The Casting Couch on #LQR

This is the day we usually put a #LQR author in the spotlight, but we've already subjected all of our authors to the magnifying glass so now we're going to have some fun by getting to know their books a little better. We asked our authors if they were to don the cap of casting agent for one of their books, who would they sign to play the top roles?

First up Dianne Hartsock says of her psychological thriller, Alex (available on Amazon)

Anton Yelchin as Alex because he did such a great job as Odd Thomas.

Emma Watson as Jane because Jane needs a strong woman to do her justice.

Sean Bean as Jack Gibson because he can do evil so well.

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Next is Stuart West. He's casting his murder mystery Secret Society of Like Minded Individuals

Let's see...as my conflicted serial killer with a heart of gold anti-hero, Leon Garber, I would definitely cast Donald Trump. Yeah...that feels right. I want to see his hair perform like I know it can. As Cody Spangler, the hot-headed, troubled, hipster serial killer antagonist, I see Sean Penn. Just with lots and lots of Botox, blurry filters and youthful make-up. 

I'll give you all a moment to stop laughing...

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Now, we have Crystal Collier who is too picky to settle for specific actors/actresses, but will give us some eye candy to introduce us to characters from her young adult fantasy, Moonless

Alexia is a determined young woman, a bit against the grain (especially for her era) who challenges the dark and fears that the man of her dreams is more of a nightmare.

Kiren carries the weight of the world and is never far ahead or behind the shadowy wraiths known as the Soulless.

Bellezza has no qualms with killing or initiating a war to get what she wants, and she especially enjoys head games.

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Katie Carroll is tempting us with the cast for her young adult fantasy, Elixir Bound

It would be awesome to have real live sisters Dakota and Elle Fanning play fictional sisters Katora and Kylene Kase, respectively. They have just the look I imagined for the Kase sisters, right down to the younger sister being taller than the older one!

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If contemporary romance is more your style, Meg Gray offers her ideal cast for her holiday romance Something To Remember.

I would cast Olivia Wilde as Ava because she'd completely nail the big-city attitude of the character. As my leading man Lane, I would cast Chris Pine, because I can only imagine how good he'd look in flannel. And finally as Mama Hart, I cast Meredith Baxter because she's one of my favorite actresses when it comes to holiday specials.

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What do you say #LQR readers? Any of your favorite actors in the mix? What are some of your favorite books that you'd like to see made into movies?

Sammy's Thanksgiving

Sam took a sip of his Carmel Macchiato, almost groaning in appreciation as the flavor burst on his tongue and heat spread in his chest. He shivered in his damp clothes, wet from the sudden downpour outside the coffee shop. The afternoon had been gray and drizzly, and he’d decided to come in from the park a minute too late, caught in the cloudburst over Portland. Oregon was known for its rain, but he was sure sleet was mixed in with those heavy drops thundering on the rooftop.

 “Hey Sammy, finish up, man. We close in five minutes.”

What? He glanced in confusion at the barista. It wasn’t even four o’clock yet. The guy shrugged, pointing to a sign by the register Sammy had missed.

“Thanksgiving, man. We’re closing early.”

Fantastic. He’d planned on spending the next couple of hours right there, nursing his drink and chatting up any familiar faces that wandered in. Should have gone to the 24 hour diner around the corner, could have found a booth to curl up in and sleep. But he’d been used hard the night before and wanted a treat. Stupid, since he’d spent his last cent on it.

He hunched over the cup in his hands, blew on the creamy surface of the coffee so the steam caressed his cold face. His clothes would never dry in five minutes. Besides, he’d be drenched again the second he stepped outside.

A gust of wind splattered rain against the picture window, emphasizing his point. Just great. Chin on hand, he morosely watched as the rain fell even harder, impossible as it seemed. The barista started his closing chores as the last of the customers filed out the door, making a dash for the sedan parked at the curb. Probably going home to a warm house and family and a huge Thanksgiving feast. Hope they got sick.

No. He took the wish back immediately. Wasn’t their fault he had nowhere to go. The barista slammed the till shut, making an impatient sound in his throat, Sammy’s hint to get moving. He finished his drink and took the cup up to the counter. “Thanks.”

The guy nodded absently, his thoughts elsewhere. Probably on the fat turkey and piles of mash potatoes and gravy waiting for him. Sam’s stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten that day. Damn, he hated the holidays.

Pausing at the door, he took a breath, reluctant to leave the heated room, then stepped outside into the downpour. Bits of ice stung his face as he slogged across the flooded street and crossed the sodden strip of grass to the waterfront. He sank on a metal bench and hunched into his too thin coat, cursing the rain pounding against him. The storm precluded any hope he had of scoring a trick and warm bed for the night.

The depression he’d been struggling with all day laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. He could cross town to the men’s shelter and find a meal and bed, but at the moment he couldn’t gather the energy to care very much. The river slid by at his feet and he wondered what it would be like to float on his back on its grey surface, let the current sweep him away from his loneliness until an undertow dragged him beneath the surface into forgetfulness.

Footsteps approached him on the sidewalk and he hunched further into his coat. Just walk on by, man. The guy glanced at him from under his umbrella and stopped abruptly. Swathed in a heavy coat, scarf and snow cap, Sam could only see the warm brown eyes looking down at him.

“You okay?” the guy asked.

Sam shrugged off his concern. “Sure.” He looked away, urging the guy to just go away so he could get back to his dream of the river.

The grave brown eyes studied him. “No, I don’t think you are. My car’s at the corner there. Can I give you a lift somewhere?”

“Sure.” What the hell. He climbed to his feet, stiff with cold, and raised his chin defiantly. “The men’s shelter of off Burnside.”

The stranger blinked, then nodded once, taking Sam’s elbow. “I’m John, by the way,” he said, escorting Sam to his Honda parked at the curb.

Sam didn’t reply, settling into the passenger seat when John opened the door. A niggle of fear traveled his spine, but he shrugged it off. He’d gotten into plenty of men’s cars and was still alive. They didn’t speak while John drove them across town, Sam growing sleepy as the heater flooded the small space with warmth. He dreamed of the river and escape.

He startled awake when the car stopped and blinked stupidly at the restaurant outside the window. “What’s this?”

“I haven’t eaten and hoped you’d join me,” John said, a hesitant note in his voice. Sweet.

“Your dime.” Sammy climbed from the car, hurrying out of the rain into the welcoming interior of the popular restaurant. John removed his coat and scarf and hat, showing a mop of brown wavy hair. Attractive. Sam studied the prints on the walls while they waited for a table.

Once seated, Sam read over the menu, ignoring John’s gaze on him, and ordered the holiday special when John did. He stared at his hands afterwards, tongue-tied. If John had been a trick, Sam would be chatting him up in preparation for the long evening ahead. He wasn’t sure what to do with the man’s kindness. Would John want something in return for the meal?

“I’ve only recently moved to Portland and don’t know many people,” John broke into his tumbled thoughts. “I hope you don’t mind sharing a Thanksgiving meal with me. I didn’t want to eat alone.”

Sam shot him an incredulous look. “You want to be friends with me?”

John shrugged. “You look like you could use one. And besides, a meal and ride to the men’s shelter isn’t exactly what I’d do for a date. So yeah, friends.”

Sammy shook his head. Just when he’d given up on people, here’s one that had to be nice. Their food arrived, a plateful of turkey and mash potatoes and cranberry sauce, more food than Sam had seen all month.

It surprised him when John slid a business card across the table to him. “This has my phone number on it. Listen, I don’t want to interfere in your life, but if you ever find yourself staring at the river like that again, please call me. I just want to help.”

Sam swallowed the painful lump that formed in his throat. “Thank you,” he said, slipping the card into a pocket.

John held up his water glass. “Happy Thanksgiving, Sam.”

“It is now,” Sam assured him, hope spreading through him, and he grinned as he dug into his meal.

 Author's note: This year, I want to give thanks for my family and friends and for always having a full belly and a warm place to sleep. This isn't always true for everyone. If interested, you can read more of Sammy and John's story in the Project Fierce Anthology.

Nobody deserves to be without a home. In collaboration with several authors, Less Than Three Press offers up an anthology of stories about young people who find that home and family are not always where you expect to find them. 

All proceeds from this charity anthology will be donated to Project Fierce Chicago. 

 Amazon
Less Than Three Press

Dianne is the author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, m/m romance, and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer, which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

Blog: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/

Facebook:http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/diannehartsock

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/diannehartsock

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4707011-dianne-hartsock

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Dianne-Hartsock/e/B005106SYQ/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1361897239&sr=8-1 

The Last Days of Summer

A lone cicada buzzed in the still, hot air, the sun burning into my skin until I swear I could feel the freckles popping out. I didn't care. I'd spent the morning swimming in the river, and now me and Michael basked on the bank, pleasantly tired. My stomach rumbled but I was too sleepy and content to move to the bench where we'd stowed our bikes and sack lunch.

"Can't believe school starts in a few weeks. You ready, John?" Michael asked in the direction of the blue sky.

Well…damn. Why'd he have to go and spoil the moment like that?

"I guess," I said, noncommittal. We'd be starting at the local high school this fall. New classes, teachers…the locker room. My cousins told me horror stories of the gym's locker room, the towel snaps on bare skin, stolen underwear, being shoved into lockers by the older boys. They might have exaggerated. I hoped so. Middle school gym had been bad enough.

And I'd still have to shower with other guys. My face grew hot, having nothing to do with the heat of the day. I wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts. Sighing, I stared at the brightness of the sun against my closed lids and tried to regain the peace of before. The cicada's tone changed but continued its incessant buzz, nudging me towards sleep. The afternoon spread out before me with absolutely nothing I needed to do. Perfect.

"Ready for some of that watermelon?" Michael asked after a moment.

"Not yet," I murmured, stretching languidly, smelling the dry grass I crushed under my skinny body. "Think I'll take a nap first."

It surprised me when Michael didn't get up, his contented sigh warming my heart but also starting that little pang of loneliness again. I peered at him through my lashes. Small, dark haired, kind of plain looking, until he flashed that grin that made my heart jump and rush and me wanting to join whatever mischief he had concocted in that tricky brain of his.

As if he felt me looking, he turned his head. We stared at each other a long heartbeat, then against all expectation, he reached over and brushed his fingers against mine. Happiness came near choking me. 

We'd been best friends forever. Maybe we could finally be something more.

And then that grin I lived for sprang on Michael's pixy face. "Hey, want to sneak into that new film?

"It's rated 'R'. We'd get caught."

"Nope! I know for a fact they keep the back door propped open a bit for fresh air in the summertime. My brother worked there last year and told me. They'd never know we were there."

I nodded, my heart singing. Things might change when school started, but at this moment I had the rest of summer before me with Michael to share it with.

Pic by One Good Eye Photography

Dianne is the author of m/m erotic romance, both contemporary and fantasy, the psychological thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer. If she can’t be writing, at least she has the chance to create through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage to bring a smile to someone's face. Currently, Dianne lives in the Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play.

  

Blog: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/diannehartsock

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/diannehartsock

Cost of Freedom

Freedom. He blinked at the random thought. Must mean something to somebody. It was nothing, here in the dark, the bricks cold and hard against his back, underneath him. The darkness was all consuming, empty. Loneliness ate his faltering courage.

The lock rattled at the top of the stairs, sending his heart leaping into his throat. "Hello? Will you talk to me?"

He cringed at the pleading note in his voice, clamped his lips closed on the words desperate to tumble out. He swallowed hysterical laughter. He'd spent days, weeks—could be years—down there, without a word from another soul. Would he die down there with no one to know but his captor?

Tears fell hot on his face, startling him. He hadn't cried in a long time. When had that been? Oh, not a good memory. His son, tall enough to look him in the eye, said he hated him, snagged the keys and put the car around a telephone pole at seventy miles an hour. He should have hid the keys, the beer, his despair. Funny, he hadn't shed a tear since then.

But he wanted to feel the sun on his face! The wind kissing his cheeks. Fresh air filling his lungs. He stretched his arms and froze, ice shivering through him at the weight of chains on his wrists. He'd forgotten them, put from his mind the times he'd twisted and tugged until his wrists bled, to no avail. There was no loosening the chain from the iron ring fixed in the stone floor.

"Annie," he mourned in the dark. I'm sorry. She had warned him about hiking alone, but he could never resist a secluded trail, the crest of the next hill. He hadn't been aware of the man following him until the footstep behind him and the rock at the back of his head sending him into blackness and pain.

He leaned his head back on the bricks, sighed, desolate with the thought that darkness would be his last sight when he would give his life to see Annie's face one more time.

*  *  *

Tom gave another tug on the rusted padlock. "Wonder what's down there?"

"Here." Neil handed him a brick from the tumbled fireplace.

Tom looked at it, uncertain. "I don't want to knock the roof down on us."

They'd hiked farther than they should have, stumbling on the dilapidated old shack by accident, hidden in a grove of old oak trees by the river. It leaned heavily to one side and Tom would never have gone in if Neil hadn't teased him into it.

 "Just open the damned door. I want to see what's down there." Neil nudged him with an elbow. "Maybe there's a body down there."

"More likely an old wine cellar," Tom said hopefully. They'd grown up on horror stories of the serial killer in the area who used to chain his victims in basements, torturing them for days before gutting them. It was rumored he'd drowned while trying to avoid a police chase, leaving victims behind unaccounted for. But they were only stories, right?

A sudden, inexplicable panic seized Tom and he swung at the lock, the crash and clank loud in the quiet summer afternoon. Boards creaked overhead, but he didn't care. He needed to get the door open, right now. He swung again, bashing at the lock again and again, ignoring Neil's shout when something crashed to the floor behind them.

"Dammit, Tom, just stop!"

Tom shoved his friend away, swung one more time, the lock springing open with a snap. Dropping the crumbling stone, he wrenched the door outwards. A cold draft wafted up from the darkness, brushed against his face, heavy with despair, loneliness. And then joy! Overwhelming, wild, a spirit winging free from fetters that had weighed its soul forever.

"Dude, what is it? What did you see?" Neil shook his arm.

Tom looked at him, his friend's face made blurry by the tears filling his eyes. He shrugged helplessly. "I didn't see anything, only felt…"

"What? Man, tell me. You're scaring me. What did you feel?"

Neil's brown eyes had gone wide with concern, his grip on Tom's arm painful. Tom swallowed the hard lump in his throat. How to describe…

"It felt like freedom," he whispered, voice trembling with unbearable gladness.

Dianne is the author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, m/m romance, and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer, which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

Blog: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/diannehartsock

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/diannehartsock

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4707011-dianne-hartsock

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Dianne-Hartsock/e/B005106SYQ/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1361897239&sr=8-1

A Guest at Camp

My pulse raced, the thunder in my ears timed to the wild beating of my heart. Tonight I was going to do it. No hesitating. Now!

The ascent out of my dark safe home took too long, leaving me trembling, drenched in sweat by the time I stood in the world above.

So bright! Wonderful and terrifying in its brilliance. Colors I'd never dreamed existed flashed in my tearing eyes. I shivered, anticipation heady as warm blood flooding through me. The membrane of my newly grown wings quivered in the stirring night air. They were proof of my adulthood, though for a second I wished I was home safe with the horde.

A sudden rumble had me scrambling back into the shadows.  A behemoth tore by, a blur and streak of red light. I followed the meteor with my bewildered eyes. Never had I imagined such a monstrous thing! I nervously stretched my clawed fingers, flexed my hooked toes.

Voices reached me, coming closer, and hunger stabbed at my gut with little claws of its own. With a running hop I scampered down a dark alleyway, instinctively seeking shelter. The creatures grew level with my hideaway and I mewled, imitating the felines who sometimes ventured into our world, deep underground.

The two residents of the above world stopped, peered towards my hiding place in the shadows. Licking my sharp teeth I purred again, drawing them closer. I balanced on my toes, proud of my strength. First I would feed, then explore this strange bright world holding such wonders.

But they stopped, these young creatures, the smaller tugging on the other's arm, drawing him away, back to the hurtful lights. I almost gave up, went home, but the hunger overrode all my fears. I followed them, senses filling with the heady scent of blood and flesh and sweat. The things turned along a narrow pathway and I let out a breath of relief, the soft earth welcome under my tender feet.

Beloved darkness closed around us, a relief to my dazzled eyes. This was my world, the cool night and shadows and the quiet rustles in the tall grass hedging the pathway. I slowed, the two small creatures joining a group of larger, more cumbersome adults. I'd flee if I could, scurry back to lie safely under the streets, but hunger was a quivering pain in my gut. I'd wait. I could be patient.

*  *  *

Tony kicked off the hot blanket, lying naked except for his boxers in the sweltering heat of the tent. He scowled into the darkness. "This is crap. I'm opening the flaps."

"No!" His brother's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "I saw something out there, Tony. I swear."

"Whatever, runt. I'm roasting in here."

Tony flicked on his flashlight and crawled to the door, undoing the zipper despite Kevin's whimpers behind him. This annual youth group camp out was boring. He wasn't coming back next year.

The zipper seemed loud in the silent campground, and Tony sucked in his breath at the absolute blackness outside. Where were the lights? There should at least have been one by the outhouse. And it was so quiet, not even the inevitable chirp of frogs at the pond.

"Tony, close the door!"

"Shut up!" He twirled on his brother, the flashlight beam catching the look of horror on his face. What…

A hot, fetid breath touched the back of his neck. Tony turned, his brain unable to make sense of the thing filling the doorway, until it opened its mouth on rows and rows of jagged teeth.

Artwork by: One Good Eye Photography

Dianne Harsock is the author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, m/m romance, and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer.

Blog: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/diannehartsock

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/diannehartsock

Spotlight on Dianne Hartsock

This month we shine the spotlight onto Dianne Hartsock. Whether wrapped inside fantasy or a psychological thriller, Dianne always has an element of romance in the story as well.

She grew up in one of the older houses in the middle of Los Angeles, a place of hardwood floors and secret closets and back staircases. It’s where her love of the mysterious and wonderful came from. Dianne now lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her darling husband.

She says Oregon’s raindrops are the perfect setting in which to write. There’s something about being cooped up in the house while it pours rain outside, a fire crackles on the hearth inside, and a cup of hot coffee warms her hands which kindles her imagination.

Currently, Dianne works as a floral designer in a locally-owned gift shop. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.

LQR: Tell our readers a little about you.

Dianne: Hello! Hope you're having a fantastic day. So, what can I say about myself? I've been writing since the age seven but have only been a published author for the last three years. Let me tell you, though, I've enjoyed every moment of it! There's nothing I like better than to sit in front of a keyboard and see where my characters take me this time. I've also made some great friends through social media, not only promoting my own stories but theirs as well. I have a great time attending writer's conferences and book signings and meeting up with fellow authors I don't see otherwise. If I could, I'd be a full time writer, but since I like to eat and have a roof over my head, my day job is being a floral designer, which I happen to love as well, so I guess that's not so bad.

LQR: If you had to pick only one moment that spurred you to write professionally, what moment is the most defining?

Dianne: In seventh grade I had the most amazing creative writing teacher. Best of all? She liked my stories and would often read sections of them to the class as examples. Her belief in me gave me the confidence to keep writing, and eventually to start submitting my work.

LQR: Does the majority of your work focus around or within a single theme? If so, what is it?

Dianne: Though it may not seem like it at first glance, all my stories focus around love, whether it be the love for a partner or child or friend. Even in my psychological thrillers, we still see the affection between the characters. My stories are always character driven, passionate and intimate, with the concern and care they have for each other getting them through the dark times to the Happily Ever After.

LQR: Tell us what you’re currently working on.

Dianne: I'm really excited about my current WIP, working title: Birthday Presents. It's another thriller novel, and though I don't like to give away too much of the plot this early in the game, it involves a man who kills once a year, on his birthday. There are Sherriff's Department detectives, escapes and captures, fear and torture, and yes, love. The love between brothers, one who won't give in and one who won't give up on him. Strong friendships put to the test, and of course, my sweet romance running in the background.

LQR: What is one of your favorite authorial moments from your career so far?

Dianne: I try to attend book signings a couple of times a year, and though this incident happens with surprising (astonishing) frequency, this first time still leaves me feeling awed and utterly validated as a writer. My first book signing took place in a small coffee shop during the Christmas season, and a man came up and said he traveled over an hour through traffic and a rainstorm for the sole purpose of meeting me and having me sign a copy of my book for him. Talk about a jaw dropping, awesome moment! I didn't even know anyone outside my little group of family and friends had even heard of me. If I ever needed motivation to keep going, that was it.

LQR: That’s great! Speaking of ‘keep going,’ share with us a five year and ten year goal for your writing career.

Dianne: Please excuse me while I fall into a helpless pile of giggles! I'm lucky when I can plan out a single week, let alone that far into the future. At the moment, one of my publishers has dissolved and I'm scrambling with rewrites and finding new homes for my babies. (Luckily, these were my short stories, so it’s a simple matter of adding a few more chapters here and there to meet requirements before sending them out to seek their fortunes). Oh, and I also have a story to write for a coming up charity anthology…

I'd also like to have Birthday Present finished by the end of summer, before edits come in for a novel I have coming out this December.

Will I keep writing in the next 5 to 10 years? Most definitely! At the moment I have at least five other novels floating around in my head plus others lurking on the horizon. It's just a matter of scraping together the time to write them!

LQR: Do you write what you read? Watch? What are your favorite television shows and movies?

Dianne: Oh, I definitely write what I read and watch. My short stories are all m/m romances, with a trace of gay sensuality in my novels as well. I'm fascinated with the genre and read everything my author friends put out. I also like paranormals and medical thrillers and some fantasy. As for TV, I watch anything sci/fi or paranormal, including Supernatural and X-File reruns, all the Star Treks, Babylon 5, and lots more. As for movies, I have a weakness for disaster films. In fact, we're going to go see San Andreas this weekend. But I've also found I enjoy such movies as The Theory of Everything, The Woman in Gold, and The Imitation Game. Fascinating stories.

LQR: If you had one week away from any and all responsibility what would you want to spend your time doing?

Dianne: Is this a trick question? Write, of course! I'd love to rent a small house on the beach with a refrigerator full of yummy food and a coffee shop around the corner. What could be more ideal?

LQR: Anything else you’d like to add?

Dianne: Not really, except to thank everyone for stopping in and if you have any questions, feel free to ask them. I have very few secrets.

LQR: Where can readers find you online?

Blog: http://diannehartsock.wordpress.com/

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/diannehartsock

Twitter: http://twitter.com/#!/diannehartsock

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/user/show/4707011-dianne-hartsock

Amazon Author Page: http://www.amazon.com/Dianne-Hartsock/e/B005106SYQ/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1361897239&sr=8-1

ARe Books: https://www.allromanceebooks.com/storeSearch.html

Readers, we invite you to ask further questions in the comments. Thanks for talking with us, Dianne!

An Unusual Friendship

Adam sat up, startled, then slumped back into the cushions, recognizing the squeak of the pet door. Only Pip, though even his company would be better than the lonely hour he'd just spent in the empty house.

He rubbed at his eyes, embarrassed by his tears when the sleek creature sauntered into the room. Yes, sauntered. Only way to describe it. Pip sauntered, strolled, strutted, behaved like he owned the world. He never simply walked anywhere.

They stared at each other and Adam sniffed, "What, you've never seen a man cry before?"

Solemn gray eyes blinked at him and Adam ducked his head, his eyes filling again as the ache in his heart spilled over. The couch dipped and Pip's head rubbed against his thigh. Adam reached over and lifted the beautiful animal onto his lap. "At least I have you to love me," he whispered and began to stroke his soft gray fur, letting the repetitive motion sooth his frayed nerves.

Pip's rumbling purr became hypnotic, easing the pain tightening his chest.

"That's that," he sighed, wondering how long a broken heart took to mend. A gentle nip on his fingers dragged him from self-pity. "Hungry?" he asked. Pip rose and stretched, tail brushing under Adam's nose, making him laugh.

"Brat." He raised a brow when the cat didn't budge. "Well, are you going to get down?"

Pip glanced away, yawned, then jumped to the floor as if it were his idea. Adam shook his head as he crossed the room to the kitchen. The thought of food nauseated him, so he opened a tin for Pip, then went to the bedroom and dropped onto his stomach, clutching the pillows over his head. The bed felt huge without Ken in it, and he rolled into a ball, pulling the pillow to his chest. God, he longed for sleep.

*  *  *

Pip stretched, careful not to wake the man sleeping next to him. It took hours and lots of tears before Adam had closed his exhausted eyes. Moving slowly, he arched his back and shifted into his human form. Adam had never seen him like this, hadn't a clue his pet was actually a man. Pip smirked and ran a hand down his lean chest. A very sexy one at that.

Adam sighed in his sleep and Pip rolled toward him, leaned on his elbow to look at the guy in the faint glow from the digital clock on the bedside table. What he wouldn't give to pull him into his arms, kiss the hurt from his heart. He tenderly brushed the strands of Adam's dark hair off his forehead, bent and kissed his closed eyes and tasted his tears.  

Pip smiled fondly in the darkness. Adam had found him in an alley last summer, the worst for an encounter with a vicious Tom. He'd carried him in his arms, so gently! Nursed him, fed him a bowl of milk, given him a home. Pip had only meant to stay a few days, but Adam had been so sweet to him. The days had turned into weeks then months. Even after Ken had moved in, Adam would still find time for him, stroking his fur while they listened to music or watched a movie together on the couch.

Pip blinked at a sting of tears. Maybe it was time for him to go. Find a new home with someone who didn't stir passions in him he couldn't control and the longing for something he could never have.

"I don't believe this. Who are you?"

He jerked his head up and met Adam's wide gaze. The guy's chest rose and fell with his quick breaths, but Pip didn't sense any fear, only wonder. How to explain?

Adam deserved the truth. "I'm Pip."

A smile curled Adam's perfect lips. "I hoped it was you."

"What about Ken?"

Pain swept Adam's face. "I was lonely and thought that was love."

Pip cupped his face, looked deep into his eyes. "No, this is love, if you can accept me."

Adam nodded. "I've dreamed of you long enough." Adam brushed his lips over Pip's, teasing. "I want the reality of you."

Artwork by Marcel Stevahn -One Good EyePhotography

Dianne is the author of paranormal/suspense, fantasy adventure, m/m romance, and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer. Which is the perfect job for her. When no writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage. 

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New Beginning by Dianne Hartsock

~A love so Familiar

"Stop fussing."

"It itches."

With an exasperated breath, Maxim stepped closer and straightened Camron's collar. Camron gripped his chin, forcing the man to meet his gaze. The beautiful half of Maxim's face flushed at his stare.

"It's you the prince should be honoring," Camron said with heat.

Maxim's laugh was painful. "I'd frighten the children."

Camron cupped the ravaged cheek, scarred by fire that had nearly taken Maxim's life in infancy. He held his blue gaze, his heart full of sorrow. "I see you in there, Maxim, more precious than any jewel."

"You are the exception. Now, let us go in. It's spring, Camron! A time of rebirth and growth, and our young prince must be given his chance to help his people prosper. Lord Fenton promises to raze this city to the ground. We must do what we can to stop him." Maxim's lips twisted in a wry smile. "Even if that means first sitting through an insufferable dinner party given in your honor."

Camron ground his teeth. "With you at my feet, eating scraps."

"Wonder what he'll be serving?" Maxim looked up from unbuttoning his blouse. "Close your eyes."

Camron set his lips, but obeyed the pleading tone. He'd never been allowed to see, though he longed to know every inch of the man's body, take some of his pain and loneliness away. But what did he have to offer the powerful mage? Besides the dubious ability to make others believe the magic came from him. They never looked past Maxim's tortured shell.

Maxim's indrawn breath grew ragged and pain clutched Camron's heart. He knew the agony it cost him to change. Camron's hair lifted at the sudden charge in the air, skin prickling as if anticipating a lightning strike.  Breathing grew difficult, and then his ears popped in a release of energy. Eyes still tightly closed, he couldn't control a shudder as the small creature leaped on his back, climbing onto his shoulder.

"I hate this," he muttered through clenched teeth. A tiny claw touched his face and Camron opened his eyes, turning his head to meet Maxim's intense gaze. Maxim couldn't speak in this guise, but he didn't need to. Camron knew what was expected of him. He'd played his part many times, ever since Maxim had pulled him from near death in a back alley and given him a life, someone to follow and serve.

And love, though Maxim would have none of it. Camron firmed his lips. One day soon he'd tell Maxim his heart, though the man sent him away for it.

Camron adjusted his cloak and swept into the chamber to face the court, a wizard and his Familiar, come to save the besieged kingdom for their prince. But first there was dinner to get through. He paused in the doorway as all eyes swept to him, a room full of handsome uniformed men and woman in pretty gowns and glittering jewels. A long table bright with candles and crystal and more food than he'd seen in a year ran down its center.

Maxim made a soft sound and rubbed his furred head against Camron's neck, and the tension eased from him. He took a step forward, a practiced smile plastered on his face, assuming his role. He could do this.

-Artwork by Marcel Stevahn -One Good Eye Photography 

Dianne lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play.

Dianne is the author of m/m erotic romances, both contemporary and fantasy, the psychological thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.  Blog   FB   Twitter

Me Lucky Day by Dianne Hartsock

"That will cost ye."

Teri's gaze shot up from the gurgling spring and he gaped at the figure sitting not two paces from him. A man, but something more, a beautiful, terrible presence.

"Who are you?" he managed to whisper, fear clutching his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs. The guy was breathtaking, but he hadn't been sitting there seconds ago.

"Answer me question first. Ye are…"

Teri wanted to answer, but the wicked mischief dancing in the brilliant green eyes distracted him. He forgot how to form words. Heat flushed through him, equal parts embarrassment and attraction as the full lips lifted in a sensual smile.

"Ye been following me rainbow all day. Now ye drink from me spring. Will ye be after me pot o' gold next?"

"Gold?" Teri ran a hand over his face. Had he been bewitched? Was the water enchanted? Yes, he had been following the rainbow, but it didn't—

Dazzling color flashed in the sky behind the creature, the rainbow's end. Teri scrambled to his feet and the man rose also, standing much too close for his comfort. Heat from its body wrapped around Teri and he felt suddenly, deliciously trapped.

"It's me lucky day," the man drawled, and bent to whisper in Teri's ear, his voice a caress. "I've caught ye and now ye must grant me wish."

Teri's mind raced. He tried to recall everything he'd read about leprechauns. "That's not quite right. You owe me three wishes."

A warm breath feathered against his cheek. "Wrong, me darlin'. Ye didn't catch me. Yield to me. Grant me wish."

Teri swallowed, mouth gone dry.  "What is it?"

The creature dropped his bright gaze. "See, it's me shoes…"

"What?" Teri looked down. The man wore a pair of sturdy leather boots, slightly scuffed. "They look fine to me."

The leprechaun shook his head, his expression woeful. His shoulders slumped. "No. They're terrible dangerous. Soles come loose and I've lost me wee hammer to fix them. "He slid a glance at Teri, a gleam in the green eyes.  "If ye could be seeing your way to loaning me your boots… I can go find me tool. Won't be going further than yonder hill."

Teri glanced over the glen to the hillock he'd crossed earlier. It wasn't very far, and yet… He looked back quickly at the leprechaun. The man met his gaze with wide, guileless eyes, framed by the thickest lashes, scraps of lace against the lightly freckled skin. The green gems blinked, captivating Teri. Warning bells sounded in his head, muffled by the pounding of his heart. Surely one so beautiful couldn't mean him harm?

"No Faery tricks?" he asked, giving in with a sigh when the leprechaun looked offended. Heat flooded his face when the creature knelt and undid the laces, pulling off Teri's boots. 

Quick as a wink, his own were off and he stomped into Teri's, a delighted smile touching his full lips. "Perfect fit! Thank ye, darlin'."

 Teri watched, nonplussed, as the leprechaun sauntered off with his boots.

"You'll come back?" he called after the retreating figure. The leprechaun lifted a hand. Teri watched the lowering sun with trepidation. Shadows crawled across the glen, and when dusk settled its blanket across the sky without the creature's return, he sighed and pulled on the leprechaun's boots. Just his luck, they fit like a second skin.

 But then the world gave a funny lurch under him. Colors burst around him, everything becoming sharper, brighter. He smelled moss and damp earth and the heather on the far side of the glen. Crickets chirped, a bee buzzed lazily, the air tasted crisp and pure.  The world tilted. Dizzy, Teri swayed, stomach rolling, senses overwhelmed. What did it mean?

His ears popped and the world righted itself around him. A rainbow painted the sky, touched by the last rays of the setting sun.

"Oh yes, me pot o' gold!" he said with a smile, and trotted towards the hillock, the end of the rainbow. He crested the hill, grinning when the rainbow touched ground. An owl hooted in the distance and a vague unease touched his thoughts. Wasn't there something else he should be doing? Somewhere else he should be…

A stray sunbeam glinted on a bit of silver in the grass. "Ah, me wee hammer!" he cried out. Sitting, he set to work on his boots, pleased with his good fortune.

-Artwork by Marcel Stevahn -One Good Eye Photography

Dianne lives in the beautiful Willamette Valley of Oregon with her incredibly patient husband, who puts up with the endless hours she spends hunched over the keyboard letting her characters play.

Dianne is the author of m/m erotic romances, both contemporary and fantasy, the psychological thriller, and anything else that comes to mind. Oh, and a floral designer. Which is the perfect job for her. When not writing, she can express herself through the rich colors and textures of flowers and foliage.  Blog   FB   Twitter