Hiya! 

I’m here as Holly today. A few days ago, To Kill a Ghost was released. It’s the third and last story in the House of Horrors series. 

I really like this world, but it’s time to allow our psychics and vampires to go on their merry way.  

In this one, we get Zidane and Arawn’s story. One is a vampire who’s spent a few months staked in a basement, and the other is harassed by ghosts and has just realized that if he touches a vampire, the ghost can’t reach him. The problem is he doesn’t want to be around vampires, so lucky for him, there is one hidden in the basement who can’t move or talk. 

There is a new couple in every book – Rufus the Dead, The Death God, and To Kill a Ghost – but I strongly suggest reading them in order since there is an overlapping arc. The focus is on the couple, but it might get a little confusing if they’re read out of order. 

Read the first chapter below! 

To Kill a Ghost

Who knew vampires were ghost repellent? 
 
Arawn Sage has a ghost problem. The warden of the facility where he once was held captive has come back to haunt him, and Arawn has no idea what to do about it. There is no way to keep a ghost out, and the warden is preventing Arawn from sleeping while trying to persuade him to do things he doesn’t want to do. It isn’t until he accidentally touches a vampire and the ghost momentarily disappears, he feels a sliver of hope. Maybe there is a way out of this torture. 
 
Zidane Dodd has been staked in the basement of a castle for close to a year. He can’t move. He can’t breathe. He can’t talk. And he’s bored out of his mind. But one night, Arawn comes down there to hold his hand. He can’t feel it, but since he has nothing better to do, he doesn’t mind playing safety blanket for a scared little ghost whisperer. 
 
There has to be a way to get rid of a ghost. Arawn has no idea how, but he can’t walk around touching vampires whenever he needs a break, can he? 

Buy Links:

Paranormal gay romance: 58,349 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Arawn Sage tiptoed down the first three steps of the basement stairs before he stopped to listen. He’d been in the castle for seven months now, and he wished he could enjoy it. He’d spent years, all his life, dreaming about being free. 

Now he was. Only… he didn’t feel free. 

“Where are you going? Planning to hang yourself in the basement?” 

No, he wasn’t planning to hang himself in the basement. The light of his phone slid over the steps. He did his best to ignore the specter, spirit, ghost, wraith, phantom, or whatever term was the correct one, and stepped down another step. 

“You need to take the others back to the facility before you off yourself. You always were useless, but your life would be worth something if you did the right thing now.” 

Arawn took another step. It was hard to listen for sounds when there was a ghost blabbering by his side. 

There were other ghosts in the castle. He’s seen a few, but he didn’t go looking for them, and should he happen upon one, he pretended he couldn’t see them. He was exhausted. This particular ghost didn’t leave him be, and if he somehow managed to fall asleep despite the constant prattling, he touched him. The moment he dropped off, an icy caress woke him. Sometimes his nightmares beat the ghost to it. 

It was the reason he was tiptoeing down the basement stairs at three in the morning—not the nightmares, but the talkative ghost. The warden. The person he’d feared the most growing up and well into his twenties. A nightmare come to life, only now he was dead, and he was still here. 

He’d found Arawn a few weeks ago, and since then, he hadn’t managed to get any rest. 

Arawn had yet to tell anyone he was here. He should. He knew he should, but he hardly spoke to anyone, and other than having told them he couldn’t conjure spirits, they hadn’t talked about his skill. 

Hour upon hour of listening to the warden demanding he hand Prophecy, Minerva, and Thanatos back to the facility was doing his head in. Driving him insane. Preventing him from sleeping. 

His eyes prickled, and all he wanted to do was cry. And sleep. 

He’d cried a few times when he couldn’t take it anymore, but it changed nothing except then the warden taunted him instead of saying the things he normally did. 

He didn’t leave Arawn alone in the shower, but it was where he allowed his tears to flow. 

Useless. He was useless, and he was tired. So, so tired. The droning of the warden’s voice was drilling holes in his brain. 

The warden didn’t care about him, he didn’t care about Jaki, and Arawn was unsure if he was aware Kratos and Himeros lived in the castle. He didn’t pay them any attention. They’d never lived at the facility, so it might be he had no clue they were psychics or seers or whatever they were called. 

Arawn had spent his entire childhood, teens, and about half of his twenties in the facility. In the green wing. Jaki, Minerva, Prophecy, and Thanatos had been in the blue wing, though he hadn’t had a clue about them while he lived there. 

A little over seven years ago, he’d been moved to the black group, and the warden had informed him it was his last chance to be useful. 

He hadn’t been. 

The warden had been switched for the superintendent, a strict woman with eyes so sharp they made him shudder. She was dead now, the werewolves had killed her, and luckily, she hadn’t come to haunt him. Yet. He wasn’t sure what made one spirit stay and another move on. 

He slowly made his way down the stairs, doing his best to ignore the warden as he harped on about how useless Arawn was. 

A couple of weeks ago, he’d collided with Gregory in the doorway to the kitchen, and Gregory had grabbed his shoulders. Normally, no one touched anyone in this house. Or it wasn’t true. Rufus and Jaki were mated, as were Gregory and Thanatos, so they touched. Minerva and Prophecy also touched, but no one touched anyone who wasn’t their boyfriend or girlfriend. 

Gregory had, accidentally, and he had apologized when Arawn had whimpered and thrown his arms up to shield his face from a blow. No blow came, but there had been a moment when Gregory’s thumb had rested against his skin above the collar of his shirt. During the brief contact, the ghosts had gone away. 

The moment Gregory removed his hand, they’d been back. 

Were vampires ghost repellent? 

They weren’t on their own. There was the ghost of a tall, caramel-skinned woman with braids hanging down her back who often visited Rufus and Gregory. He hadn’t let on he saw her, but sometimes she reached out as if to touch one of them, only to hover with her hand over their arm or something similar. So vampires weren’t ghost repellent on their own, but maybe the combination of Arawn and a vampire was. 

It was worth testing. 

He’d never met a vampire before Gregory got him out of the cabin where he’d been kept with Moneta, Penthus, Aletheia, and Himeros. It had been chaotic. A pack of wolves had crashed in through every possible entry, and Arawn had done his best to stay out of the way while the others had fought them. 

He’d seen Gregory then. Deadly, but oh so handsome. Scary. 

Then they’d been taken to the castle, and there was Rufus, a far less handsome vampire with flaming red hair and scars over half his face. Arawn liked Rufus. A lot. He didn’t speak to him often, but Rufus was calm and collected, and he was kind to Jaki, his mate. Arawn watched them sometimes when they were in the same room. It was interesting to see the looks they exchanged, the small touches, the way Rufus always made sure Jaki ate and served him before he served himself, and so on. 

Arawn had never seen anything like it. Jaki had been in the facility. He’d gone through what Arawn had gone through, and still he had managed to move on. 

Arawn didn’t think he ever would. It had been over seven years since he’d last had to endure a private session in the bowels of the house of horror—they had an apt name for it here—but he still didn’t do touch. Or being alone in a room with another person. 

Which was why this was fucking terrifying. 

He crept along the corridor, the light of the flashlight on his phone shaking slightly. The stone walls did nothing to shield him from the January cold, and he shivered. 

When they’d been settled in the castle for maybe a week, Rufus and Gregory had set them down in the kitchen and explained there was a vampire in the basement, and they were not to remove the stake in his chest. 

Another shiver took hold of his body. A fucking stake. 

They’d said they were free to visit him, Zidane, and he could understand everything they said, but couldn’t reply. He couldn’t move at all, but if they opened his eyes and stood in his line of sight, he’d see them. 

Arawn hadn’t gone down here. He didn’t want to see a staked vampire. 

But if vampires were ghost repellent, then maybe a paralyzed vampire was the best vampire to hang out with? He blew out a breath. 

“What’s this?” The warden glared into the room, then something changed in his expression, and he turned to grin at Arawn. “Good boy.” 

Arawn stared at him. “What?” Fuck, he’d promised himself he wouldn’t speak to him. He hadn’t uttered a single word during the weeks he’d been here. 

The warden smiled. “You’re gonna release him. He’ll take you all back to the facility. I know this vampire. We had a deal. Or I had a deal with his master. She’ll do the right thing, I’m sure.” 

Arawn stood frozen. No one had told him why Zidane was staked in the basement, only that he was, and he was not to be released. If he’d come here for Jaki, Thanatos, Minerva, or Prophecy, it would explain why Rufus and Gregory didn’t want him around—or maybe not Prophecy. He didn’t think they cared about Prophecy much. 

But wouldn’t they have killed Zidane if that was the case? 

“I’m not releasing him.” 

“Of course, you are.” The warden straightened his back and glared at him. He was about a head taller than Arawn and broader, but he wasn’t as frightening as he’d been when he was alive. He could talk until Arawn lost his ability to think, but he couldn’t touch him. Or he could, but all it did was create a cold sensation. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t dangerous. 

He blew out a breath, strode into the room, and took in the shape of a man in the dark. He was stretched out on a table, but Arawn aimed the light on the floor, not wanting to see. His heart was racing in his chest, but he neared the table. Shit, this was creepy. 

“Eh… hello, Zidane. Sorry to bother you at this hour.” He winced. Did Zidane know what time it was? 

“I’m… eh… gonna touch you. Sorry.” 

“No!” The warden rushed him, a chill blowing through Arawn’s soul as he tried to push Arawn away from the table, then Arawn slipped his hand into Zidane’s, and he was gone. 

Arawn let out a shuddering breath. “Oh fuck.” He yanked his hand away, and the warden was back. 

“Remove the stake, foolish boy.” Fury contorted his features. 

“I’m sorry.” His mumble was barely audible, but he hoped Zidane would forgive the touch. It must be terrifying to be this vulnerable and have someone touch him when he couldn’t move away. Arawn hesitated, but as the warden kept hurling slurs at him, he slipped his hand into Zidane’s, and peace settled. 

He whined. He didn’t want to touch anyone, didn’t want anyone to touch him, but as the silence held, a sob wanted to climb his throat. 

Peace. 

* * * * 

Zidane Dodd didn’t know who was in the room with him. It wasn’t a voice he recognized. He believed he’d been here for about nine months, but he wasn’t sure. At times, someone said what day it was, but it wasn’t something people often dropped in conversations with a staked person. 

In the beginning, he’d been furious. Now he was bored. He’d been staked before, had spent two years in a coffin only a decade ago. No one had come to see him then. He’d been alone in his head, and not talking to a single person for two years drove you crazy. 

He’d imagined voices. 

Then Iris had come by, and in exchange for his loyalty, she’d gotten him out. He might not have liked Iris, but working for her beat being trapped in the dark. 

She was dead now, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He wished it hadn’t resulted in him being here, but as mentioned, he’d been staked before, and this time around it wasn’t too bad. 

It was bad enough. 

He wanted someone to pull the fucking stake out. 

He needed to feed. He wanted a shower. He wanted to change clothes. He wanted to be able to go wherever he wanted to go. But after a few months of people coming here to talk to him, he was invested in their lives. Not invested emotionally, but it was like watching a soap opera, though he couldn’t see, he only listened to their words. 

Rufus and Gregory opened and closed his eyes for him. It was a nice gesture. He’d never been close to either of them, had in fact done some pretty shitty things to fuck Rufus’ life up, but they were… He wouldn’t be caught publicly calling them decent, but as far as jailers went, they were the best he’d had. 

“Oh, God.” The low mumble made Zidane want to turn his head and look at the man. He couldn’t, of course. Who was he? And maybe more importantly, what was he doing? His body wasn’t moving as if he was being pushed, so he didn’t think he was doing anything too bad. Though he could’ve slit his wrists, and he wouldn’t have a clue. 

“I’m sorry for doing this.” 

Okay. He’d notice if he was being undressed—he wasn’t. Was he taking his blood? Cold filled his core. Rufus had almost given his blood to Thanatos, and he’d screamed his protest in his mind, but then Gregory had stormed in and taken over. 

Judging by the sounds, Zidane believed he’d not only given his blood to Thanatos but bonded with him as well. Stupid fucker. Zidane would never bond with anyone—he was almost over the foolish dreams of finding someone to share his life with. And should he ever find someone, it wouldn’t be a psychic. They were as fragile as humans. They were humans, only they could do things with their abilities humans couldn’t. 

Fuck, what if this stranger was bonding with him without his consent and then went and got himself killed? Fear clawed at him, but he tried to calm his panicky brain enough to feel if a bond was forming, but no, he didn’t think so. The stranger wasn’t drinking his blood. He was almost convinced. And he’d know if he was fed some, right? Yes, he was almost sure. 

So what was he doing? 

Silence stretched and held. Several minutes went by, and all the man did was breathe. 

He wanted to ask questions. Most often, when someone came to see him, they’d talk. Gregory would be rude, but Zidane had come to enjoy it. As the months had gone by, the anger had simmered down in both of them, and the insults were now more habit than anything else. 

Rufus talked about what happened in the world. Jaki didn’t say much, but since they’d only met twice before Zidane had been staked and neither of those times had gone well, he didn’t blame him. Minerva talked about Prophecy and the people in the castle. Thanatos talked recipes. At first, it had annoyed Zidane, but now he found it amusing. 

This man, though. It could be Prophecy, but as far as Zidane was aware, he’d never come to visit him before. Then there were the new people. Kratos, Arawn, and a Greek-sounding name he never could remember. He was the one who’d fucked things up with the wolves. 

Zidane was surprised he was still alive. Had someone tried to trick him into a mating, he’d have slaughtered them. 

He hoped it wasn’t the guy who created lust who’d come to him. Was he horny? Yeah, but was he more horny than he’d been the last few months? He didn’t think so. It allowed him to relax a fraction, though the tension was only in his head. 

Maybe the lust-god was making someone desire him and not the other way around. If he’d understood his skill correctly, he created a one-sided bond. Fuck, he hoped not. If someone came here to try to force mate him, he’d be royally pissed. 

Rufus wouldn’t allow it, would he? He’d been forced into a mating. Zidane had been there, had been part of forcing him. He winced, though only in his mind. Shit, maybe Rufus would allow someone to bond with him. Payback was a bitch. 

Icy fear curled around his heart. What if he’d be trapped here forever? If one of the psychics bonded with him, they’d get an extended life. If they kept him here, safe and sound, staked on the table, they could live for centuries. 

Panic had him trying to move, but his body didn’t respond. 

“Are there no chairs here?” 

The low murmur silenced some of the terror in Zidane. Chairs? He tried to blow out a breath, but there was a stake in his chest, preventing him from breathing. 

“I’ll be right back.” 

Nothing changed apart from footsteps sounding on the stone floor. Then there was a scraping sound from somewhere outside the room. Shortly after, the man was back. He apologized again, but Zidane still had no clue what for. Then there was a little jostle, as if maybe he’d moved his arm. 

Another few minutes went by, and the man’s breaths evened out. Had he fallen asleep sitting by the table? 

Early on, Thanatos had come down here to nap. Zidane waited. Normally, it didn’t take long before the nightmares started. 

If this man were the same, there would soon be jerking, whimpering, pleading, and shouting. Zidane hated to listen to Thanatos’ dreams. It made him feel guilty. He hadn’t done whatever had been done to the psychics, but he’d done nothing to prevent it either. If he hadn’t ended up staked, he’d have helped the warden bring his runaways back to the facility. 

It was too late for regrets now, but he liked Thanatos, and he didn’t like knowing he’d played a key role in almost succeeding in bringing him back to the house of horrors. 

This Mate Thing is OUT!!!   

I had so much fun with this story. I needed to write something not related to any of my previous stories, something I could write and then not come back to. No sequels, no side characters needing their stories told, no big plot of saving the world or conquering the enemy.   

Simply put, I needed to do something fun and easy without any pressure, and that’s how Boris was born.  

Boris is a slightly dramatic wolf shifter who has found his mate, which is awesome! So many shifters never find their mates, so he’s truly blessed. The problem is, Simon, his mate, doesn’t know wolf shifters exist, he doesn’t believe in soulmates, and he thinks Boris is too young for him. Pfft. Boris will win him over.  

There is one thing, though. Simon has a seven-year-old son, and Boris never really saw himself as a father. It doesn’t really matter, since Ira is there, he’s now part of Boris’ family, but how do you tell a human their your destined mate when they don’t want to date, don’t believe in mates, and don’t like wolves?  

It’s a problem.  

Read the first chapter below! 

This Mate Thing

For how long can you lie to your mate? 

Boris Gifford is one lucky wolf! A few months ago, he found his mate, which is a blessing. There is just one problem. Simon is human, and in his excitement, Boris might have charged right at him in his wolf form, scaring him half to death.  

Since then, he’s worked himself into Simon and his son’s lives, using food as bribes. But Simon doesn’t trust easily, and he’s very protective of his son. The more time that passes, the more worried Boris gets. He has to tell Simon the truth, but Simon doesn’t believe in anything supernatural, he’s terrified of wolves, and he doesn’t believe in soulmates.  

Boris knows he has to come clean, but what if Simon rejects him when he realizes what he is? 

Buy Links:

Gay Paranormal Romance: 47,744 words

JMS Books :: Amazon

Chapter 1

Boris

So… stalking. It’s not wrong if it’s for a good cause, right?

No, no, hear me out. I don’t mean in a creepy way. I don’t intend to hurt him or anything. Never. Not his kid either. Though… I’ve never considered becoming a father, and now I’ll have to.

Have you seen babies? I don’t think I have the right skills. I can’t stand crying of any kind, and babies? Eek. Nope. Not for me. And they puke. Who wants to be near someone who throws up on you regularly?

Not me.

Luckily, the kid is a little older and should be out of the puking age. Maybe. Humans are strange, though.

I suck at guessing age, but I think the kid is five. Six? Hell, maybe he’s nine. I don’t know.

I can do it. I’m pretty good with kids that age, whatever his age is.

He’s in school, which should mean he’s out of the puking stage, right?

It doesn’t matter. He is here, and my investigations—Google—tell me he lives at the same address and has the same last name as the love of my life.

So his son.

Simon. Simon Towne. He’s the love of my life. He’s forty-two. Gorgeous eyes that change color depending on what he’s wearing and how the light falls. He’s about my height, maybe a little shorter, but no more than an inch, and he’s not as bulky as I am. It’s my shifter genes.

He’s mine.

He doesn’t know it yet, and Zahrah, my best and worst friend, says I can’t tell him. She claims it would be super weird if I went up to him and told him, which brings us back to the stalking.

I mean, stalking in a charming way.

I can be charming.

Stalking, like how I know he shops on Tuesdays, after work, before he picks up the spawn, and therefore I also shop on Tuesdays, when he’s finished work, before he’s picked up his spawn.

And how first I had to find out where he lived and then threaten the previous owner of my house to sell it to me.

It was up for sale already!

I wasn’t forcing him out of his home, but the bastard wanted to sell it to the respectable—his words—couple who’d gone into a bidding war with me. I outbid them, and yet the fucker wanted to accept their offer instead of mine.

I made him change his mind.

Two months ago, I moved in across the street from Simon and his brat. I’ve been waiting for an ex to show up and pick the kid up for a weekend, so I can make a move, but so far it hasn’t happened. No grandparents either. Or friends who have swooped in to give Simon a night off.

There hasn’t been a single person who’s come knocking on Simon’s door. At first, I believed it was a good thing, but then Zahrah informed me I was being a jealous asshole.

For the record, I don’t think what I was feeling was jealousy, rather relief over not having to fight anyone for his attention. But Zahrah jabbered on about how hard it was to be a parent, and how Simon was doing it all on his own without anyone there to share the burden with.

It made me realize I’ve been a shitty mate. It stings. For two months, I’ve watched him, but I haven’t once considered taking the kid to give him a few hours to himself.

Not once.

It makes me wonder if the fates are wrong. We shifters only get one true mate, someone who complements us, someone perfect for us. And the universe gave me one with a kid. Like… I don’t hate kids, but there weren’t any in my life plan.

He is my mate, though.

I know it in my soul, in my bones.

Back in June, I was running in my shifted form up in the nature preserve in Rutchester. It was near where I lived back then, and there is a lovely little waterfall where the creek plunges down the mountainside—mountain is used generously here. It’s more like a rock side, about twenty feet tall. So nothing like what you see in some exotic countries, but for being here, it’s pretty impressive. And on the rock wall next to the fall, there is almost like a cave with rock carvings from long ago, with long-legged people and funny-looking ships.

Sometimes, tourists find their way there.

I was trotting along, enjoying being in fur, when I scented him. Heat washed over me, and I howled.

Maybe not the smartest thing to do since there aren’t supposed to be any wolves in Rutchester. It happens that a lone wolf passes through now and then, but the humans most often don’t notice it, and we don’t care. It’s pretty easy to tell by scent if it’s a shifter or a natural wolf.

We leave the natural wolves be. If the poor things are spotted by humans, the farmers nearby always start shouting about killing them, and then there is a debate about whether hunting wolves should be allowed or not, and we’re all put at risk.

There are always some crazy fuckers wanting to kill wolves, but I hope they never drop the regulations. If every hunter were allowed to hunt wolves, we’d be doomed. It’s hard enough to keep our existence a secret as it is. If the forest fills with crazed hunters, someone is bound to be found out sooner or later.

Anyway, back to me scaring my mate half to death.

I was elated, as I’m sure you understand. My mate was nearby.

I took off at full speed and tumbled out on the small trail near the waterfall, only to come face to face with a child. A dark-haired, scrawny kid with dark, bottomless eyes.

First, I was horrified. You have no say in who your mate is, but a child? A human child. I didn’t want to wait decades before I could complete the mating, and to think my mate never would be able to run with me on a moonlit night filled me with a kind of sadness I’ve never experienced before. It was grief. For him. I ached for the loss of sensation he’d never experience.

Then something hard hit my snout.

I snarled in pain as stones, one after another, came flying through the air.

Simon grabbed the kid and shoved him behind him before shouting at me to get the fuck out of there while he kept hurling stones at me.

He has good aim; I’ll give him that.

I ran off. What else could I do? I didn’t think he’d like to hear me declare my undying love right then. See, I can be perceptive.

Sigh.

I kept my distance, despite my heart almost being yanked out of my chest as soon as there was distance between me and Simon. I stalked them back to their car and memorized the license plate. It was all I could do. I’m fast, but I can’t keep pace with a car for hours, and it would cause panic if I ran after the car through towns and villages.

I won’t lie. I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to find him again, but I did, and lucky for me, he lives in Hillden, only about an hour’s drive from Rutchester. It meant I could move without having to live without my pack, which is a relief. I’d walk through fire for Simon, but I think I’d go mad if I couldn’t meet my pack mates now and then.

And I need Zahrah nearby.

I huff to myself. I didn’t hesitate for a second about moving, but my plan has ground to a halt since then. I’ve tried speaking to Simon a couple of times, but he only gives me short, impersonal replies, and his smile is forced.

I don’t know what to do, and since Zahrah snarls at me every time I mention going over there to tell him he’s my mate, I don’t think it’s a good idea. She’s normally right about those kinds of things.

To comfort myself, I head to the garage where I’ll tinker with my Harley until Simon comes home. I make sure to always leave the garage door open, so he’ll see me. Most often, I play classic rock a little too loud to make sure he hears me when he steps out of the car.

I’ve heard humans are a bit deaf, so I take precautions with the volume.

Looking for something to read in time for Halloween? May I suggest The Cold Fingers Collection by Amy Spector? Cold Fingers (Book 1) has one of my favorite prologues in the whole wide world. Awesome! 

The Cold Finder Collection

Love. Death. And everything in between.

Ten years ago, Cold Fingers introduced readers to Christopher Minnick—a reluctant hero with a sarcastic tongue, an oddly endearing circle of friends, and his fair share of hang-ups. Now, in celebration of its 10th anniversary, the complete trilogy is collected in one delightfully macabre box set.

Christopher’s life may not have been perfect, but his death is a pain in the ass.

Cold Fingers (book 1)

Christopher Minnick is at a bad place in his life. Turning thirty and newly out of the hospital, the last thing he wants to do is attend a birthday dinner, even one thrown in his honor.

When he is introduced to a friend’s godson, things just might be starting to look up.

Or are they?

Victor Polidori seems like the perfect man. He’s clever, attractive and interested. But, even as Christopher finds himself falling in love, there are some things that just don’t add up. And when bodies start disappearing, Christopher knows he needs to get to the bottom of it.

Will Christopher find his happily ever after or is it true what they say? All the good ones are either married or straight. Or they’re necrophiliacs.

Body of Work (book 2)

Life with Vic isn’t exactly what Christopher Minnick was expecting. His boyfriend has given him a new lease on life—literally—but he doesn’t have a job, Jessie thinks he’s a ghost, and there are only so many closets on hand for shoving Jonathan into. Now, with Lee back in the limelight, things just might become more than Christopher can handle.

Lee Hellstrom is hitting the big screen after more than three decades and, with the much younger Grant Cooper at his side on the red carpet, he plans to make a lasting impression. The only problem is that not all the attention Lee has drawn is good.

When Lee goes missing, it’s up to Christopher, Vic, and Grant to save the old man from a most horrible of fates.

Pretty Plastic (book 3)

Christopher Minnick is still not a zombie.

Three months after his run-in with the vampire Marcus Gråsson, Christopher’s ankle has healed but his life is anything but perfect. There are people watching the house. Flora’s worried about the scarecrow. And after an unexpected tragedy strikes, Christopher will need to figure out how to deal with the loss without tearing a rift between his brother and himself.

When Victor accepts a job with Pretty, a prestigious private hospital, to work alongside the handsome Austen Poole, Christopher ends up with one more thing to worry about. While it might seem like a dream job, there’s something not quite right in paradise, and when Vic starts acting strangely, Christopher will stop at nothing to get his man back.

When striving for perfection, you sometimes need to get your hands a little dirty.

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Paranormal Gay Romance: 61,660 words

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Excerpt:

(From Cold Fingers)

I’d just finished saying my goodbyes to Nathan and Amber, a couple with a shop just down from mine. I had promised to stop by the following week, to help them identify the age of what they thought was probably a Scandinavian trunk, when Lee came to stand beside me. 
 
“I’m glad to see you looking so much better. You had me worried there for a few days.” 
 
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” I really did. It was nice to know there was still someone that worried after me. “I also really appreciate this evening. I had a good time, and I think I needed it.” 
 
He patted my shoulder before slipping into a long coat in a soft gray. It worked with his complexion and the silver of his hair. 
 
“I want you to take care of yourself, Christopher. You need to be with people, and none of this running yourself ragged at that little shop with what amounts to no help. You need money, you come to me.” I didn’t even know what to say. “And you come visit. I only have you and Binky now, you know. And don’t just text. I despise all these texts. People need in-person, face-to-face. It’s healthier.” 
 
I pulled Lee into a tight hug, thanking him again, before he headed out of the restaurant door and to the curb. Through the front window, I watched him claim his car from the valet, and waved when he held up his hand in a final farewell. 
 
He was probably the closest person I had in my life, more like family, really, than a friend. 
 
“Did you need a ride home?” 
 
I turned to give Vic a smile. “Thanks, but I just live down the street.” 
 
“Could I walk you home, then?” 
 
I almost said no. “Sure.” 
 
We said our goodbyes to the last few stragglers before pushing our way out onto the sidewalk. I pointed north, and we started in that direction. 
 
“So,” I began after a few moments of silence. “How is it that Lee dragged you out here this evening.” 
 
Vic laughed. “I asked to tag along, actually.” 
 
I turned to find him watching me, a smile on that lovely mouth. It was flattering really, and it had been a good long time since I had noticed anyone looking at me in that way. 
 
“Why in God’s name did you want to do that?” 
 
“I was curious, mostly. I stopped by your hospital room a couple of times, but you were asleep.” I’d rather have not known that. “I happened to see your paperwork come through the ER. I figured there couldn’t have been too many Christopher Minnicks, and I’d heard Lee talk about you for years.” 
 
I found it odd that Lee had never talked to me about him. 
 
“So, you’re how he found out I was admitted? I’d wondered about that.” 
 
“Yeah, hope you don’t mind. I called him first thing.” 
 
I didn’t. It would have been another matter completely if he had somehow managed to contact my parents. We hadn’t spoken in years, and I was pretty sure they wouldn’t have come anyway, but it wasn’t something I wanted confirmed. 
 
“No. That’s okay. I would have told him myself when I was up to it.” 
 
We chatted a little more about nothing important, huddled into our jackets. Late September was still warm enough during the day, but in the evenings it had already started to dip into the fifties. As much as I hated anything over seventy-two, I hated anything under sixty even more. 
 
“This is me here,” I said, indicating the building just ahead. “It was very nice meeting you, Vic. Thanks for the company.” 
 
He held out his hand, and I took it, shaking and letting go. I almost convinced myself that this was all there would be, surprised at my own disappointment, when he asked, “Would you be interested in going out sometime? I’m on a two-week rotation, so I’m working nights for the next two weeks straight, but after? Would you like to maybe have dinner?” 
 
I smiled, taking a moment to answer. Not because I didn’t know what the answer would be, but so I wouldn’t come across too fucking eager. 
 
“Yes, I’d like that.” 
 
We exchanged numbers, me adding my number to his phone, him adding his to mine. It was exciting in a weird way, like all little firsts are when you meet someone you like, someone you could, maybe, really like. He snapped a picture of me to add to his contacts, and I made a goofy face, not comfortable with having a pale, overly thin, version of myself on his phone. 
 
We said our goodbyes again, this time exchanging a quick hug, and he watched me until I made it inside my building. What he thought he might be protecting me from, I didn’t know. He was only the slightest amount taller than my six foot, and no broader. If I had somehow gotten myself in trouble in the eight steps it took to reach my door, we probably would have both gotten our asses kicked. 
 
Still, it was a nice gesture, and I couldn’t stop myself watching from my apartment window until he was long gone.