This is so typical of the creative life. The opinions on your work are subjective. Some of us have a hard time remembering these judgments aren’t personal, even if they seem like it. Thomas Wolfe said, “Every novel is an autobiography.” In a way, that’s true. I can only write from my own head, and maybe that’s why attacks on our “babies” feel like attacks on us.

Now, what if you can separate personal attacks on you from subjective opinions on your work? Is it any easier? Not if you want to please all of the people absolutely all of the time. Most of us want our work to be well received. Some artists may prefer to provoke rather than entertain, but as long as they get the reaction they’re looking for, they’re happy.

The comedy writers of the world are especially apt to be misunderstood if people don’t realize their tongues are firmly planted in their cheeks! I once wrote a silly comedy about reincarnation. In our Judeo Christian society, the idea is ripe for satire! The majority of my readership probably doesn’t believe in reincarnation as a certainty, so that wasn’t the hot button.

Unfortunately, I addressed the subject of suicide in the story. Now many people do have a strong opinion on suicide and experience with people who’ve either thought about it or attempted it. Some people really liked the story and I received some glowing reviews. Others skewered me. They reacted to me like the folks who rolled down the car window and yelled, “Whore” to Penelope. She’s not a whore and I don’t think suicide is funny.

Does that mean writers should shy away from all possible hot buttons? How can you? Are they listed somewhere? Potentially, anything could be a hot button. You could write about a car or a prom and wind up dealing with controversy. Stephen King did. But he was going for horror and it made his career. His belief? “The innocent must suffer.” 

My belief? Humor can be found in just about anything…even rejection. And that is a tough lesson to learn. That thick skin people mention is painful to grow. Your skin has to be attacked a few times before calluses form. Attacked too much and a person becomes callus and bitter. There’s a reason callus has two meanings. One’s a very appropriate metaphor…and kind of funny if you think about it.

FYI, this story is a big spoiler for One For The Team. If you haven’t read it and don’t want to know what happens, stop here.

OFTT is a m/f story. This story is about Jason and Davey, two of Jen’s best friends. I assure you, it becomes m/m but it starts out m/f/m.

Here’s a taste of the first chapter as it now stands. Takes place right after Jen and Ken’s wedding.

***********************

Very unedited excerpt, ©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

They’d all figured Jen could handle it. None of them had intended to change their friendship or turn it into anything long term. Just friends having fun. Then Ken had thrown a wrench into the works. Or, as he claimed, Jen had mucked it up by sleeping with Jason, Bart and Davey but refusing to sleep with Ken. Jason had to admit, that would have ticked him off too. Looking back on the one night when the five of them had been together, Ken was the only one who hadn’t done more than kiss Jen. Of course, she’d stayed the night when him when the rest of them had gone home. That was the night Ken had seen the proverbial light and asked Jen to marry him. Jason was happy for them. He was. Looking at them now, he wondered why no one had seen that they were meant for each other before.

But. That didn’t help him tonight. Clearly, if he was going to find companionship, he would have to go elsewhere.

Setting his glass down on the pristine white tablecloth, he stood. Jen and Ken were busy so he chose not to bother them. He’d already bestowed his congratulations on the happy couple and he’d see them at work on Wednesday anyway since they weren’t going on their honeymoon until November. Bart would be busy elsewhere in the restaurant since it was open for business tonight as well.

Where was Davey? The little snot was his ride home, which was the only reason he was still drinking. Last time he’d seen the other man had been when there were still people dancing on the miniature floor. That had to have been an hour or so ago. As he meandered toward the door leading out of the banquet room, Jason pulled out his cell and sent a text to his friend: Where r you?

Once out of the hall, he edged around a small dining area toward the buzz of conversation that surrounded the bar. The area was pretty typical of an upscale restaurant like Bart’s. Up two steps and Jason was surrounded by shining polished wood, mirrors and muted lighting. A few mini tables were scattered in the open area on one side, but the main focus was the long bar and the shelves of booze behind on mirrored shelves. There was only about a dozen people there and he recognized a few from the wedding. He waved to Ken’s sister with her hubby and Tina and Dan from work, but headed for the end of the bar. He set down his empty glass and watched a few pitches in the Pirates/Brewers game while he waited for Jake, the bartender, to finish up and bring him another.

“Damn,” he muttered to himself, watching the roll of scores across the bottom of the plasma screen mounted on the wall. Mets won again. That meant his beloved Braves were another game down. It was a damn sure bet they weren’t going to make it to the playoffs this year.

He was halfway through another Black Russian and well into the next inning of the Rockies/Giants game when Davey finally texted him back. He flipped open the phone to read the message: Come. Back lot.

The parking lot in the back? “Why?” he asked the phone aloud, knowing full well it wouldn’t answer. So he texted it: Why?

A moment later came the reply: Just come.

Typical Davey. No explanation, just an expectation of obedience. Had he moved his car? If so, why? No telling with Davey, of course. He followed his own rules for everything.

Sighing, Jason stood, downed his drink and paid for it while grimacing at the onslaught of rich coffee liqueur down to his gullet. He hoped whatever Davey had in mind was worth it. He didn’t drink Black Russians often and he preferred to savor them.

Well acquainted with the layout of the restaurant, he headed for the darker hallways that led to the restrooms. Beyond the johns was another hall that led both to the manager’s office and employee’s lockers. There was also a fire door that led to the back parking lot. Once outside, he took a moment to let his eyes adjust to the harsh fluorescent directly overhead that cast faux moonlight in the immediate vicinity. The parking lot in back only held ten spaces, meant for kitchen staff and managers. Bart’s beemer sat directly outside the door.

It took a moment but Jason finally located Davey leaning against the dark shadow of his deep blue Mustang GT at the very end of the halo of light. His white dress shirt and light colored slacks stood out against the black background of the trees that stood beyond the pavement, as did the bright pink T-shirt of the girl pressed against him.

What the hell? Jason scowled. Was he going to have to find another way home? That little shit.

Having heard the door open, Davey waved him over with one arm while keeping the other wrapped around the girl.

Muttering to himself, Jason descended the three cement steps of the stoop and crossed the lot. He really shouldn’t begrudge his buddy finding a date. Wasn’t he hoping to do the same thing?

She was cute, too. A little under Davey’s height, which put her around five-feet-four or -five, she had that hair that wasn’t quite brunette and wasn’t quite blonde but was kind of both, cut short level with her rounded chin. She had a slim little body with a tight belly shown off by the way her T-shirt rode up because her arms were around Davey’s neck. When she turned to grin at Jason, he guessed she was around their age with a bright smile and carefully plucked eyebrows. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes because it was too dark in the lot.

Jason stopped a few paces away from them and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks. “What’s up?”

Davey grinned, the lenses of his thick-rimmed glasses catching a glint from the light behind Jason. “This is Tacy.”

The girl unwound her arms and turned to face Jason but kept her hip snuggled up against Davey. She extended a hand to Jason. “‘Stacey’ without the ‘s’. Hi.”

He took it, mustering a smile. Maybe she had a friend inside. “Hi.”

Her fingers slid over his palm as their hands parted and she gave him a warm little grin that he couldn’t decipher.

Keeping his eyes on Jason, Davey rubbed her back, making her T-shirt ride up her belly a little more. With the dip of her low-rise jeans, there was a nice bit of soft flesh visible. “Tacy’s never had two guys at once. I told her we could probably accommodate her. What do you think?”

Jason blinked. Then his jaw dropped. “Huh?”

Tacy giggled, propping her back up against Davey so he could slide his arms around her from behind.

Davey wasn’t even fazed by what he’d said. “Tacy wants to do us.”

She giggled again. “Or you do me.”

One of Davey’s thumbs tucked into the waistband of her jeans, right behind the button. “Some of both.”

Jason’s gaze snagged on that thumb, his imagination filling in what was right near it. “You guys are serious?”

“Oh yeah,” Tacy assured him.

“Do I know you?”

Pulling away from Davey, she closed the distance to Jason. Blue. Her eyes were blue. “Not yet.” She let that blue gaze rake him up and down before she spread her palms over his chest, slipping them underneath the lapels of his jacket to lightly press his nipples. “But we can fix that.”

He glanced over her shoulder. Davey remained where he was, arms now folded across his chest. His head was cocked to the side, shiny straight brown hair falling to the side from the tilt of his head. That smug little grin he almost always wore was right there, challenging Jason to take up the offer.

A few months ago, Jason might not have considered it. But, after what had happened with Jen this summer, he was caught. That night the five of them had shared sprung to mind. It had been sexy as hell watching the other guys fuck Jen, knowing they were watching when he was inside her himself. All too vividly he could conjure up the memory of Davey, naked and sheened with sweat as he plowed into Jen from behind. He remembered the fevered glee in Davey’s unshielded eyes when their gazes had met over Jen’s back, Davey fucking her while Jen sucked Jason’s cock. It was the singular most erotic thing he could remember doing in his life.

The light in Davey’s eyes told Jason he remembered the same thing. And wanted to do it again.

Why the hell not?

His thoughts had taken mere seconds. His gaze returned to Tacy’s by the time she spoke again. “What do you say?”

He grinned down at her, setting his hands on the curve of her hips. “I’m game if you are.”

I’m thrilled to say I was able to write my usual 1,000 words this a.m. Something was missing when I couldn’t do that!

I had an interview that just came out on my friend’s yahoo loop. awakeningdesires@yahoogroups.com
Check it out for more up to date career news. If you want the personal details on my surgery, I put those on my personal blog. http://www.ashlynchase.com

Since my new story’s going to come out next week, thought it was time for an excerpt. It’s one of my “gay for you” stories. I seem to be rather fond of those. What can I say? I like seeing straight guys get shaken up.

BLURB (subject to change):

Justin falls for Kevin the instant they pass each other on a sidewalk. Only, Kevin’s not gay. The higher ups at Kevin’s company are gay, however, and Kevin’s accidental meeting with Justin gives him an idea how to get around his controlling female supervisor. If he can gain access to the top men at an exclusive gay club, he might be able to finally share his ideas.

Justin instantly agrees to be his date, despite the obvious heartbreak that’s headed his way for going out with a straight man. At the club, Kevin gets a chance to meet the company owner, Victor Chen, and the man seems interested… both in his ideas and his date.

Kevin can’t deny his attraction to Justin, but he’s not gay. Right? He should step aside and let Justin have a chance to date Victor, who’s gorgeous, rich, and shares Justin’s interest in fashion. Despite his internal struggles, he really wants to explore their growing bond. Justin is certainly game, but a part of him knows they can’t have a future together. Is there more to their instant attraction than either suspect?

*************************

Mostly edited excerpt, ©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

“… and then I…” Justin stopped dead in his tracks in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing two chatting women to split up to go around him. Ignoring their mild glares as they passed, he stared blindly over the plastic lid of his coffee cup, wondering if he’d just seen what he thought he’d seen.

Ahead, Frank kept walking a few steps before realizing he was alone. He spun, the spikes of his highlighted hair refusing to move in the mild breeze that kept the sunny street somewhat cool. “Hey?”

Justin heard him but couldn’t be bothered acknowledge the words. He snapped around, eagerly searching for… Oh yes! The hind view of the vision of loveliness that had just passed by him. Slightly rumpled charcoal slacks loosely framed a fine little derriere and an equally rumpled ice gray button-down draped slim shoulders. Waved hair the color of good French Roast almost brushed said shoulders.

“Justin, what are you…?”

Barely hearing his friend, Justin raced back down the sidewalk, nearly spilling his coffee in his rush to catch up to a wet dream come to life. He nearly ran over a guy on roller blades and just avoided getting wrapped up in a micro dog’s leash, but he finally made it to the vison’s side. He reached out to wrap a hand around an arm. Nice, he thought, feeling the biceps. Slim, but firm.

Said vision halted and twisted a graceful neck over and up to face Justin.

Oh. My. God! Innocently seductive brown eyes kind of focused on Justin from beneath sinfully full black lashes. Confused eyes that blinked up at him, positively enchanting. Elegant and sleek, just like the rest of him, Latino somewhere in his lineage, judging by facial features and gold skin tone. There was an almost innocence in that face even though he was had to be in his mid-twenties, at least. Justin wanted to devour the generous lips that parted in surprise.

“I’ve just fallen in love with you,” Justin declared, cradling his coffee cup to his chest as he kept hold on the vision’s arm. “What is your name, and please tell me you’re gay?”

“Justin!” Frank caught up with him, grabbing the wrist of the hand that had a grip on the vision’s arm. Frank tugged but Justin wouldn’t let go. “Justin, please, you’re annoying the nice man.”

Justin blinked at the dumbstruck object of his attention as the breeze puffed a lock of shiny dark hair across the man’s brow. “Nice man, please tell me your name so I know who to dream about tonight.”

“Justin!” Frank scolded, prying at his fingers.

Reluctantly, since the vision didn’t seem to be responding in kind, Justin let Frank remove his hand. But he kept eye contact.

“Please excuse him,” Frank said, yanking Justin away. “He’s not right in the head.”

“How can I be in the face of such beauty?” Justin protested, stumbling backward as Frank tugged.

Said beauty blinked slowly, his gorgeous pink lips still parted in shock.

“I work down the street at Juster’s. It’s a men’s boutique.” Justin wanted to cry. “Come find me, Prince Charming. Please!”

The vision blinked again, closed his mouth, and turned away.

Justin sobbed dramatically, watching a fine ass in shapeless slacks retreat. “There goes the love of my life.”

Frank snorted, forcibly turning Justin toward the intersection so he wouldn’t have to drag him anymore. “You’re a complete nutcase.”

Justin sighed and sipped his coffee. “I know. But you gotta go with your instincts, right?”

“Your instincts are going to get you killed one of these days.”

Justin waved his hand and avoided a group of chatting businessmen. “I’ve gotten beat up over it before. That’s nothing new.” He hummed dreamily as they stopped to wait for the light. “But he was pretty, wasn’t he?”

“He was that,” Frank admitted, pressing the WALK button.

Justin glanced back but the vision was long gone. “Not gay though, huh?”

“Not in the least.”

“Damn.”

* * * * *

Kevin returned to his cubicle, still bemused by what had just happened. He’d left to blow off a little steam with an afternoon walk. He certainly hadn’t expected to be hit on. By a guy, no less!

Raoul got up from his chair in the next cubicle just as Kevin sat down. Immediately, Kevin was reminded of the reason he’d left. Some of his amusement died.

“She’s gone,” Raoul told him, keeping his voice low. The three people in the neighboring cubicles were all on their side and could be trusted, but beyond that was sketchy.

“Gee,” Kevin checked his watch. “Three o’clock. Must be nice.”

Stacie pushed her chair close. “She’s going to” — she made quote signs in the air with her fingers — “‘work from home.’”

All three of them snorted at that.

Kevin shook his head. “The woman never listens.” He balled his fists, staring blankly at his monitor. “I know we could get that second installation if she’d just present the idea to either Greg or Victor.”

“Fat chance. She’s way too scared of how it went last time.”

Kevin waved a hand in the air. “We’ve fixed those problems. We’ve gone way beyond that. Besides, if we just talked to the customer…”

“Please,” Stacie scoffed, “remember what happened the last time she talked to a customer?”

Snarling soundlessly, Kevin slumped back his chair.

Raoul leaned on the low cubicle wall and shrugged. “What can we do?”

Kevin grimaced. “Unless we can get to Greg –”

“Which we can’t.”

“– or Victor –”

“Yeah, right.”

“– nothing.”

Stacie patted his shoulder before wheeling back to her keyboard.

Raoul gave him a sharp look and glanced at the drawers of Kevin’s desk. He raised his brows then shrugged before disappearing around the corner into his own little space.

Kevin knew what the look was for.

He stared at the second drawer of his metallic desk. Inside was the possible answer to their problems but only if he had the balls to go through with it. No one else does. It was an invitation that a friend had given him to an exclusive party at a popular local club. Kevin was not into the clubbing scene, but it was a sure bet that at least two of the three men Kevin needed to know would be there. The club was high-class and rumored to be the place. For homosexuals. Which both Greg Hanson and Victor Chen were.

Kevin Fuller, however, was not.

Kevin blinked, the coincidence crashing into him. He wanted to go to a gay club. He’d just been hit on by an obviously gay guy. Kismet?

**********************

Click here to visit my website’s main page for Just For You

Yet, 3 times now I’ve had reviews critical of me because of the brevity of these Quickies. *Sigh.

Do reviewers realize sometimes we’re given a word count and not allowed to go over it?

That’s the case with my latest Quickie, the fundraiser! 11 of us contributed to it, and since they were talking about making two print anthologies out of them, we were cut off at 15K. Mine was about 14.5K.

After the year with no royalties, I think I’ll rewrite and expand this book and put it in my own anthology.

Meanwhile, if reviewers don’t like short stories, please pass on them in favor of longer ones.

Life is made up of little moments, and if we’re not careful, the world will overrun us until we’re stressed out, upset, blind to everything but the next few words, the next diaper, the next meeting…

So steal a moment back here and there. Inhale the rich fragrance of your favorite hazelnut coffee or morning tea before slowly sipping it. After a burning workout lie down and just feel the thrum of your body. Inhale the tasty scents of chocolate chip cookies from a local bakery. Indulge in dipping your feet in a puddle or letting a sprinkler actually hit you once or twice while you’re out walking.

There are many places I’ve never been and will likely never be able to see…so when you sit down and decide to write a novel set in an exotic locale, look around you…to me, it’s exotic. It’s new. It’s refreshing. So why not invite me over and show me around? Make me feel like I belong in your world. Because, in the end, isn’t that what fiction is all about?

Dawn Montgomery, Angel

http://www.dawnmontgomery.com/blog
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Available soon from Loose Id

So here it is, the last book of the main arc started in Dark Elves I: Taken. The children conceived in the first three books are now grown and ready to cause trouble. As a quick primer, Brevin is Salin and Diana’s son, Lanthan is Krael and Suza’s son, Tykir is Hyle and Gala’s son, and Eryhaen is Savous and Irin’s daughter. Not to mention there’s this guy… from book three… who showed up in book five… yeah, we’re dealing with him too.

BLURB:

As the first girl child born to the dark elves, Eryhaen is rhaejena—princess—and desired by all of the men around her. Born with magical gifts that challenge even the most experienced sorcerers among her people, she has the awe of her people and the devotion of her three best friends and lovers. Brevin, Lanthan and Tykir have been at her side their whole lives and each of the three young men would do anything for her and each other.

But Eryhaen needs more than untutored if eager lovers. She is out of control, and she knows it. Her magic is raw and wild, and she is not the only one who’s started to see her as a danger.

She needs help.

The only possibility is Radin, a legendary sorcerer, returned from the dead but magically unconscious for a quarter of a century. Dreams and undeniable instincts tell her that he’s the solution to her problems, if she can only wake him up.

Once she does, what then? He may be the answer to her problems, but is the legendary lover the man for her? Or is he meant for someone else?

****************************

©2009 Jet Mykles, all rights reserved

Brevin’s left arm flew up, the long, slim dagger in reverse grip along his forearm to deflect Lanthan’s blade. As Lanthan began to twist away, Brevin brought up a fist, aiming for his gut. Lanthan was better than that, having spun into Brevin, catching him off guard enough so that when the smaller man’s ass rammed into his hips, he stumbled enough for Lanthan to grip his left arm and flip him head over heels. He ended flat on his back in the sand, stunned for those few precious seconds it took for Lanthan to drop to his knees and straddle Brevin’s chest, his blade at Brevin’s throat.

Lanthan’s grin was barely sane underneath the long fall of fringe that spilled over the wide band tied about his skull. “Got ya.”

Brevin snarled, fingers digging into the sand. But Lanthan’s knees pinned Brevin’s arms to the ground.

“Only because it’s left-handed.”

“No excuse,” said a deep voice overhead. “A skilled warrior fights equally well with both hands.”

Brevin closed his eyes. Lanthan’s father, Krael, was a cruel taskmaster, even in training. Especially in training. He wouldn’t accept any less than Brevin’s or Lanthan’s best even if they had just come back from battle. He wouldn’t let them have fun and just blow off steam as Brevin had hoped to do. Can’t he pay attention to the others? There were plenty of other trainees in the practice grounds for Krael to torture.

Lanthan laughed, easing up on Brevin’s throat. “Try again?”

Brevin had wondered if it was a good idea to spar so soon after their return, but after they’d left Tykir with the healers, he and Lanthan had been much too keyed up to stay in the dining hall or go to the pools. Tykir would be all right, but neither of them had truly believed it until the healer had said it himself.

“Yes.” Brevin snatched his right arm up from under Lanthan’s left knee and swung it in a roundhouse toward his friend’s head. As he’d fully expected, Lanthan shied right and back so the punch missed. Weapons dropped in the sand, they tussled, the two of them grappling until Brevin’s greater bulk won out and he had Lanthan pinned underneath him. Lanthan could barely catch his breath for laughing, his cheek pressed to the sand with one arm trapped underneath him and the other held between them by Brevin. Glistening black skin stretched over the taut muscles as Lanthan struggled underneath his weight. Brevin breathed over the closely shorn hair on his friend’s neck.

Then Lanthan stopped laughing. His ice blue eyes hooded. Clearly, he felt Brevin’s cock in the crack of his ass, rock hard. Only the dual layers of their clothing kept Brevin from pushing in immediately. Lanthan smelled divine. No. That wasn’t right. Lanthan didn’t smell like that, a scent of earth and sweet and sex. Not even fighting with his friend could get Brevin that instantly hard.

But there was one person who smelled like that, and one person who could get him instantly hard.

Lanthan blinked, his eyes shifting so he could look up at Brevin. The same thought occurred to him. And not just them. All around the practice arena, sounds of fighting stopped.

Barely rising from Lanthan, Brevin tilted his head and swiveled toward the entrance. There she was, alone and achingly stunning in one of those long, teasing shifts she preferred. Teasing because, although it was ankle-length, it was completely open at each side, held to her body only by the silk rope tied at her waist. When she walked, hungry eyes could catch tantalizing glimpses of the spare panties she wore to guard her sex. Eyrhaen. Her thigh-length hair was loose, much of it draping her slim shoulders as she calmly surveyed the cavern full of men. The men, young and older, barely moved, watching her, as aware of her heightened arousal as though she had announced it.

Then she found them, Brevin and Lanthan, and she smiled. Brevin couldn’t contain a shiver as she stepped onto the sand and began walking toward them.

Just before he shifted his weight off his friend, he glanced down at Lanthan. Ice blue eyes were closed, and white fringe almost hid his resigned look. Brevin could feel the sexual heat shimmering off him and knew that his own need was building to match it.

She had that effect on them. She had that effect on all of them.

He’d just gained his knees when two other youths raced toward Eyrhaen from behind. Brevin would have shot up to her defense, but Lanthan’s quick grip on his arm intercepted instinct and kept him on his knees. With one brief, curt nod, he showed Lanthan he was in control again, and they both remained where they were to watch.

Despite his instincts, he knew she didn’t need his help.

The boys were younger, maybe one hundred forty or fifty cycles at the most. They’d probably just come into sexual awareness. It was the only excuse for their behavior. Older males had learned their lesson with Eyrhaen. It was time for these to learn theirs.

They fell to their knees in front of her, stopping her progress. Desperate energy radiated from them, vibrating in the dry heat of the arena and spilling off the fresh bare skin of their shoulders and torsos.

“Rhajena,” one breathed, reaching for the thigh that was exposed by the nonexistent side of her shift.

The other just whimpered helplessly, hands up toward her, imploring.

She stopped, staring down at them. She could not have looked at a bug with any less interest. When the one touched her leg, she slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

He gasped, and Brevin managed not to wince in sympathy. He knew that slap. Knew that she put something extra behind it. Her touch could be bliss or torture or an agonizing combination of the two.

“Please.” The other one found his voice. Brevin knew that strangled tone too. He’d used it on a number of occasions, although he liked to think he’d never looked this pathetic in front of her. Few things would make a raedjour warrior beg, and the last few cycles had taught them that Eyrhaen was one.

“Go back to your lessons,” she chided, “both of you.” Like they were boys and not youths perhaps only thirty cycles younger than she. She stepped around them and resumed her path toward Brevin and Lanthan. At least she smiled as she approached, although he’d come to dread the smile almost as much as the frown. Her arousal beat at him, and he could only wonder what had gotten her to such a state. Her effect was far more pronounced than normal, the pleasure of it caressing him in hidden places she had yet to touch. What does she do when we’re not around? No, he’d rather not think about that.

She stopped a pace in front of them, fine sand sifting in between the toes on her pretty feet. She reached out to card her fingers through Brevin’s short locks. “I’m glad you’re back. I need you.”

Brevin closed his eyes. It was that simple. No matter what he was doing, if she spoke those words to him, he would follow her.

“Lanthan.”

He opened his eyes to see her other hand caressing Lanthan’s cheek. Excitement buzzed below his heart. Time with Eyrhaen was special, but sharing her with his friend was exquisite.

Without speaking, both he and Lanthan gathered their knives and rose to their feet. By that time, she’d turned and started out of the arena. They followed like cubs after a mother bear. Brevin felt the envious stares, but they didn’t bother him. He was one of the lucky ones, or so they thought. He and Lanthan — and Tykir — were lucky enough to be around her age, just enough older that they’d been close friends with her before her sexual needs had started to blossom. Very few of those whom she didn’t bless with her attentions understood that the luck had an evil twist.

Krael patted his shoulder as they passed, but said nothing more. He knew. He understood. As a truemated male, he didn’t feel her pull as strongly. He wasn’t immune, and as Lanthan’s father, he knew what they were to her.

She led them down a short corridor to the bathing pools. No surprise. She liked hot water. She liked being wet and clean and preferred it for her lovers. Lovers. That’s what she called them. Not for the first time he toyed with the idea of arguing with her about the meaning of that word.

“Where’s Tykir?”

Brevin and Lanthan flanked her as they walked, staring down the stray males who showed interest in delaying them. “We took him to the healers.”

She grabbed his arm, distracting him. “Is he all right?”

“He will be,” Lanthan answered, carrying the sheathed knives that were usually strapped to his forearms. He’d be taking them off again soon anyway. “They put him under so he could sleep.”

“How did he get hurt?”

“Rogues.” Both he and Lanthan spoke together, the same note of disdain in their voices.

Eyrhaen said no more on the subject.

There was a hot pool in a relatively secluded corner of the main cavern she preferred. Brevin wondered if anyone else ever used it without her presence anymore. He doubted it. The serving boys kept a fresh pile of drying cloths and vials of her favorite oils and scents on the natural stone bench that had been carved into the rock wall beside the pool.

Brevin dropped to one knee beside the small brazier to stir up the banked flame kept there. It wasn’t a bright light and didn’t provide much warmth, but they didn’t really need either. She liked to be warm, though, and she claimed to like the dim firelight. Her wishes were the rule.

Beside him, she had untied her silk belt, and Lanthan was helping her to lift the flimsy shift up and off her head. Brevin’s eyes took in the slim, lovely curves of her hips and buttocks. She shifted her stance, turned toward him just right that he could get a glimpse between her firm thighs at the rich, juicy red folds of her sex. A pang of need twisted painfully in his gut at the sight, the scent of it wafting into his nostrils to make him dizzy. He caught himself leaning toward her, mouth watering. Goddess!

When she was free of the shift, she leaned back into Lanthan. He froze, shift still in one fist, his other hand automatically sliding around her slim waist to pull her flush against him. Shorter than Brevin, Lanthan was just a little taller than Eyrhaen, allowing a snug fit when they stood close. Her eyes shut in bliss. The shift slithered out of his grip as she snuggled into the curve of his body. Lanthan bent his head, his short hair tickling the point of her ear. Nibbling at her throat, Lanthan brought his palms up to cup her breasts, squeezing them just the way they knew she liked. She moaned a reward for him.

Brevin shook himself, shifting to sit on his butt so he could pull off his boots. He knew his role in this wasn’t just voyeur. Things worked best if he anticipated. Boots off, he shuffled out of his trousers, careful with the painfully tight, hard cock that sprang free to slap his belly. He discarded the idea of tugging it. Wouldn’t give him much relief. She wouldn’t allow him to come yet anyway.

Once naked, he eased into the burbling heat of the pool. A quick dunk underwater wet his skin and let him slick his unruly hair back from his face. Minerals and natural bubbles caressed him as the water further warmed his blood.

Lights from the more public pools behind them limned Eyrhaen and Lanthan in soft white, the long locks of her hair draped across her breasts and shoulders. She had twisted her neck so she could capture Lanthan’s mouth with her own. Their black tongues played between open lips, white teeth flashing in the shadows. One of Lanthan’s hands still massaged one breast, pinching the nipple, but his other hand had slid down, fingers now cupping into her sex.

Humming happily, she pulled her lips from Lanthan and glanced down to check on Brevin. Seeing him in the water, she grinned and merrily turned out of Lanthan’s embrace. Lanthan’s fingers slid from her as she let herself fall backward toward the water.

Brevin caught her, his heartbeat speeding up when he had her delectably naked body in the cradle of his arms. Her long hair trailed like moonlight across the surface of the water as she wound her arms around his neck.

“Kiss me,” she demanded, and he obeyed instantly. Her lips opened under his, and a moan oozed from his throat into hers. She tasted of cool silver, earth, and sweet, savory sauce over fresh meat cooked just so it melted in his mouth. He released her legs so his arm was free to wrap around her back, pinning her to him. Arms fastened around his neck, she pulled her legs up to wind them around his hips. His cock throbbed between them, pressing her belly, and he slid both hands down to palm her ass, the better to press her even closer.

Lanthan was there, behind her. His scent mingled with hers, driving Brevin to suck more deeply at Eyrhaen’s mouth. His hands slid over Brevin’s, encouraging him to spread the cheeks of her ass farther apart. Brevin did and shared what he knew would be a frustration for his friend. Lanthan would want to drive home, slide his cock into either opening exposed by the spread, but he couldn’t. If he so much as tried, the magic that was Eyrhaen would shrivel his erection painfully, so much so that he would not be able to get it up again for at least a moon.

Instead, Lanthan braced his hands beside Brevin’s and knelt in the water. Brevin raised her higher at Lanthan’s nudge, then swallowed her squeal of delight when Lanthan must have started to lick her. It was a good thing she didn’t weigh much — to Brevin, at least — because if she did, he wouldn’t have been able to hold her. It was hard enough to do when his wicked friend, while laving at Eyrhaen’s anus and sex, reached between Brevin’s legs to fondle his balls.

Good thing for him when Eyrhaen ripped her mouth from his and declared, “Enough. Put me down.”

*****************

Click here for my website’s main page for Dark Elves VI: Awakening

As I write this post I’m over 7,000 miles away from them on a job that will end long after next summer. Thanks to the wonders of internet I can see and chat with my kids, read them books, tell them good morning or goodnight, and watch my husband cook up the delicious meals he’s so good at. Before I left, my husband made me make a promise. While I was here I’d write my heart out. Aim for the stars. Dare the Universe. And I mean to do it.

I call it my Personal Writing Challenge. If you’d like to join me, feel free to follow The PWC on twitter HERE. It doesn’t have to be fiction-related. Poetry, journal writing, even flash fiction goals. It’s your personal challenge. This isn’t a speedwriter challenge or nanowrimo. It’s about pacing yourself and finding your writing groove.

Dawn Montgomery
http://www.dawnmontgomery.com/blog
http://twitter.com/Dawn_Montgomery
http://twitter.com/ThePWC

I’m talking the basic pairings, I guess. m/f, m/m, threesomes and moresomes that are combinations of those. I don’t like to limit who my characters will and won’t have sex with. Oh, not that my characters won’t find a bunch of different things to angst over. After all, without that, I wouldn’t have a story. And there are those of my characters who do have hang ups about gender, but most of them get over it by the end of whatever story I’m writing.

I recently described many of my characters as having a “fluid sexuality”. My aunt liked that a lot. Thought it sounded pretty. Truthfully, so did I. Feels pretty too. I like the idea of deciding to sleep with someone because they’re damn hot, regardless of their gender. Isn’t it much more fun and flexible that way?

I was going to be true to the pure m/m in my Heaven Sent series. I was, really. But then Gretchen spoke up, a woman I like. I don’t know, I guess writing a story with a girl in it made the series seem more rounded to me. Of the eight HS heros of the first four books, only one of them had never chosen to sleep with a woman, and I’m not so sure Chris didn’t experiment at least once.

I never intended the Dark Elves to be solely m/f. I’ll admit that I hadn’t intended to write a full m/m story when I wrote the first book, but the bits and pieces were there even in that book. After I wrote Snagged and Tech Support, an m/m elves book was pretty much a foregone conclusion.

I only have two books that have purely heterosexual heroes. But, similar to Chris, I’m not so sure Dragon from Fox and Dragon or the boys from One For the Team — all of them at least — are completely straight.

So I guess I’m not a pure m/m or m/f author. I don’t think I ever will be.

That means wonderful moments of adventure and fascination. But it also means other things. Isolation, missing my family with everything in me, new writing habits, and fear of a new way of doing things.

It’s that fear I want to focus on.

As writers we are typically solitary creatures. Even in a crowd most of us feel alone. Unsure. In writing, we sometimes rely on particular habits to get us through that next book.

And that brings me to today’s post…what happens when the way you’ve always done things can’t be done that way anymore?

Ever know a guy who wouldn’t wash his socks because his team was on a winning streak? Someone with a lucky jacket or hat? A certain habit they have before (or after) a big event?

Hygiene issues aside (LOL), most traditions/habits are harmless in nature. But what happens when, instead of increasing your creativity, these habits stifle it?

If you write well in chaos and are suddenly thrust in the midst of silence, can you still write? If you want to make deadline, you’d better.

What if you work full time and suddenly find yourself without a job? You were used to having some time during the day in which you weren’t writing, weren’t in the chaos (or silence) of homelife, had to carve out time for writing and had a somewhat steady income. Now you’re at home. You should be able to write all day long now, right? Only if you’re interested in burnout. Or the opposite. You suddenly had to get a job outside your writing career so you have to learn to balance the new drains on your time and energy while still maintaining the break-neck pace you were accustomed to. Only if you’re interested in a nervous breakdown. Do you stop writing because your conditions change?

I have to say no (or else I’m in trouble LOL!).

When it hits you at once, you’ll have to give yourself time to get your bearings again. Does that mean you stop writing? No. Write every day, even if it’s just a sentence. Or a word. Or a thought. Get something down on paper to prevent your mind from shying away from writing. You may not be able to produce the same amount of word output as before, but you’re outputting something. And in the chaos of change, that’s the important thing. Writing should be that calm in the storm, the security blanket you wrap around you to keep your sanity.

I’ve got a netbook and a used alphasmart that says I can write anywhere. There are headphones with a music list specific to my needs so I can focus on the words I’m typing and the mood I need to create to write it. What have you armed yourself with to prevent chaos from destroying your writing?

I have a challenge for you. If you are used to writing in a specific place at a specific time, change it up one day a week. Write in a different room, by hand if necessary, or a different time. A new location. With music if you’re used to silence or without if you’re used to it.

Why do this? Why mess with a routine or a comfort zone? Your brain is affected by training. If you train the creative side of your mind to continue working no matter what happens, you may find that in the midst of chaos…you might just win after all.

Dawn Montgomery
http://www.dawnmontgomery.com/blog
http://twitter.com/Dawn_Montgomery