Archive for January, 2011

The great blue dragon heaved a heavy sigh. “Truly, you are the most curious human I have ever encountered. Many have come seeking my blood. More – and some few of my own kind – have come seeking my wealth.”

With the outward curve of one obsidian claw, he stroked along the human’s side, where that human lay on the dragon’s own stomach. “None of them – except perhaps one fetching but greedy red, and certainly none of the humans – showed nearly so much interest in my sex.”

Kalen laughed, gliding his hand along the broad expanse of the dragon’s arousal. “I’ve more interest in knowledge and magic than in coin. And I’m young yet. A lover, however temporary, means more to me than a purse of silver.”


It was not a fit night to be travelling, not for man nor beast. Wild magic had crept into the storm; rain and hail pelted down with unnatural force, ripping away needles, shredding bark, and pulverizing much of the ground cover. Mere boughs simply weren’t enough to keep the icy rain at bay; anything that could, huddled under leaning or fallen trunks for some cover.

But not all errands waited on the weather, and so Kalen, out gathering the last of the season’s rimeberries, had been caught on the trails when the full force of the storm hit. A magical barrier kept the rain and hail from falling directly upon him, but it couldn’t keep the ground from being treacherous, nor did it keep the chill bite of the air from his lungs. But even if he was inclined to wait out the storm – and as the sky grew still darker, that was a possibility he was strongly considering – there simply wasn’t good cover to be had. Not down in the woods.

And so he trudged upwards. The going was harder, especially as the trees thinned and the ground became icier, but there were caves in the foothills. Better to stumble into a bear’s den than to be caught out here; his magic could subdue such a beast, but he could drain himself trying to keep away the fickle anger of the Green Goddess and still succumb.

In searching for such shelter, he was better-equipped than most men. He could sense air under stone; all he needed to do was follow it to the surface.


It was all so strange.

Mark Cunningham wasn’t the sort of guy who went on dates. He wasn’t hot or athletic or popular, he was just a geek. He wasn’t the sort of guy that girls noticed, or gave the time of day to, never mind went on dates with.

And yet here he was, at Darcy’s with one of the prettiest girls at school. After she asked him out.

He’d said yes, of course. How could he not? It wasn’t as though he’d get another chance anytime soon.


Someone, somewhere, was very lucky.

Ian didn’t know who. He didn’t even know if that someone knew about it. But the bear’s roommate certainly had his eye on somebody, and whoever that was, they had quite something to look forward to.

It wasn’t just the physical aspect – although, seeing the polecat dozing in bed, it was easy enough to think of times when Ian had seen rather more than his head and shoulders exposed. Too easy, in fact; it took an effort of will to bring his attention back to his schoolwork, back to the composition he was supposed to be writing. His eyes didn’t want to stay focused on the notes he was nudging around the staves; they wanted to turn behind him, to strain as though they could see right through the sheets, to drink in the sight of, well, however much of Judas wasn’t clothed under those covers. Maybe more.

But no. It wasn’t Judas’s mere appearance that made Ian envy that mysterious someone. It was the intensity of the slender youth’s need.


It shouldn’t have been so normal.

It was just another carrier flight deck, with fighters clamped into place in their berths, cargo haulers trundling over the plates, techs scurrying about with the various tools of their trade. Just like the one Drevin had launched from, oh, too many hours ago now.

But it wasn’t his flight deck.

Cognitive dissonance could be a strange thing, sometimes.


The sound of rushing water filled the air – a constant, thunderous rumble that nearly drowned out even the raucous calls of the birds that flitted from tree to tree. Alik moved with care, each of the jaguar’s forepaws testing the ground before he shifted forward to put weight on it; he could see the gap in the trees, off to his right, where the gorge was, but there was always the chance of slipping on loose earth or wet brush, and so close to that gap, such a slip wouldn’t give him much time to recover.

Still, the scent of his quarry was clear. He’d followed it past pungent flowers and sweet fruit, past fallen logs heavy with the scents of mushrooms and decay, past more unpleasant things, and he’d never lost that scent for more than a few strides. He moved with care, yes, but he also moved with as much haste as that care allowed, each step swiftly following on the one before.


It wasn’t exactly trepidation that Valan felt as he came up to the lounge.

Personally, he had no problem with this little liaison. He was pretty sure there was no harm in it – or at least, that there was more likely to be harm due to a difference in rank than because of having an interest in a few different people. The logic behind not having a relationship across ranks had been drilled into him from early on.

But then, it had never quite sat well with him anyway. Especially when people weren’t even in the same chain of command, where was the harm? So long as they knew to keep their personal and professional lives separate.


Fabian Springvale.

That was how everyone knew him, now. Everyone at the studio, everyone who saw his work, all his friends and acquaintances – even he himself was starting to think of him with that name. It was a good name, his agent had said, a beautiful name. A name that’d draw more attention than Darren Cooke.

Well, it and he had certainly drawn attention, all right. Maybe the world of adult entertainment wasn’t the grandest arena out there, but he’d found his place in it, and it had brought him enough success to be happy with. A job he enjoyed – even on the days where things didn’t go quite right and sex felt like work, he was still in his element. A nice flat – not the biggest of spaces, but big enough, and well enough appointed, to feel luxurious. And good company.


Tristan Summers knew he was hot. Oh, he tried not to make a point of it; he’d encountered plenty of people who were a little too aware of their own good looks, and he tried to avoid becoming one of them. But what was the use in denying it, even to himself? He was tall, broad-shouldered, and muscular – all those masculinely attractive traits. He was also very distinct – he was, after all, a dragon, and a very visible example of one at that, with glossy black scales, claws like jet, curling black horns like a ram’s, and batlike wings on his back which, while they still didn’t let him fly, were larger than most. So, yes, he was quite aware that he was eye-catching and attractive.

Getting paid to be hot, essentially, would still take some getting used to.