Yeah, bitches, I’m back. And I have a hell of a lot going on.
But I’m not leaving you done and dusted just yet, one day when those zombies catches up with me maybe, but even then I’ll go down fabulous.
First this shit happened…
Head on over to Claire C Riley’s blog and see what exactly happened those moments before, and leading up to when Randy shot Dale!
Second yes! yes! yes!
Neon White Episode Two is out on Halloween!!! (that’s today by the way)
Belail felt the tension in Bla’Gar’s mansion the moment he appeared in the demon’s bedroom.
Such a shame, Bla’Gar had royally fucked up with his pet.
He played the Komboskini back and forth in his hand for a second time. The souls forced into amber beads heated and smoked, a wailing scream rang from them before two of the beads burst.
Glowering at the shattered souls on the carpet, white smoke dancing towards him. Belails’s stomach cramped at that very moment.
What was foretold would soon unfold. The little one perceived it.
Breathing in the white smoke Belail could not pinpoint it but he could smell…shortbread cookies, hollies, spruce and snow? Christmas? No…with a sly chuckle he silently whispered. “The Winter Ball.”
But the smells were tainted with blood—human blood. The ball would not end in all white glory, this time in blood and death.
Bla’Gar slammed a fist through his bedroom wall. The mansion shuddered as he pulled his hand free. His robe torn, left scattered by the door.
He wasn’t strong enough to suppress this new hunger. Tasting Raven, swallowing his essences had left the demon starving.
He raised his black talons, turning his hand to inspect where he had clawed into his palms. Inky-blue blood tinged white from the mansion coating his hand. His bones ached from the strain of balling his fist.
“You know, you should just take him.” A dark voice sent chills down Bla’Gar’s spine.
His gaze cut to the corner where a wingback chair stood next to the window, shrouded in darkness. The glass had shattered from Bla’Gar’s violent, reverberating roar. An icy wind now howled through the room.
“But,” said the voice, “you are not like the rest of us. You have always been different.”
Bla’Gar extended his talons, irritated at his emotional turmoil and gritted out, “Why are you here and what the fuck do you want, Belail?” His scalp throbbed as the vein beneath pulsed with his anger.
“Your relationship intrigues me.” The demon stepped out of the shadows.
Bla’Gar might be considered an old one, but there were those demons—the true born of Lilith and Samael—that even the old legions regarded with caution, even feared. Bla’Gar averted his eyes from the shaded face of Belail. He clearly recalled the broken ram-like horn on the right side of Belail’s head. Old scars that stole the vision of the demon’s right eye ran from Belail’s temple and stretched well over his torso. Bla’Gar had been there when Belail received the scar. The King never did like showing his fucked up face.
Belail stood before him, part human, part demon—his demonic power too strong to fully suppress his true form. Silver streams adorned his teal-colored hair, combed back from his forehead. Tusks stuck out from his bottom jaw, pushing upwards over his scarred mouth. He was elegantly dressed—he had to be—as one of the partners of Darkes INC, the supposed supernatural legal firm fighting for super and para rights. But with his bronzed tinged skin, Belail was not even attractive by demon standards.
“You have the power to enforce your own perceptions. Use that against Raven.” Belail’s smile had the small hairs on Bla’Gar’s skin vibrating. Turning his back he released a trifling snarl.
“More precisely…dream compulsion.” Bla’Gar grimaced, grinding his teeth at sinister echo to Belail’s voice. “Think about it, with Raven constantly dreaming with you, it would make the task a lot less…thorny.”
Bla’Gar narrowed his eyes. He did not trust Belail. When it came to the Demon King, nothing was without price. “Why? What would you gain?”
“A friend,” he grunted.
Bla’Gar turned and glared at Belail. The King did not do friends; collecting souls was his life’s work.
“No.” Raven’s too important to me.
“Look around you, fool!” Belail snapped.
Bla’Gar stared for a fraction in time, the stone dropped: his unexpected appearance, the curiosity about him and Raven. The offer of help. This burst of sentiment from a demon who has no emotions.
The King of Hell was afraid.
But of what?
“Humans will rise against us, Bla’Gar.” His voice rose. “Not to speak of this fucking little Trickster. Destroying the veil placed a major damper on the end of times. We were ready for the war against the angels. The conquest was ours! Now look at us. Walking amongst meats.”
“The war was never ours, Belail. It died when we killed the last of The Watchers and The Fallen. It was your ideal as the new King of Hell, it was never the others. They were too afraid to stand up against you.”
“Some, but not all.” Belail paced back and forth, his tail ruthlessly whipping behind him.
Bla’Gar had been in the King’s company far too many times to know this was not a common trait.
“You care for someone.”
Belail froze mid-step, head slightly tilted, his left eye glaring violet at Bla’Gar. A small growl vibrated over his lips.
“You love this person… a human?” The space between the two was an empty chasm, the cold air electrified with tension.
Bla’Gar held his breath.
He knew what this meant for Belail.
For demon kind.
“How far along are you?” Bla’Gar raked his gaze over Belail.
You bastard. He grinned.
There was definitely a glow to Belail’s skin.
“Enough of this!” Wood chips burst into the air as Belail pulverized the dresser with his fist.
Belail turned, cracking his neck left and right. He reached out with his right hand, as if grasping something. In the cold air a woman appeared. Belail’s big claw wrapped around her small throat. Belail roughly turned the woman around. She reeked of sulfur. Black hair damp against her back. Perspiration still radiating from her filthy naked body.
Bla’Gar was not concerned with the woman’s stained cheeks, nor of the shivers raking her body. She brought this upon herself for selling her soul. Her dirty, bloodied hands curled into small fists as she clutched them to her chest, trying to cover her nudity. Bla’Gar knew he was considered an attractive demon. He could feel her stare drifting over his blood red skin. As her gaze travelled along the black river of hair on his chest to his groin, her eyes went wide.
She screamed, trying to break free from Belail’s grip, clawing at his forearm.
“Be still!” Belail spat, choking, and shaking her like a ragdoll. “Those are not for you, meat.” His eye flashed toward Bla’Gar. “Will you accept my offer, fledgling?”
Bla’Gar sneered at being labeled a fledgling. He had not been called that in a very, very long time.
“No harm will come to my pet, or I will take from you that which you hold most dear, King.”
Bla’Gar was no fool. He knew his strength was not equal to Belail’s. The King of Hell stood to lose as much, if not more. Bla’Gar felt a small sting of sympathy when Belail laid his free hand protectively over his stomach.
“Very well.” Bla’Gar said.
Belail hoisted the woman in front of Bla’Gar. Panting for breath, blood dripping down her chin from where she had bitten into her bottom lip.
“Remember, this compulsion will become imprinted. Whatever transpires now will haunt Raven’s dreams until he dies.”
Bla’Gar didn’t flinch when Belail sliced open the woman’s neck, dark blood splattering over him. Her dead body falling limply to the carpet. Belail reached out, nail cutting into Bla’Gar’s forehead, murmuring words to Morpheus.
Bla’Gar’s mind already hazed, when Belail pulled back his nail. He felt himself hitting the wall behind him, slumping to the floor. Belail’s words nothing but a distant purr.
“The sacrifice has been paid; you have passage to the dream realm. Make it count fledgling. Our pets are our very hearts.”
And now more good news Neon White E1 and E2 is on sale on Amazon for ….. 99c
Oh the shade of it all!
Now lastly, it seem there some shade being thrown around amongst M/M authors.
Some say the genre should be written this way, others say the genre should be written that/their way…
I think as authors we have a choice to write the story we want to read.
As readers we have a choice to choose if we want to read it or not, if it’s for us or not.
Here’s my take on it, the M/M genre needs to be split.
M/M Romance; Authors writing Male on Male romance with woman in mind.
Gay Romance; Authors writing Male on Male romance for gay men.
LGBT fiction Authors writing novels where a LGBT character is part of the story line but not necessarily a lead character and not focused on romance.
Lastly… DNF- if you read a book and decide its DNF then do not- DO NOT- post A RATING.
Post your thoughts, your review, but don’t give it stars (I’m talking mostly about goodreads here) I don’t think any one has a right to give a rating on anything if they say it’s not for them. That is not fair. It would be like a person judging a LGBT individual because it’s against their religion or their beliefs.
However, if the editing is really horrible and the writing style was not for you, by all means do it, but don’t attack an author because their book is not for you based on content. They obviously wrote that story with a certain reader group in mind.
Think before you post. Think before you rate. And for the love of everything that is fabulous, stop throwing shade around, that shit ain’t pretty.
In the famous words of Rupaul.
“If you can’t love yourself, how the hell are you gonna love somebody else?”
Now, sashay away…
Love and hate, Wulfy.