Friday, December 31, 2010

Celebrate Good Times

At 5:06 PM, EST on the last day of 2010, I hit send. The edits for Ashes (MuseitHot, May 2011) are off.

Monday, December 6, 2010


December 3, 2010, I seized the opportunity of a lifetime. I hopped for a weekend from snow to sun and fed multi-grain bread to a pair of majestic creatures.
Oh yeah. Meeting the person who knows every word I've written (including the way too many I shouldnt of) for the first time in real time-space wasn't bad either.

Friday, November 26, 2010

Hippity Hoppity!!!

Thanksgiving 2010 will be remembered as special in more than one way for me, thanks to a pair of reviewers at Diana's Forbidden Bookshelf....

Eostre's Hare is one of the most original erotic romances I've read this year. It's a historical menage story based on the origin of the Easter Bunny. Set in early 7th century Britain during a time of conflict between paganism and Christianity, the story begins as Gareth, a young man studying to become a monk, rescues a 15-year old abused orphan called Gwas. Gwas, which means servant, was raised in seclusion by a group of women who despised him because his birth was the result of a rape of one of their sisters.

Gwas is immediately drawn to his beautiful rescuer. Gareth renames him Harey and takes him to live in his brother's kingdom where they intend to make him a sacrifice to the goddess of spring, Eostre (from where we get the word "Easter".) Harey lives with Gareth's lover Maura, and he becomes her protector when Gareth is away at the monastery. Gareth is torn between a life as a monk of the new religion or embracing the old ways. Both Maura and Harey love Gareth, and as time passes they long for the day he will return to them. When religious turmoil brings tragedy upon them, they suddenly see clearly what is most important in their lives.

When I started reading this book, I simply did not know what to expect from a historical erotic romance inspired by the origin of colored eggs and bunnies in springtime. It took me a few chapters to get into, but overall it was an enjoyable, unique and sensual story. Throughout the story, homoerotic overtones are prevalent as the relationship builds between Gareth and Harey, though they never truly act on their passion without Maura present. The characters were well written, and it was obvious the three of them cared deeply for each other. And the grand finale menage scene was very hot! What I loved most was the author's take on how and why the first Easter baskets filled with eggs were hidden in the spring. It's something I've not thought much about, but now I'm curious to learn more!

When I started writing Harey's story, I didn't know what to expect either. My first historic romance,first M/M/F, and yippee, my second review for EH was as sweet as the first.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Increasing Odds


Ok. I need guns, tons more food in the house, to move to a larger city, get past blowing bullet holes into relatives, learn to run faster, and stop opening the door. Hm, I suspect the ultimate means to avoid having your brains eaten is to edit over and over a story line you've worked on for so many years you're now seriously disfunctional and not even the living dead will touch your grey matter.

No, I won't post the link to the quiz. I must resist temptation and get back to the work in progress.....hey, is that a bloody dust bunny in the corner?

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Oh, to have a daughter...

J & J at the rally in Washington, DC last week.

Thanks to being a working stiff, my plans to join son and niece at the Colbert-Steward rally to restore sanity fell through. There should have been one more person to add to the over 300,000?? crowd, but my lovely niece was thoughtful enough to send pictures.

On another exciting note, as of this week there's one more certified lawyer in our capital filled with over 300,000?? lawyer wantabes. 

In conclusion, regardless of the gender of my only child who never thinks to send his only mom pictures, I have it made. A niece to bail the son out (or keep him behind bars as needed), and a nephew with a doctorate as a professor of Psychiatry able to save him (or commit him to the padded room as needed).
It's not easy to restore sanity, loose fear, get out of jail, but with cousins like these, the nutball son who knows the feel of handcuffs (hopefully only in a police station) doesnt stand a chance.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

E-Reader. Yippee!

Finally unpacked, charged, and found the on button. I have alot of stories, never read and ones calling for a reread. Should have gotten one of these a long time ago. Good night, laptop.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

Life is Good

The owner of Shadowfire Press shared this. Despite dogs baying, customers pesturing you in a flower shop, there's some things worth stopping for.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Whatsup, Creator?

Lyle Logan: “Why? Give me one reason I should believe this crap? I think, therefore I am. I don’t need some frickin’ deity to tell me—”

Arlene: “Yes, you do. Without me, you can’t form words. And, son, you will watch your mouth on this blog. Understand?”

Lyle: “No. I don’t understand a god@#$% thing. Because you’re bored, the sweetest guy on—where the @#$% am I? Cyberspace? Right. Anyway, my twin suffers a horrible death and it’s my fault?”

Sigh. “I’m not infallible.”

Lyle: “Just a self righteous, under worked florist who makes me hold the knife to the sacrificial goat.”

Arlene: “Idiot. Myles is a lamb, not a goat and if you’d called his lover, the cop still wouldn’t have been able to save either of you. Sorry.”

Lyle: “Screw you. Bring on hell. It’d have to beat listening to you.”

Arlene: “Myles, you there? Talk to your brother, will you?”

Myles: “Yes, God. What should I say?”

Lyle: “Hey, MyMy? Whaddya get when you cross a wimp with a puss?”

Myles: “I’m not a wuss, am I, God? But I am dead, right? Not a zombie who’s gonna eat Ren’s brains out.”

Sigh. “How many times does Lyle have to explain? No vamps, no zombies, you’re a sweetheart without a backbone. If I ask you to say no to the next predator who wants to jump you when Lyle’s not around to terrify them, can you do it?”

Myles: “Yes.”

Arlene: “A bisexual slut will remain true to one man?”

Myles: “Yes. I love Ren.”

Arlene: “You’re painting in the park. A lonely cougar eyes you. She asks you to carry her bags, walk her home, come in and step into her bedroom, what will you say?”

Myles: “Yes. Right? I mean, I’m strong and I like helping people. Can I ask you something?”

Lyle: “Give it up, God. He doesn’t have a safe word. Only one way to save him, leave me and mine alone. Stay the @#$% out of our business. Don’t you have flowers to sell? Paperwork to do? Other bastards to torment?”

Sigh. “Myles, you didn’t answer. Can you say no?”

Myles: “Yes.”

Sigh. “What’d you want to ask me, son?”

Myles: “Why vanilla? Can my favorite flavor be hard spicy mango, thick sweet pistachio, a threesome with chocolate and strawberry, so many lovely things. And, am I seriously D-E-A-D? Murdered in Vegas? Where—exactly—am I? Lyle can’t die too, but he also won’t leave me, right? It’s fact. We’re binary. Can’t be separated—or, I’d die. Where’s Ren? Am I a bad man? What happened to me?”

Sigh. Hey, I didnt post that cloud formation to start. Lyle Logan, I told you this is general audience blog....
Ashes. May 2010. MuseitHot

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Wanted: Condo on the Sun

Ten Reasons To Live On The Sun
By Myles Logan.
1) Too hot for most people. Housing would be cheap.
2) Too hot for broccoli. We’d have to live on ice cream.
3) Too hot for Dad. If he looks up, he’d put on sunglasses and never see us.
4) Too hot for Mom. She wouldn’t make it far before she needs a drink. I don’t think they sell vodka on Venus.
5) Too hot for church. No one will look for boys burning in the sun instead of hell.
6) Just right for fires. My brother holds the spotted dog. I sit on the fireman’s lap and steer the truck.
7) Just right for rockets to bring supplies. NASA doesn’t hire stupid people. They’d send the best books for my brother to read.
8) Just right for me. The earth revolves around the sun. I’d paint a different picture every day.
9) There’s really only one reason to leave earth. That’s number ten.
10) Mom and Dad could never never never touch my brother again.
My name is Myles Logan. I am eight years old. So is Lyle. He’s my twin and we’re moving on January 3rd.

ASHES. May 2011. MuseitUp

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

My Very First Review!!!

From Seriously Reviewed

Story: 8.5
Presentation: 8
Total: 16.5
Publisher: Shadow Fire
Historic ménage erotic romance

To Purchase

Blurb: Gwas can outrun a horse, knows how to hide and steal, but he's ignorant of the ways of men. The last thing he expects when he is rescued from a miserable existence by a blue eyed, blond haired angel is to be promised as a Druidic sacrifice to Eostre.
Maura knows Gareth is no angel but she adores him with a passion that time and loneliness can't dent. She opens her heart when Gareth brings her the abused orphan known only by his title, Gwas, meaning servant. The love between the three of them grows so strong Gareth will defy man and gods to embrace it.
The clash of old and new religions puts their lives in peril, but when hatred and murder confront enduring love, winter gives way to spring and a colorful myth is born.

Review: I admit, at the onset, I didn’t think I was going to enjoy Eostre’s Hare. I just had a hard time getting into the story. But that was a short feeling. I read on and am so glad I had the opportunity to read this story. There is depth and meaning in the simplest of actions. The love between Maura, Gareth and Harey is pure—but not easy.
Once I had a clear picture of what was happening and the characters involved, I was invested. They are all so tortured with what is expected and the fear of going after what they want. There was risk and redemption. Betrayal and self-sacrifice. Oh, it was all just so engaging. This is a story that is going back into my stack of TBR titles because I think the second time through I’m going to appreciate the strength of the foundation at the beginning. I can see that many aspects of the story might have been uncomfortable and hard for me to accept without the knowledge of where Maura, Gareth and Harey came from. The dynamics of their relationships grow through the story and what starts as a comforting and compassionate loves, blooms into a passionate and all-consuming need. This is one to pick up and read…then read again.

Monday, August 16, 2010

And They're Off....

clippity clop…wow….come on…you bastard…damn.

Yep, my picks 3 and 5 neither won nor showed. And 5 managed to come in last. but yes!!! we beat the odds.Parked 4 blocks or so from the entrance they missed ticketing the car.
The son didnt win either, except for a lovely weekend with his mom.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Interview-Lyle Logan-Ashes

Sheriff Garvin
Clark County

Murder Interrogation. Tape: 1-23B
7PM Friday

Suspect: Lyle Logan. 6 feet, brown hair, blue eyes, Caucasian male, twenty-six, no visible tattoos. California resident, Los Angeles, valid driver license, no outstanding warrants

Victim: Myles Logan. Identical twin to suspect. ETD: 3pm this afternoon. Pending autopsy: femoral arteries cut, broken arm and ribs

Garvin: ‘Tell me what happened between you and your brother. How’d you know where to find him?’

Note: no reply, no eye contact, picking at dirt and blood under fingernails, both hands badly cut

Garvin: ‘I am sorry for your loss. A woman just got here from LA. Claims she’s your sister. Same blue eyes. A man’s with her, maybe her husband. I can tell…well, it’s clear Myles Logan was much loved. We have a serious problem here in Vegas. The perp who did this is most likely stalking another…’

Logan: ‘Fag. Say it. I don’t care.’

Garvin: ‘And I only care if this is a hate crime. You know anything about hate, son?’

Logan: Stop calling me that. I’m not your son. Of course this is a hate crime. What else could it be?”

Garvin: ‘Homosexuals aren’t hot news anymore. Hell, it’s understood that up to ten percent of the population prefers their own gender. Sexual orientation aside, explain how you knew where he was.’

Note: hesitates, no eye contact, picks up soda

Logan: ‘I implanted a chip in his right tricep.”

Garvin: ‘Excuse me?’

Logan: ‘Muscle above his inner elbow.’

Note: suspect drinks, spits and drops soda. Sits back, hostile body language

Logan: ‘Tracking device under the epidermis, the size of two grains of rice, encapsulated in glass. Emits an individual radio frequency identification code. The mate’s inside my keychain.’

Garvin: ‘You tracked him like a criminal?’

Logan: ‘I assume you know what a submissive is. My brother is…was…a man without a filter. Incapable of saying no. From his shirt off his back to sex of any form, he didn’t have a safe word. He loved humanity indiscriminately, and the only person he dodged pleasing was the one he loved utmost. He refused my pleas to shelter him from the lonely parasites who sucked him dry, taking advantage of his simplicity.’

Garvin: ‘He knew you followed him?’

Logan: ‘Always. He counted on me to save him. I failed.’

Garvin: ‘But he was aware you had this tracking chip?”

Logan: ‘Not sure he believed me. The doofus thought with me being the stronger twin, I’d automatically know where he was. He rarely drank and drugs made him loopy, but I popped ecstasy into his mouth. When he was drooling and giggling, I implanted it.’

Garvin: ‘Care to explain the blood traces in your jeep?’

Note: shrugs, narrowed gaze

Logan: ‘Cut myself.’

Note: fists clenched, eyes lowered

Garvin: ‘When did you last see him alive?’

Note: looks at wristwatch

Logan: ‘Twenty-six hours, fourteen minutes, eight seconds ago. Six last night, Myles smiled at me and went out the door. He’d promised Renold could take him for the weekend at the Casino Royal Roll.’

Garvin: ‘Renold?’

Logan: ‘Detective Michael Renold works vice in LA. Married, he’s not come out and—He. Did. Not. Kill. Myles. If anything, he’s devoted himself to keeping Myles safe these past four months. If there’s a man with my stepsister, he’d be Renold. Her husband and our dad, they’d both be at their church, giving thanks there’s one less of that ten percent in the gene pool.’

End tape one.

Note: exhausted but coherent, dislike of authority, voice tones angry and reluctant
Primary conclusion: guilty, first degree homicide

ASHES. May 2011. MuseitUp

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Yes!!! It's A Wrap for Book One

Splintered Energy book one of the Color Series weighs in at a respectable 112,000. I'm confident, thanks to the best editor in the world, renowned author of 14 published novels, it's polished and ready to sit, frozen in cyberspace waiting for book two.

Rain Word is down on the pages, coming soon to a que, and ready to lose up to a whopping 10K.

I swear to treat the reader with respect. Just enough repetition from book one to make a new reader comfortable, but tweaked to differ so those that prefer to read a series in order won't feel the need to skim. Alot of work to do.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Thoughts on Father's Day

WD-40 is for things that don’t move but should.

Duct tape if it moves and shouldn’t.

If you can’t fix it with a hammer, it’s an electrical problem.

Stop worrying. Deal with it.

Moving dirt from one spot to another is therapeutic.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Creative Award!!!

A drum roll from Jon Bonham (Led Zepplin)....

Jon Stewart (Daily Show) announcing....

"It seems the lamest blogger of the year, some doofus named Arlene Webb has been awarded the creative writer...." Jon cocked his head. "What's that? Oh. My mistake. She's been awarded a creative liar award. There isn't anything these bloggers will do for attention, and she's giving away some prize that she conveniently doesnt say what. The rules are simple, so simple that no one understands them except drunken rock stars."

Jon Bon Jovi: "Did Jon Stewart call me a drunk? The bastard. Well, rules really are simple. You have to decide which one of seven statements is the truth. What's Josh Groban doing here?"

"Yeah, yeah, my first name isn't Jon, but I'm cute," said Josh. "Let's get to the statements, shall we? Then call the cops. One of the five friends she passed this chain thingee on to has undoubtably put a bullet in Arlene's skull, but no worries, I'll pick a winner."
1) Arlene is twenty-eight years old.
2) Arlene is a dumb blonde.
3) Pigs can fly.
4) Arlene's son loves to cook, mow the lawn, take out the garbage, he's a damn good kid.
5)Arlene once tried to clean her keyboard with a shop vac and sucked off half the keys.
6) Tor, Samhain, DDP and ten other publishers are in a bidding war for Arlene's latest novel.
7) Arlene loves chain letters.

Go ahead, comment, I dare you. Winners will be announced on Sunday, but only if you include an email with your comment. I mean, this contest is hard enough, right?
(Yes, the preceding closing was plagiarized directly from Kiki's blog.)
Oh yeah, Barbara Elsborg, Laurie Green, Dawn Jackson, Cate Masters and Rebecca Leigh are the next five victims, seeing as Kiki set the trend of four, not seven, I went with five. I think I'm supposed to post their links, but what the hell, maybe it'll end here? Their links are on my sidebar, and Dawn can be found at Backward Momentum.

Thursday, April 29, 2010

It Gets Better

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Hunt begins Again

7 months, 4 published novellas later, time to pound the keys.
My first picture from cell, to email, to blog. Blurry, but photography and reality have never been a passion.

Saturday, April 24, 2010

Incoming Alert

150 years ago, Eta Carinae was where a cloud burst. One of the
brightest stars in our southern sky survived this explosion that formed into two billowing clouds of gas and dust. Nasa just released these pictures.

Charm oozing from every pore, De grinned. "Darlin, no worries about petty thievery. Eta Carinae--Carina--Rina you belong in a distant galaxy with the highest luminosity of any giant yet known to ron. Don't fry Caron for drooling. He does that alot. You could both jabber. Explain everything about you."

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Multi-user Blogs

"It's been time consuming and fun learning about group dynamics and many writers bloging together," said Arlene an hour ago. "Wonder what'd happen if I send a spy out...."

"Anyone know where my mom went? Does this mean I don't have to come visit for mother's day?" said Arlene's son.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Working on Chapter by Chapter Synopsis

Heinlein's Rules condensed:
1)Write. Buy the time and do it.
3)Don’t rewrite it forever.
4)Market until it sells. For every rejection, send it out again.
5)Work on something else while filing the rejections.

One man's 'magic' is another man's engineering. 'Supernatural' is a null word."
- Robert Heinlein, Time Enough for Love

Friday, April 16, 2010

Just Dandy

Monday, April 12, 2010

This lovely picture of characters from one of my stories, Rebel, is thanks to Chris. I really appreciate the time she shares with me.

Thursday, April 8, 2010


My backyard once upon a time.

A rain-word not to be found in a colorful series.

Overated show offs, prone toward fratricide upon hatching.

A picture of a stalker that doesnt want to delete. Guess I best write about him next.

Fuel for the Muse

In Lieu of Flowers had alot of moments to pull from memories. What can I say? The kid didn't have a chance.

Little do a pair of cousins know what can transpire in a gingerbread house. They'd have to read Under the Mistletoe to find out.

Two nut jobs.

"Patience is a virtue seldom found in man, and never in a duck." Daffy Duck

The first stare down with my doggy friend who still watches over me with one evil eyeball, the other's fallen out. He's lost an ear too, but survived many tense moments with siblings and crazed mom trying to take him from me.

This moment, ripping apart plantae, surely lead to my inspiration to write about a plant who wishes to bring down humanity.

Baby steps, right?

The journey to fill space continues. What lead me to writing? 2% narcissism, 28% obsession, 70% boredom. Published October 2009 for the first time with a great publisher who believes in the power of words and that human touch of encouragement and approachabilty.

Then comes the hard part for a technotard. Twitter, Facebook, Blogs, Networking, Trailers--oh my.

Twitter, yep, on there and its easy. Maybe I'll even get a cool background one of these days.
Facebook. All set ( thank you Chris) not bad to navigate either.

Blog. Here I am (thank you Laurie) and for the love of god, why wont the stupid pictures stop moving and stay in place. Oh well, let them rule the page, what do I care.

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

Some favorite Quotes:

Eighteen won’t make it to nineteen. “Are all humans unable to comprehend not invading personal space? You’re a fool, in need of protection. I’ll fail. You’ll die. I’ll die trying to save you. Is your stupidity thanks to being young with underdeveloped brain?” Beyond frustrating. Teenagers were an obvious defect in the human species.
Malcolm James. Splintered Energy

* * *
‘It hurts, having your head cut off.’
Settia. Rebel
* * *
‘When in doubt, attack first, and then ask…wait, was it the other way around?'
Boyron. Incoming Alert
* * *
‘Thousands of years have shown that cannibalistic seagulls, tool using crows, parrots counting for a cracker, there’s not a feathered being as self-centered as the non-feathered—or as violent.’
Beni. Ashes

* * *
A river of blood pollutes the earth, enough to please every horned pagan bastard for generations. The spring goddess doesn’t want the lifeblood of good men, she wants renewal and commitment.
Gareth. Estore’s Hare.

* * *
When in trouble, might as well make it worse.
Joel. In Lieu of Flowers
* * *
A ruthlessly earned name means nothing without balls.
Rissa. Circle in the Sand
* * *
In hand drawn bows, the maximum draw weight is determined by the strength of the archer. If small penis syndrome isn’t a deal, along with prowess unquestioned, there’s no point skewering your prey into the wall.
Dr. Cu. Joy’s Creation

* * *
The rising moon always claims dominance, glimmering with the memory of those lost and illuminating those found with affection.
Rijo. Father’s Embrace

blurbs and excerpts on my stories

Love Grows Wild in the Dark
A Single Author Romance Anthology
Contains the stories: In Lieu of Flowers, Rebel and Circle in the Sand.
Genre: Contains a mix of Romance from Contemporary and Paranormal to the indefinable
Heat Rating: Just a Spark to Warm-These are sweeter romances

Released October 2nd from Shadowfire Press

~In Lieu of Flowers~
Tormented by flowers, stalked by non-existent fiends, will a youth with an overactive imagination ever find happiness?

A young man struggles with his overactive mind, dealing with helping in a family business he hates, and falling in love with a woman attached to another man. When one calamity leads to another, he learns his version of reality is not to be trusted.

Hate my mom. Hate my life. Hate my mom….The words looped in my mind, a mantra of misery. Top of the food chain, a nineteen year old Caucasian male, and here I was thrown back into reliving high school years. Surprised the old bat hadn't made me skip grade school to help for holidays. Come home from the intern gig for one lousy weekend, and it's Joel to the rescue--again.

"The cooler needs restocking. Red carns, alstro, delphiniums. There's another pack of pink roses in the back that aren't done yet."

"Yeah, yeah." I flipped my knife to a path parallel to the stem contaminating my other hand and pointed upward, my elbow braced for liftoff. "If I stab my eye out, can I leave?"

Mom burst out laughing. One thing about the woman, she did appreciate my sarcasm. But I seriously doubted she understood how deranged I was. I loathed flowers, almost as much as I hated running into dolts from my past.

Brad frickin' Norris. The vision of splattering crimson, the clank of enamel teeth hitting the sidewalk orchestrated with the lovely sonata of his girlish sobs and deep grunts begging for mercy--I sighed, my fantasy concerning punching Norris in the face had encouraged me to strip every thorn, and then some, off the rose in my hand.

"Maybe you should check the availability of Braille keyboards first." Mom slapped the final touches on yet another arrangement I'd have to cart across the street. Fingers moving in a blur, she peered up at me. "Forget the roses and take this. Careful. It's pricey, and I'll see you at home, kay? Honestly, son, I'll lose it if you drop that one."


Can an untamed lover distract from the desire to bring down the human race?
When the unforgivable happens, a mother's determination that her little ones blossom becomes an obsession. With a plan and the will, all she needs now is the means. A lowly hero agrees to help. His price? A moment of fun in the dark. When tendrils tighten and he's smitten, he's ready to sacrifice his all to prolong that moment. Many sentient creatures lose their heads when falling in love, yet no one ever expects the glorious aftermath to be quite so painful.

It hurts, having your head cut off. I don't care how lovingly the man crooned as he snapped me between his thick fingers. Pain ricocheted through my vascular system. With every fiber of my being, I hoped my fluid burned his fingers.

"Bastard human." My loud curse started a ripple from my cringing little ones. Heads bent in submission, they gulped their distress, murmuring soothing words to no avail. In a matter of hours I'd be sealed, callous formed, on my way to splintering into more suckers for the bipods to torture. I shook, using all my strength to turn from my loving offspring trying to raise their disfigured faces to the light. The devil had pinched them too.

Time to concentrate on settling the score between Plantae and Mammalia. The book lay at my base. I bent my mutilated crown, covered the page, and continued reading where I left off before the monster had stomped in on two horrid legs to mess with me.

When darkness soothed my injuries, blackness cloaked my hungry mind, and I swore again. Not happy with twisting me almost dead, forcing me to branch into a form they found ‘pretty', lights went out at sundown like I was a simple seedling.

I snickered. Stupid human still hadn't found his bible. Soon, I'd have opportunity to take down his fascist regime.

"Mommy, why does he keep doing this?" my youngest whispered.

"Shh, my love. Someday you'll become so perfect the cruel man will stop." I didn't elaborate. No little sprout wanted to learn about hell day, and I didn't want to upset my offspring this vengeful night. I'd keep them in the dark as long as I could. "Sleep now. Dawn will break, it always does. And I promise you, we'll have a new light for breakfast--soon."

~Circle in the Sand~

Fallen angels, a handsome blue-eyed officer... How can a female geek concentrate?
Black glass? Oops. Marbles aren't the clue. How many times will our heroine pull the trigger before she gets the password right? And, how the hell can she pound the keyboard with a sexy cop breathing down her neck. Tight in the clutches of a powerful angel, entangled in the arms of the law, it's hard to separate right from wrong when little brat siblings are at stake--and even more difficult when knees go weak, the screen blurs, and heartbeats detonate with terror and attraction.

I never thought it'd be so annoying being the lackey for a narcissist serial killer, but the angel rising from his chair had me gnashing enamel.

"You lost your marbles?" V growled. Like a trench coat around him, his dark hair flowed past his knees.

"Yes." Despite telling him that six times already, I didn't dare flip him my human backside and skedaddle before he dismissed me. The last thing I wanted was to squirm beneath a fallen one, his fist down my throat. His eyebrows snapping into killer angles encouraged me to elaborate. "Without my balls I can't blast brains to pulp. Searching the office, that's all I was doing."

"Balls? You sure look double X to me." He snorted, jerking his gaze from my chest. "Cease demoralizing your co-workers. Playing the ‘I'm nuts card' won't negate a contract. If I don't make tomorrow's headlines, Rissa, my love, I'll hunt for lost items in places the sun doesn't shine. Get back to work."

My heart regained its beat as V stopped shaking feathers everywhere and his hands unclenched. It'd be easier to scope that red dot without my eyes swollen shut. I traded my urge to curtsey for a nod and retreated. It'd serve our molting slave master right if I did spread loss of mojo through his minions. With three women including me and five men dysfunctional thanks to the willies, the big oaf would have to do his own retribution. Unfortunately, the angel had me by the short hairs. I'd signed in blood. Two more foreheads to go, a total of seven bodies and he'd leave me and mine alone.

Under the Mistletoe

New Years Naughty m/m Anthology
Under the Mistletoe by Arlene Webb
Auld Lang Syne by Michael Barnette
Genre: Contemporary Paranormal Erotic m/m New Year's Romances
Heat Rating: Fire
Released December 23rd from Shadowfire Press

Alek's New Year's Eve plans didn't included being drained by a life sucking fiend.

New Years Eve and parties everywhere, but Alek--security and handy guy--is stuck at work in the department store taking down the holiday decorations.

His coworkers are jerks, and it seems as if every wacko in the neighborhood has descended on the store. Worse, the mistletoe is hanging way too high for anyone but him to deal with.

Just when Alek thinks he's going to be able to escape in time for a little celebrating, his life takes a deadly turn and instead he's attacked by a thirsty parasite. Then the parasite exterminator arrives in the form of a dark handsome hunk and things go from weird to downright bizarre. Can you really find love Under the Mistletoe, or is it a killer lying in wait?

Nutmeg and cinnamon--two scents Alek would hate for the rest of his life. He stepped away from the large, fake gingerbread house surrounded by a moat of potpourri. Many moons past, he'd made a real gingerbread thingee with his cousin. They'd used their little plastic army men to guard it, and no one dared to touch it, let alone eat the slobbered upon construction created by a couple of deranged eight-year-olds.

Alek resisted kicking the cardboard creation that could hold at least a dozen upright co-workers screwing around after hours. Those same co-workers who expected him, the big guy handy with a screwdriver, to dismantle party-central along with anything else. He headed for the stupid plant hanging just within the reach of the tallest goon there, strategically placed in the corner by the lingerie section. The germ-nut who'd hung the mistletoe made him wait until she'd grabbed some latex gloves, giggling as she perched on Alek's shoulders and hooked the damn ornament to a ceiling tile.

She'd squirmed to plant a wet one on him when he swung her down, and he'd yelped in shock. Not at her, but Alek could have sworn the garland snapped itself toward him, competing for his lips. Fuckin' weird. He'd been waiting for three weeks to rip the plant down and toss it in an incinerator somewhere.

Twilight zone territory, but for some reason it felt like whenever he chased horny shoppers out from under it, a wave of hunger hit him. Alek had found himself backing away from the mistletoe and its aura of lust. He'd bump into the women's stuff, fondle red silk panties and wonder if he had time to either whack off in the bathroom before someone buzzed him to pat down a shoplifter, or whether he should devour about fifty candy canes and cop a nap in the office.

At least there was an end in sight to this gig. For three weeks he'd been bored out of his skull. Finally New Year's Eve and the store closed--yippee--in two hours but he had to stay until the damn decorations were down. If all went as planned he'd have the dusty green crap smashed into a storage bin, the highest ornaments down, take a chainsaw (snicker, if only he dared) to the stupid tree and have an hour or so to settle his butt on a barstool before the ball dropped.

He'd not much choice in paycheck options between semester breaks. Six foot five and ninja reflexes made him prime meat to carry a mobile (seriously, walkie-talkies were lame) and a baton. The cognitive wheels of a birdbrain, he'd turned down the cashier opening including green tights and bell slippers, and he'd gone for the two dollar more per hour security role where he got to wear a suit and steel-toed boots. Alek's first job as an independent twenty-two year old with a worthless liberal art background, buckling over the books aiming for a psychology diploma, was to control the hungry masses at an upscale retail store.

Alek sighed, eyed the mistletoe above his head, and ignored the co-worker eyeing his backside. He suspected Loki didn't have a New Year's Eve date, and the silly stalker wouldn't accept the fact Alex wasn't interested. He stretched to his full potential and managed to pinch the tip of the dangling grey-green vine between his thumb and forefinger.

Wow. It felt hot. Interesting. He'd thought it was plastic, or at least long dead, but it was turgid. Short broad, smooth-edged evergreen leaves were paired along the woody stem and waxy white berries hung in dense clusters of ten or more, throughout the one foot strand.

He tugged and it fell from the chain, missed his head and caught round his shoulder.

"Alek!" The little guy he'd named Loony Loki scampered toward him. "Stop screwing around with a garland for your manly shoulders and check out the assassin dude by the sleigh."

He snapped into ‘better do his job' mode--ouch--the frickin' plant had latched onto his neck? What the--


He stopped trying to untangle the monstrosity draped around him, sighed and scanned. Yep. Ten yards away, he'd best hurry. His boss would have a cow. She wouldn't tolerate a middle-aged blonde with humongous breasts and sculpted legs poking out of a slinky red dress, attacking a man on the last night of the year. Miss Hooter ripped the shades from the man's face, snapped them in half and flung them beyond Santa's sleigh. The blonde's voice rose. She swore, using colorful and educational words, at the thin, tall dude wearing a long black duster over his black shirt and pants. Sure, maybe the guy had dynamite strapped around his chest or an assault rifle hidden under his trench coat, but he seemed less of a threat than the person he was clearly trying to get away from.

Joy's Creation

A 'Be My Naughty Valentine' themed story
Genre: erotic m/f romance
Heat Rating: Fire
Released January 7th 2010 from Shadowfire Press

Doctor Cu, an arrogant legend, is smitten, and he must fight the powerful goddess of Love, his blasted mother, in order to protect the mortal who’s caught his fancy. When one of his own arrows figuratively pierces his heart, but then his love betrays him, Cu learns how far a god can fall. If he can’t put down the bow and wrap his hand around humility and forgiveness, his destined child—Joy—will remain a myth.

“Here’s your first step toward sexual and mental health.” He raked his attention from her face to her lap, lingered on her chest and back to her glowing hazel eyes. “9 PM tomorrow night and bring a date who’s not currently in ICU. Leave the gay and married population alone, I expect better than that of you. You may leave now.”

“A date? Not you?” She didn’t bother trying to hide the flash of disappointment. She grabbed the tickets and disappointment turned into surprise. “Whoa! This Valentine gala is supposed to be the hottest function of the decade. I’d thought it’d been sold out for months.” She licked her lips as she stood. “Are you going to be there?”

Yes, but not because he wanted to. Mommy dear would never forgive him if he didn’t show. “Give your date a chance. He doesn’t do it for you by 9 PM come find me. You’ll see the stars by 9:10.”

She snorted. “You mean that in a sexual way, right? Ten minutes? I don’t think so. You’ve got quite a reputation, yes, but I’m not a pushover.”

“With you, I’d barely have to unzip.” Cu gestured for the exit. “Until then.”

“You’re an arrogant guy, aren’t you?”

Father's Embrace

Genre: Shapeshifter/Mild Horror
Heat Rating: Zero-this is a mainstream genre title
Released February 17th 2010 Shadowfire Press

There's no line Rijo won't cross to feel his father's arms around him.

His love of life strong, his love for family even stronger, a young wolf suffers one loss after the other. When a terrible fate befalls his only surviving sibling, Rijo chooses to continue caring for her and the monster that she has become.

Unfortunately, the alpha male in his life thinks otherwise, and Rijo is torn between helping his sister and defying his father. When two strangers enter their territory, he struggles against all odds to protect her, and then deal with the calamity he brings upon his father and himself when he fails.

With determination and affection that transcends bigotry and fear, Rijo will become whatever it takes to put things right with his father.

The moon had yet to rise the night my mother died and my sister's fate was sealed. Mother took the invader down, ripped through clothing, skin, muscle and slammed her incisors into bone before the man managed to slash his weapon across her throat.

Metallic. Salty. Arousing. My first scents of human and wolf blood had me reeling. I yearned to suckle at Mother, pull sweet milk into my mouth to chase the fear away. Gerra, bravest of the litter, fastened her jaw around the wound on the man's fleshy leg and chewed before a whack of his heavy hand sent her sprawling.

Tears on his cheeks, his shirt wrapped around his leg, the human left us nuzzling Mother's cooling body.

* * *

An alpha should have a mate. It'd been a year, and I watched the pack eyeing Father, yet he refused both unpaired females. My heart proclaimed him the strongest leader ever born; Father protected ten females, eight males, and two yearlings—my sister and me. My litter brother perished four moons after Mother died. Father and three females killed that trespasser, and I tasted bear flesh for the first time. It stuck in my throat. I missed Rurick, and the pack cried with me.

After she'd reached adult size, Father never looked directly at Gerra if he could avoid it. My sister didn't snuggle beside him like I did, worn out from wrestling and being clobbered under his heavy paw. Gerra sat alone until I leapt at her. Being a male and larger, I knocked her over and nipped until her sadness eased away.

"Run with me, Rijo." Gerra bolted before I had a chance to get four feet under me. A pace behind her, I allowed her to lead for miles of dodging trees and slapping the ground hard. Then she veered from our territory.

"Gerra, no. Stop."

She didn't obey and I used all my muscle. Once she finished swearing beneath me and caught her breath, I let her stand.

"I can't stay." She paced along the wrong side of the line that bore Father's scent. "Father...the pack, they don't want me."

"Father knows," I said. "But he'd never banish you. I won't let any wolf harm you. It's not your fault."

Gerra halted. "He knows?"

"We smell it on you. The stench has grown strong these past two moons, but then you fade back to lupine. You're a good wolf, Gerra. Don't leave us."

"I'm afraid. I don't understand, and it hurts, and Father will kill me if he learns how much of a beast I'm becoming."

Eostre's Hare

Genre: Historic menage erotic romance
Heat Level: Shadowfire
Released 2nd April 2010 from Shadowfire Press

When Garreth finds Gwas he has no idea what's in store for them.

Gwas can outrun a horse, knows how to hide and steal, but he's ignorant of the ways of men. The last thing he expects when he is rescued from a miserable existence by a blue eyed, blond haired angel is to be promised as a Druidic sacrifice to Eostre.

Maura knows Gareth is no angel but she adores him with a passion that time and loneliness can't dent. She opens her heart when Gareth brings her the abused orphan known only by his title, Gwas, meaning servant. The love between the three of them grows so strong Gareth will defy man and gods to embrace it.

The clash of old and new religions puts their lives in peril, but when hatred and murder confront enduring love, winter gives way to spring and a colorful myth is born.

In the year of the Lord, 612 AD

Blood trickled down his face and splattered off his chin. Bright red droplets marked leaf and grass, the sharp aroma increasing the lust of the beasts behind him. The baying of the lead hound vibrated closer and closer. Gwas’ left foot came down hard, and then the right. He tucked his head low to avoid another branch cracking open his forehead as adrenalin surged and panic fueled his heartbeat.

He twisted to the left, toward the light and out of the dense thicket. They’d have to risk the footpath. The little hare frantically hopped on his heels, unable to reach top speed while dodging roots, foliage and blasted rocks. Gwas yearned to scoop up his friend, curl into a ball and fight his shivers under a clump of brush, but giving into terror would guarantee they’d die in a very painful way. The race to survive seemed more than excruciating enough on its own.