. Keep up to date with him on Facebook, Blue Sky, Instagram, Threads, Twitter, or at www.DamianSerbu.com.

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https://www.amazon.com/Witch-Wind-Damian-Serbu/dp/1648907695

My Autobiographical Novel BLINK Is Perfect Reading for Pride 2024

When I go back and re-read portions of Blink, my memoirish (I admit it!) gay love story, it takes me down memory lane—and back to my twenties. 

Youth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be! I was 23 years old in 1981, when the first part of the book takes place and I was big in denial of my gay self. So big, in fact, that I was engaged to be married to my (female) college sweetheart. A large part of the first section of the book deals with two young men being attracted to one another on one of Chicago’s L trains.

Both of them had issues. The character modeled after me, Andy, had more issues that Carlos, the character Andy lusts after, to his great shame. But even Carlos, out at the time, but still not so proud, struggles a bit with his sexuality, which is evident from this little taste from Blink, taken from Chapter 2 and written from Carlos’ point of view.

EXCERPT
The guy obviously has a thing for me. I’ve caught him staring now a couple of times and, hey, I’m flattered. He’s cute. No, maybe that’s not a strong enough word. He’s handsome, with green eyes and dark wavy hair that clues me into some sort of Mediterranean heritage. Italian maybe? Greek?

Whatever. Maybe the word I’m looking for is hot.

I can imagine kissing him and the feel of his dark, bushy mustache against mine.

I don’t ride the train to meet men. I don’t do much to meet men, period, to be perfectly honest. I ride the train in the mornings simply to get to St. Philomena elementary school on the west side, where I teach fourth grade.

I’m okay with being gay. I wasn’t always, hence my stint in the seminary where I studied to be a priest. I learned pretty quickly, by the grace of god, and the hands and mouth of a fellow seminarian, that the priesthood was not work I was cut out for. Not if I wanted to live my life honestly, anyway.

So I left. I had already gotten my teaching degree, concurrent with my seminarian studies, so the job at St. Phil’s, low-paying as it was, was a natural fit.

But I digress. I’m trying to sort out my feelings for this sweetheart on the train. I know he’s gay too. I know he’s attracted. But I also know that nothing will ever come of it.

Why? Because I can see that, when our eyes meet, he’s filled with shame and guilt. I recognize his remorse because I cloaked myself in that dark, heavy fabric myself for many years.

And maybe still do, a little, to this day. The Church teaches us that same-sex feelings are to be avoided. They are not of our natural order. We should turn our sights away from our own sex and devote them instead to loving and pleasing the Lord.

Yeah, good luck with that.

The Lord created that cute guy that gives me the eye on the train, the one I feel this probably misplaced connection with. What is it about him that makes me think of him all the time? Why do I hope he’ll be in my train car every time I step on to it in the morning, even though most times he’s not? Why do I try and quickly scan the windows of the train as it rumbles into the station for a glimpse of him?

Is it just because he’s cute?

There are cute men, hunks, whatever, all around. I occasionally venture out to the intersection of Grand Avenue and Clark to the New Flight bar for happy hour and bring one of them home. Or I head up farther north to the Loading Zone on Oak, where I can watch free porn in the back or dance up front. Somebody usually brings me home.

I never make any lasting connections. I don’t even know if want to. Shame lingers on me like the scent of cigarette smoke after leaving those places.

But there’s something about the guy on the train. He tugs at my heart as well as my loins. Even from the brief glances we exchange, he makes me think there’s the possibility of more than just sex. He makes me think, for the first time in my young life, that maybe I could love another man.

And that terrifies me.

Read more of Blink to see where this flirtation on the train takes these two—does it take them to love? And how long does it take for them to get there?

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JMS Books


ABOUT THE BOOK
Life can change in the blink of an eye. That's a truth Andy Slater learns as a young man in 1982, taking the Chicago 'L' to work every morning. Andy's life is laid out before him: a good job, marriage to his female college sweetheart, and the white picket fence existence he believes in. But when he sees Carlos Castillo for the first time, Carlos’s dark eyes and Latin appeal mesmerize him. Fate continues to throw them together until the two finally agree to meet up. At Andy’s apartment, the pent-up passion of both young men is ignited, but is snuffed out by an inopportune and poorly-timed phone call.

Flash forward to present day. Andy is alone, having married, divorced, and become the father of a gay son. He’s comfortable but alone and has never forgotten the powerful pull of Carlos’s gaze on the 'L' train. He vows to find him once more, hoping for a second chance. If life can change in the blink of an eye, what will the passage of thirty years do? To find out, Andy begins a search that might lead to heartache and disappointment or a love that will last forever….

Ten Own Voices Authors Offer Their Choices for Pride 2024

#OwnVoices refers to books whose author is part of a minority because of their ethnicity, sexuality, disability, neurodivergence, and more. These books tell stories about main characters of the same minority as the author.

Below find nine (plus one surprise) #ownvoices authors whom I asked to give me their best #ownvoices fiction, just in time to add to your #Pride2024 reading list.

In no particular order, here we go (clicking on each title will lead you to the book's Amazon page).

Christian Baines MY CAT'S GUIDE TO ONLINE DATING

A hook-up gone bad can be purrder.

Fresh from a breakup, deeply closeted freshman Zach jumps at the chance to housesit his family home and enjoy a long, horny summer free of both his ex and his religious parents. But when an old enemy turned hot hookup falls to his death, Zach turns to the only true friend he's ever known—his cat, Grace Jones.

With the dead man's phone and a knack for texting, she promises Zach help, for a price that will satisfy both their appetites. Does it matter if Grace Jones' powers draw on something far more ancient and sinister than a cell phone?

"Get laid, Zachary. Get laid."

Each new hook-up brings Zach darkly humorous discoveries about life, love, sex, and his own desires. But Zach knows it's only a matter of time before someone discovers his secret. Can he rely on his feline protector, or is he trapped in a hungry devil's bargain?

"The author of Puppet Boy this time brings you a gentle romance full of meet-cutes, coffee dates, and talking cats. Sorry, make that a pitch-black sex comedy, with aggressive outdoor hook-ups, unusual tasty treats, and... well, the talking cat bit is true. My Cat's Guide to Online Dating sits somewhere between Gregg Araki for the Grindr generation and what might happen if Dennis Cooper wrote a romcom. Filthy, surreal and darkly funny, you're in for a ride that's going to leave you hungry for flesh in all sorts of unexpected ways." — Matthew Bright, author of The Library of Lost Things

"One of the most unique books I've read - by turns frightening, hilarious, bizarre, and very, very erotic." — Rob Byrnes, author of Straight Lies and The Night We Met

"Christian Baines shows a kitty has more than claws, taking readers along hairpin turns into suburban sprawl and angst, dropping them into a deck of adventurous male/male hookups. The outré quieter moments evoke indie films including Gregg Araki's The Living End, Tim Hunter's River's Edge, and Richard Linklater's SubUrbia. Baines renders the reader complicit with the voracious appetite of his hero Zach and his familiar, Grace Jones. And, at the novel's heart, there darkly beats a steadily mounting horror. Eat this one up!"— James K. Moran, author of Fear Itself and Town & Train

"One hell of a ride. Dark, disturbing, and that's just the cat." — 'Nathan Burgoine, author of Exit Plans for Teenage Freaks

Jazzy Mitchell UNDERTOW

Maggie Ambrose is a fifty-six-year-old career politician who plans to run for president. To kick off her presidential bid and introduce herself to the masses, she’s writing a revealing memoir. Her publisher insists she divulge more than her political pedigree to gain the nation’s attention, but Maggie’s not eager to confess the details of her challenging childhood, complex familial relationships, or her failed first marriage. 

Will the nation embrace a female lesbian candidate after she opens the door to a painful past?

Marshall Thornton NIGHT DROP 

It’s 1992 and Los Angeles is burning.

Noah Valentine, the owner of Pinx Video in Silver Lake, notices the fires have taken their toll on fellow shopkeeper Guy Peterson’s camera shop. After the riots end, he decides to stop by Guy’s apartment to pick up his overdue videos, only to find Guy’s family dividing up his belongings. He died in the camera store fire—or did he?

Noah and his downstairs neighbors begin to suspect something else might have happened to Guy Peterson. Something truly sinister. The first in a new series from Lambda Award-winner Marshall Thornton, Night Drop strikes a lighter tone than the Boystown Mysteries, while bringing Silver Lake of the early 1990s to life.

Winner, 2017 Lambda Award Gay Mystery

Rob Rosen D.B. AND ME

In the gripping tale of D.B. and Me, the enigmatic hijacker D.B. Cooper parachutes into the unknown with $200,000 in ransom money, but little does he know that his daring escape is just the beginning of an unforeseen journey filled with mystery, suspense, and steamy romance.

D.B., now Tim, finds himself along the banks of the Columbia River attempting to fade into the shadows. However, fate has other plans when he encounters Adam, a charismatic stranger who’s also in hiding. The air becomes charged with anticipation as the two men become entangled in a mysterious dance, each harboring secrets that could shatter the fragile equilibrium they've quickly established.

Tim's initial plans to vanish into the vast expanse of Canada are abruptly put on hold as the magnetic pull of Adam draws him into a world where passion and danger collide. As their connection deepens while they wander through the snow-covered forests of the Pacific Northwest, so does the labyrinth of unanswered questions surrounding their pasts. The suspense thickens with every stolen glance, every shared secret, as Tim and Adam navigate a love affair shadowed by the lingering echoes of several daring crimes, all against the backdrop of the Vietnam War.

As the story unfolds, readers are taken on a heart-pounding journey through a landscape of intrigue, where the line between right and wrong blurs, and the boundaries of love are tested. Will Tim's past catch up with him, will Adam’s, or will they find a way to rewrite the narrative that destiny has penned for them?

D.B. and Me is a riveting exploration of love in the face of danger, a tale where passion and suspense interweave, leaving readers breathless and eagerly turning each page to unravel the secrets hidden within the folds of this captivating romance. Will Tim find redemption or be swallowed by the sadness of his past? And what about Adam and his troubled family and the ever-nagging reminders of a horrible war that still plague him? Dive into the depths of mystery and desire in this thrilling novel that will keep you on the edge until the very end.

Mark Allen Gunnells 324 ABERCORN

Brad Storm doesn’t believe in ghosts, but moving into the house at 324 Abercorn just may change his mind.

Best-selling author Bradley Storm finally has enough money to buy and restore his dream home. Despite 324 Abercorn's reputation as one of the most haunted houses in America, Bradley isn't worried. He doesn't believe in the supernatural. Then strange things begin to happen. Objects no longer where he left them. Phantom noises heard from empty rooms. Shadows glimpsed from the corner of his eye.

Is his house truly haunted, or is there something more sinister happening on the property?

With the help of Bradley’s new boyfriend and a few friends who are just as intrigued with the seemingly inexplicable occurrences surrounding the infamous house, they set out to find the truth of what stalks the halls at 324 Abercorn.

JP Jackson SUMMONED

Devid Khandelwal desperately wants to experience the supernatural. After years of studying everything from crystals to tarot to spellcasting, nothing has happened that would tell him the Shadow Realm is real. And that kills Dev. As a last-ditch resort, he purchases a summoning board, an occult tool that will grant him his ultimate desires.

Cameron Habersham is Dev’s best friend. Cam loves Dev like a brother and will do anything for him, as long as he looks good doing it. So when Dev asks him to perform the summoning board’s ritual, he reluctantly agrees, but he knows nothing will come of it. Nothing ever does.

However, within a day, Dev and Cam’s lives are turned upside down as wishes begin to come true. They discover the existence of a supernatural world beyond their imagination, but peace between the species is tenuous at best.

Dev finally gets to see the Shadow Realm, meets the man of his dreams, and is inducted into the local male coven. But for all the desires that were summoned into existence, Dev soon realizes the magical community dances the line between good and evil, and Cam ends up on the wrong side of everything.

The old adage is true: Be careful what you wish for.

Shane Morton THE TROUBLE WITH OFF-CAMPUS HOUSING

Edgar Allen Poe meets Drag Race!

What’s a young drag queen to do when they accidentally burn down their college dorm?

Move into a gothic mansion, of course!

Bobby Wolfe is lost and it’s going to take something terrifying to get him back on course. Enter the mysterious Adam and a dilapidated mansion filled with dark secrets. Bobby uncovers a mystery that’s about to take a very bad turn.

Who are these people and what do they want of him?

With the help of his hunky new boyfriend, Bryan, and Bobby’s best friend, the much beloved drag queen Ursula Moolay, Bobby begins to uncover the vast deadly secrets that the Lovett Mansion holds and looks fabulous doing it.

The house has been waiting for Bobby – Is he the promised one that can save them?

Can he survive? Or will he bring death to all?

You’ll adore this college paranormal tale that takes you on a harrowing journey with fabulous wigs and stilettos!

Gregory Ashe THE SAME BREATH

Teancum Leon, who goes by Tean, is a wildlife veterinarian. His life has settled into a holding pattern: he loves his job, he hates first dates, and he only occasionally has to deal with his neighbor Mrs. Wish’s cat-related disasters.

All of that changes, though, when a man appears in his office, asking for help to find his brother. Jem is convinced that something bad has happened to Benny, and he thinks Tean might be able to help. Tean isn’t sure, but he’s willing to try. After all, Jem is charming and sweet and surprisingly vulnerable. Oh. And hot.

Then things get strange: phone calls with no one on the other end of the line; surveillance footage that shows what might be an abduction; a truck that tries to run Tean and Jem off the road. As Tean and Jem investigate, they realize that Benny might have stumbled onto a conspiracy and that someone is willing to kill to keep the truth from coming out.

But not everything is as it seems, and Tean suspects that Jem has been keeping secrets of his own.

Ulysses Grant Dietz CLIFFHANGER 

Two young men, a mysterious silver bowl, and a shuttered Victorian mansion steeped in the sadness of a family curse ...

Alex White and Xander Browne are newly-hired curators in the American Wing of the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. The rediscovery of a long-forgotten silver bowl covered in Arabic and Hebrew inscriptions sends the pair on a hunt for clues as to why it was made and by whom. Their search begins to unravel the secrets of the bowl’s origins as well as its connection to the Bencliffe family, whose centuries-old history is darkened by a legacy of madness and suicide.

What begins as a professional friendship for Alex and Xander quickly turns personal as the two find their lives increasingly intertwined in unanticipated ways. Far beyond a mere curatorial research project, the story of the Bencliffe bowl takes on the aura of destiny as Alex and Xander make discoveries together that turn their world upside down.

From neglected archives in New York and Boston to the shadowed corners of Cliffhanger, the turreted Bencliffe mansion looming over the Hudson River, the truth emerges, forcing Alex and Xander to wonder if, perhaps, their meeting might not have been a coincidence after all.

And of course, I had to save a spot for myself, a proud #ownvoices author since 2007. My best #Pride #ownvoices book? Today, I pick:

Rick R. Reed THE Q

Step out for a Saturday night at The Q—the small town gay bar in Appalachia where the locals congregate. Whose secret love is revealed? What long-term relationship comes to a crossroad? What revelations come to light? The DJ mixes a soundtrack to inspire dancing, drinking, singing, and falling in (or out) of love.

This pivotal Saturday night at The Q is one its regulars will never forget. Lives irrevocably change. Laugh, shed a tear, and root for folks you’ll come to love and remember long after the last page.

My Chilling Vampire Novel, IMMORTAL THINGS, is Now Out in Audiobook

 

My #vampire #lovestory, IMMORTAL THINGS, is now available in #audiobook, narrated by the talented Sandra Sandy Detweiler. The book chronicles the intersection of three immortals, with their own very different stories, and the streetwalker/artist who comes into their midst, setting off an unforgettable and explosive reaction.

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NineStar Press | Books2Read | Amazon | Audible

About the Book

By day, Elise draws and paints, spilling out the horrific visions of her tortured mind. By night, she walks the streets, selling her body to the highest bidder.

And then they come into her life: a trio of impossibly beautiful vampires: Terence, Maria, and Edward. When they encounter Elise, they set an explosive triangle in motion

Terence wants to drain her blood. Maria wants Elise . . . as lover and partner through eternity. And Edward, the most recently converted, wants to prevent her from making the same mistake he made as a young abstract expressionist artist in 1950s Greenwich Village: sacrificing his artistic vision for immortal life. He is the only one of them still human enough to realize what an unholy trade this is.

Immortal Things will grip you in a vise of suspense that won’t let go until the very last moment…when a shocking turn of events changes everything and demonstrates—truly—what love and sacrifice are all about.

Excerpt

Immortal Things
Rick R. Reed © 2021
All Rights Reserved

Prologue
No one can hear the screams, the cries for mercy, and the shrieks of agony. It is as though the house is alive and it clamps down in reaction to the turmoil going on inside. One would never guess from its calm exterior that blood drips from its walls and those unlucky enough to enter have a good chance never to emerge again.

This house appears to be empty. Dignified. Crumbling testimony to the wealth that once existed on Chicago’s Far North Side. It sits like a boulder on a corner, empty-eye-socket windows facing Sheridan Road and beyond it, the expanse of Lake Michigan. The lake is dark now; white-tipped waves crash against the shoreline, breaking at the boulders, a crescent moon bisected and wobbling on its black and churning waters. The house has borne witness to these waters, moody and changeable, always fickle, for more than a hundred years.

The house is fashioned from white brick, yellowed and dirty. Nothing grows in the yard, save for a few straggling weeds that refuse to give in to the barren soil.

The house is dead.

And so are its inhabitants.

*****

The dead are inside and reveal a surprising likeness to living creatures. They can move and speak just like the rest of us. They have wants and needs. They go about fulfilling these wants and needs with the same kind of intensity and purpose as the rest of the world. One could even say they have jobs, even if their occupations would be deemed illegal and certainly immoral by almost everyone.

But look beyond these superficial similarities and you’ll feel chilled. Touch their flesh and it’s cold. Lay your head at their breasts and hear…nothing. Look into their eyes and find yourself reflected back in a black void that you just know, if you linger too long in its embrace, you’ll be sucked in and it will be all over for you. Grab one of their cold wrists and feel stone, marble to be exact.

There is no pulse.

But tonight, they are a merry band of three. Like the living, they are filled with anticipation. An evening out awaits them. They will, like so many others getting ready for a night on the town, meet others, exchange knowing glances and a mating dance of words. They will sup, but not on the gourmet offerings of the city.

Most houses borne of this period contain many rooms, perhaps more than necessary. Whoever designed this house had the presence of mind to create wide-open spaces, breathing room. Enter the double front doors and you come directly into the living room. Or is it a drawing room? A great room? No matter. What you do not enter is a vestibule or a foyer as other houses of this period would contain. The walls are parchment colored, but right now, that color is indiscernible to the human eye, lit as they are by dozens of flickering candles. Water stains mar the walls and give to them a trompe l’oeil elegance, a look of almost deliberate aging. The floors are dark, their hardwood planks, tongue and groove, blackened by the lack of light and dust accumulated over many years. Along one wall is a fieldstone fireplace, its mantel tall as a man, its hearth cold and empty.

There is no furniture in this huge room. No chairs. No tables. No bookcases or desks. No divans or chaise lounges.

What does occupy the room, other than these three lifeless, yet curiously beautiful souls, is art. Paintings of every period lean against the wall and hang from their crumbling surfaces. Here is one after the style of Rubens, there another that looks pre-Raphaelite, here a Picasso…Jackson Pollock…Monet…Keith Haring…Willem de Kooning…Mark Rothko…Barnett Newman…plus the works of a legion of unknown artists, in every style and medium imaginable. The walls are crowded with it. The room is a gallery assembled by someone with vast resources, but tastes that go beyond eclectic. The only common theme running through these works is that all are unique. There is a respect for form, for color, for technique. Most of all, there is a certain indefinable quality that manages to capture the human spirit in its delicacy, in its discontent, in its hunger.

Perhaps it’s the hunger that appeals to them.

And the floor is a cocktail party of human sculptures. Men and women carved from marble, granite, and alabaster, cast in bronze. There are later figures cast from polymers, smooth acrylic, welded metals.

It is eerie—this empty house that has become museum or mausoleum.

Or both.

But art is what the dead crave. It sustains them—that and something else—something warmer and more vibrant, but they are too genteel to admit to such hungers. Like animals, they simply feed when they are hungry and discuss it as little as possible.

The walls also contain long leaded-glass windows, through which, appropriately enough, a full moon sends its pale rays, distorted and laying upon the darkened wood like silver. The leaded glass has become opaque, obscured by layers of dust, grime, and accumulated smoke.

And we can see the creatures now, gathering. Listen: and hear nothing save for the creaking of ancient floorboards.

First, let us consider Terence, broad shoulders cloaked in a pewter, latex zippered vest open just enough to display the cleft between smooth and defined pecs, tight leather jeans, and biker boots. Blond hair frames his face in leonine splendor: thick, straight, and shining, it flows to just below his shoulders. Glint of silver on both ears, studs moving like an iridescent slug upward. Terence is the second oldest of the three. His skin, like the others, has the look and feel of alabaster. Dark eyes burn from within this whiteness and present a startling contrast. Terence is a study in symmetry: his wide-set eyes match each other perfectly, his aquiline nose bisects dramatic cheekbones, and his full lips speak volumes about sensuality and lust. Stare into Terence’s eyes and gain a glimpse—quick, like a jump cut in a movie—of cobblestone streets, horse-drawn carriages, and the grime and elegance that was London in the late 1800s. Shake your head and the image disperses and you are left thinking it’s only your imagination conjuring up these images. After all, what does this post-punk Adonis have to do with the British Empire in the time of Oscar Wilde? Besides, Terence’s smile will have you thinking only of the present. And the present is what Terence lives for—the pleasure he can find, the communion of flesh and blood, seemingly so religious and yet sent from hell. He throws back his head and does a runway model turn, for the benefit of his companion, Edward, who rolls his eyes and snickers. “Don’t look to me to be one of your adoring minions.”

Let’s shift our focus to Edward. Edward is musculature in miniature, stubbled face and a shaved pate. Leather vest, black cargo pants tucked into construction worker boots, no jewelry save for the inverted cross glinting gold between shaved and defined pecs. On his bicep, a tattooed band: marijuana leaves repeated over and over, rimmed with a thick black line. Edward’s look would be comfortable in the leather bars along Halsted Street, and he is the only one of the three who prefers the embraces of men. He is relatively young, a newcomer to this scene of death and the greedy stealing of life. Watch him carefully and you will detect a hint of uncertainty in his handsome, rugged features. Melancholy haunts his dark eyes, which, unlike Terence’s, are not symmetrical: the left is a little smaller than the right and crinkles more when he laughs, which is seldom. Curiously, though, it is Edward’s features that look most human…because it’s humanity that lacks perfection and Edward hasn’t been of this undead world long enough to adopt its slick veneer of beauty that’s too perfect to be real or wholesome. Look into Edward’s eyes and you’ll see a beatnik Greenwich Village, a more personal vision: an artist’s studio which is nothing more than a cramped room with bad light with canvases he worked on night and day, brilliant blends of color and construction for which Edward had no name, but one day would be called abstract expressionism.

Shake your head, and—as with Terence—these images disperse. There’s nothing there, save for this macho gay clone boy with eyes that still manage to sparkle, in spite of the thin veneer of sadness and remorse deep within them.

And last comes Maria, on silent cat feet, moving down the stairs. A whisper of satin, the color of coagulating blood: rust and dying roses, corseted at the waist with black leather. Black hair falls to her shoulders, straight, each strand perfect, sometimes flickering red from the candles’ luminance. Dark eyes and full crimson lips. Maria stands over six feet, and her body, even beneath the dress, is a study in strength: muscles taut, defined, like a man save for the fact that the muscles speak a hypnotic feminine language: sinew locked with flesh in elegance and grace. “Feline” would not be going too far were one to describe her. There is the same grace, the same frightening coiled-up power, perfect for the hunt, perfect for surprising and making quick work of her prey.

She pauses, turning slowly in front of the men, her men, waiting for an appraisal. And, unlike Terence, this move does not seem vain, but more her due.

The men applaud softly and Maria stops, dark eyes boring into theirs. They do not see the watery streets of Venice, but you would, if you dared to engage her gaze for long. Dark canals and mossy mildew-stained walls, crumbling stairs at which black water laps, an open window through which one hears an aria. Smell the mildew and the damp.

The three take seats on the dusty floor, bring out mind-altering paraphernalia.

Terence, first: “Whom will we lure tonight?”

And Edward, eyes cast downward, the candle flames reflected off his bald and shining pate, sighs.

It is Maria who touches him, her hand a whisper, but with the tightness of a claw against his shoulder, forcing him to look up into her eyes. “I know it’s hard. But eventually you’ll come to understand, to be like Terence and enjoy what is natural.”

Edward laughs, but there is no mirth in it. “Natural? You call what we do natural?”

“We are God’s creatures, just like the ones we prey upon. Just as an owl preys upon a mouse. We have needs and we do what we must to satisfy them—or else we die.”

“We’re already dead,” Edward says.

Maria picks up a glass cylinder and looks at it critically for a moment. “Legend looks at us that way. That much is true.” At the top of the cylinder is a small bowl, which Maria stuffs with sticky, green bud. The smell of marijuana is redolent in the air, mixing with the burning wax of the candles. “But I prefer to think of us as another species. A different kind of animal.”

Edward stares at the silver light coming in through the long leaded-glass windows. It has been more than fifty years since he first met Terence in a tiny basement bar in Greenwich Village. Fifty years since he transformed himself into this new kind of animal Maria is now trying to make him think he is, to excuse their killing, the mayhem they wreak wherever they go. The heartbreak and the bloodshed, the latter so delicious, and so damning. Will he ever become callous enough to view what they do and what they are, like Maria? Will he ever be able to look at one of their victims, convulsing before them on a grimy floor, surrendering to death, and see them as merely sustenance? He’ll never believe it.

The most curious thing about his transformation is this: time has taken on completely different dimensions.

Five decades have passed like five days. It makes eternity easier to bear, he supposes.

“If that’s what gets you through the night, Maria, fine. And as for being like Terence one day, well, that’s a hell I hope to never visit.”

His last comment elicits a snort from Terence, who seems to either find everything humorous or everything sexy. He lives for pleasure. Sometimes, Edward wishes he could be like him. Terence has no conscience. It would be easier to be so ignorant.

“Here.” Maria hands him the glass cylinder, the thing that in a head shop would be called a Steamroller, and Edward fishes in his vest pocket for a disposable lighter. He fires it up and holds it to the little ashen bowl topping the cylinder, watching as it grows orange and holding his hand over the open end of the tube. It fills with smoke. When Edward removes his hand, the blue-gray smoke rolls toward him, into his open mouth, and he longs for the oblivion he knows it will bring. He holds the smoke deep in his lungs and then exhales. It doesn’t take much of this stuff to change his mood, to make him forget, and for that, he’s grateful.

He hands the cylinder to Terence, who locks his hand over his and stares into his eyes. “You always were so beautiful,” he whispers.

“You always were such a liar.”

And the merry band of three becomes silent and a little less merry. They know the truth: Terence is a liar, and had it not been for his charm and deceptions, Edward would not be with them tonight.

No, Edward would not be with them. He would be a man in his seventies by now, either a bum or a respected abstract expressionist painter; in the movie of his life, someone short but muscular would play him; the title of this film would not be Pollock, but Tanguy. Instead, Edward was no longer an artist, no longer a human being really. No, he is now a creature who has made stealth and superhuman attunement his artistic expression. He thinks, with a dark snort, that all he draws now is blood.

Maria’s cold, satin flesh takes hold of his forearm; the slight pressure of her nails: the gentle touch of a bird of prey’s talons. Even with his own kind, Edward thinks, one can’t be too careful.

She knows he is not attuned to the night, but is depressed and resigned to the hunt. He has never fully realized the joy of taking sustenance. Maria stares into his black irises with her own pitch orbs, and smiles. She licks her lips and raises her nose to sniff. “Mmm. Can’t you smell them, Edward? The sharp, hot tang?” She closes her eyes in a kind of rapture, breathing in deeply. The smell of people wafts through the hot summer air, as much a background as the bleating horns, exhausts, and squealing brakes from the cars on Sheridan Road.

Edward allows Maria to lead him to the front door. Puncture or perish is the joke he whispered to himself.

Terence waits at the curb, his big Harley churning and revving. He grins and one can see, even from yards away, Terence’s eyes twinkling with anticipation.

Edward thinks as he descends the wide flight of stairs, Maria clutching his arm, that Terence is the luckiest of the three because he feels no remorse.

He has no heart.

BUY

NineStar Press | Books2Read | Amazon | Audible

BEAUTIFUL MONSTER is Now Out in Paperback

 

ABOUT THE BOOK

Hank Donner-Varian yearns for something beyond his perfect, but routine marriage. Forbidden fantasy beckons until a chance encounter with the enigmatic and devastatingly sexy Abbott Lowery turns curiosity into a dangerous obsession.

Hank’s unaware of the sinister depths beneath Lowery's facade. When Hank's flirtation spirals into nightmare, he's thrust into a world of horror orchestrated by a man who once embodied his deepest desires.

In a heart-pounding race against time, Beautiful Monster immerses readers in a gripping tale of passion, deception, and survival. Can Hank navigate the treacherous maze of obsession and deceit before it's too late? Or will the irresistible stranger prove to be Hank's downfall, plunging him into a nightmare from which escape is impossible?

BEAUTIFUL MONSTER is a suspenseful thriller with a touch of romance. Get it today (also in ebook): https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D53Z3XNL

NOW OUT in Audiobook! M4M

My trilogy of #lovestories, M4M, is now available in audiobook, narrated by the amazing Wes Landry. Listen to a sample and pick up your copy here: https://www.amazon.com/Audible-M4M/dp/B0CZV1GJZT

"If you like stories set very much in today’s world, if you’re curious about the effect cyberspace and all the various types of social media can have on someone’s life, and if you’re looking for a read that is emotional, realistic, and carefully hopeful, then you will probably like this collection as much as I do. It’s a fantastic look at today’s dating world and a touching story about one man’s road to happiness – bumps and all."
(Rainbow Book Reviews)

ABOUT THE BOOK

Finding and keeping love can be a challenge in the modern world of blogging, social media, and online dating, as one man will learn in this trilogy.

VGL Male Seeks Same

Poor Ethan Schwartz. At forty-two, he’s alone, his bed is empty, and his HDTV is overworked. He’s tried bars and other places where gay men are supposed to find each other, but it never works out. Maybe he should get a cat?

But his life is about to change…

NEG UB2

Poor Ethan. He’s received the most shocking news a gay man can get—he’s HIV positive. Until today his life was perfect, with a job he loves and Brian, who could be “the one.” The one to complete him and fill his lonely life with laughter, hot sex, and romance.

But Ethan’s in for another shock. Could Brian have infected him?

STATUS UPDATES

Alone again, Ethan wonders if life is worth living, even with a cat. When an old nemesis sends a Facebook friend request, Ethan is suspicious but intrigued. It seems this old acquaintance has turned his life around, and the changes might hold the key to Ethan getting a new lease on life… and love.