Monday, April 22, 2019

Barakel's Mask A Series Of Angels 5 Boost




Barakel's Mask
A Series of Angels Book 5
by Joel Crofoot
Paranormal Romance






For the last few millennia Barakel has been lusting after his best friend, even protecting him for their whole sentence in hell, but now back on earth he must face reality and the reality is that Sahariel doesn’t feel that way for him. To make matters worse Barakel now has to live with a beautiful demon that he can’t get his mind off of, but after his time in hell he’d never let himself touch someone so evil. Philotanus has made a living by leading men into temptation, a path he began long ago when it was made clear to him that this was all he was good for. But having sought the protection of the angels in exchange for a scroll means learning a different version of his own story. Could he be ready for a new path or is he just setting himself up for another heartache? With a baby on the way it is more important than ever for our favorite angels to find and eradicate the local demon horde, but can they do it in time? Will this baby be their salvation or annihilation?


 “Holy shit Dude, watching you type is like watching grass grow,” Philotanus complained over Barakel’s shoulder. Barakel was sitting at a laptop computer that Philotanus had set up in the living room of the back house and was filling out an application for the Red Door Society, with the fake identity that Butator had supplied him with. “Then don’t watch,” he grumbled back, and swiped a calloused hand over his scruffy beard in exacerbation. He heard a laden sigh come from Philotanus. Technology wasn’t Barakel’s forte because as the angel of lightning he had to really be mindful of his frustration level around all things electric or else he might accidently fry whatever he was working with. He read over the questionnaire in front of him. “It wants to know what I like sexually.” “So?” Came Philotanus’s voice from several feet back now. Apparently the demon had given up supervising him. “So what do I write?” he called back. “What are you into?” What was he into? He hadn’t had sex in hundreds of years, how would he know? He turned around to make a snippy comment about Philotanus helping him supply answers that would get him accepted into this society, but he stopped short at the sight before him. The demon, who was an attractive sight to behold upright, was now bent over with his palms on the floor and his butt in the air. His feet were slightly spread, making his tight little ass look like an open invitation, and the stirrings in Barakel’s stomach at the sight made him uneasy. “What the fuck are you doing?” “Yoga. It's good exercise especially when you’re irritated by watching someone hunt for letters on a keyboard, but if you keep looking at me like that maybe I’ll do it more often.” He shot Barakel a sly grin, ran his tongue over his bottom lip, then he walked his feet up to his hands, showing off his flexibility. The demon gracefully changed positions and turned, standing on one foot with his other cocked into his knee and placed his hands in a prayer hold at his heart, as if nothing had just happened. Even his perfect, intentionally-messy looking, dark hair hadn’t been disrupted, but now his dark, sensuous, gaze was fixated on Barakel. Barakel felt his mouth water at the thoughts conjured by the pose he had just seen. No! He scolded himself. “You look like a fucking tarot card like that,” Barakel retorted, unwilling to give in to the demon’s temptations. Demons were all alike. Evil.




A quick scan produced seven other people in the room, none of whom Philotanus recognized. The men were similarly dressed to him but the women wore various versions of lingerie mixed with miniskirts and stilettos. Elaborate Venetian masks adorned them all.
“This way,” he said to Barakel and led the other man to the bar. “Scotch and soda, and a highball,” he ordered. When their drinks arrived they moved to a far corner and eyed the room. “Now what?” Barakel asked.
Barakel shot him a questioning look and Philotanus shrugged. “Humans are always shy about this kind of thing for the first hour or two. It's best to just stand here until they start coming to us. Trust me, I’ve experimented.”
“Now we stand around awkwardly until everyone drinks enough to accept that they’re here for a sex party and everyone else knows they’re here for a sex party.” A few minutes of silence went by before Philotanus broke it. “So what’s your preference? Men or women?” Barakel straightened up at the question. “None of your business.”
Barakel scrubbed his beard with a sigh. “I don’t know. Whomever strikes me at the time.”
Philotanus wanted to laugh at Barakel’s unease with the subject of sex. It seemed such a contradiction to have someone so powerful with so many insecurities. “C’mon man, we’re at a sex party. If there are any others…” meaning demons “here who are trying to listen in, we should be talking about sex.” It was a lie. Philotanus just wanted to know. “Same,” Philotanus volunteered. “So what's your favorite body type?” Barakel just glared at him, so Philotanus decided to try a less direct approach.
Philotanus smiled, eager to finally have Barakel playing along. “The dark haired one in black.”
“Okay, you see that group of people?” Philotanus pointed to the bar where about 10 newcomers had gathered, all waiting on drinks with their backs to him. “Just from behind without looking at their faces, who would you do?” “No one. I don’t do sex.” “Wrong answer at a sex party. Just pretend with me, play along in case someone is listening.” Barakel rolled his eyes but then studied the group. Finally he said, that one with the light hair. Philotanus took a sip of his drink and nodded approvingly. “Good choice.” Male, narrow hips, tight ass. Noted. “You?” Barakel asked.
Philotanus snickered along with him and soon they were into a game of rating everyone who walked through the door on an attractiveness scale. It was actually kind of fun, and even though the angel would never admit it, Barakel was smiling now.
The woman in question turned her head enough for both of them to get a good look at her and with their enhanced vision they could see the amount of makeup she was wearing and her efforts to cover her skin. “Aww man,” Barakel laughed. “Yours looks like she got hit in the face with a bag of hot nickels!”







Joel Crofoot was raised in northern New York state on a large family sheep farm, then left home to join the United States Marine Corps at 18 years-old. After spending four years in Japan as a radio operator, Joel re-enlisted into the bomb squad (explosive ordnance disposal) and was stationed out of California. Two tours to Iraq later, Joel decided to leave the Marine Corps to pursue higher education and recently graduated with a doctorate in psychology in the summer of 2017.






Monday, April 15, 2019

Stone of Matter Blitz


Stone of Matter
B. L. Barkey
(Litiguh, #1)
Publication date: April 10th 2019
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
Ammon and his brother dream of becoming Guardians for their hidden home called Cephas Island. Under the watchful eyes of Levitians and Stone-wielders, ventures, choices, trials, and darkness carry Ammon ever closer toward his mortal destiny. As he continues to unlock his physical, mental, and spiritual capabilities, darkness builds momentum throughout the world.
Spiritual titans wage war over the Creation Stones, seeking the final hidden Stone of Matter, and revealing glimpses of the Greater War that affects them all. As balance shifts between light and darkness, dreams weave through Ammon’s mind, guiding him towards foreign paths. After imagining a life spent with his family and friends, he must choose which paths he will tread. Yet one thing remains clear. The world of Proelum, and life as they know it, is about to change. Perhaps for the last time.
EXCERPT:
The brothers realized the massive shapes were not mythical sea monsters, but wooden ships with billowing sails. There were twelve of them. Foreign ships approaching rapidly from the west, releasing a hellfire of metal upon the Isle. Ammon had heard stories of pirates before that day. It had all seemed like fantasy before then, though incomparable to leviathans.
He felt a flood of new questions pour into his mind, all concerning the outside world. The first of which was, Why would they hurt us?
After several more blasts, there was still no reaction from the Temple. The white structure was ghostly as sand, and flowers fell around it. Dust and strange shouts drifted about, illuminated by the rays of the setting Sun. The brothers couldn’t believe the mysticism before them. It was like a scene from Ammon’s often-vivid dreams.
As the wreckage ensued and the ships drew ever closer, it became clear to the brothers that they were in real, mortal danger. The entire Isle was in shambles as projectiles continued striking the Temple. Everything seemed ablaze as sunrays lit the scene on fire. All was hazy and red like crimson clouds. All while the Temple stood still.
Finally, the Temple doors fell open. The brothers whimpered with relief. Two lines of Guardians appeared from the bright void, marching out with white robes and blank faces. There was a fluid motion to their step, lacking all impatience. Ammon looked at Mikael as a sideways smile grew on both their faces.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” Ammon said, turning back towards the violence. The two lines of Guardians were parallel to each other and to the beach, facing the approaching threat. Metals pummeled the sand around them, launching fragments into the air. The Guardians remained untouched.
A great dust storm stirred up, obscuring all shapes into dark-brown shadows. The Guardians stood still as the dust cloud thickened, while the blasts from impacts grew louder.
“What are they waiting for?” Mikael mumbled, tears of anticipation in his eyes. I don’t know, Ammon thought to himself. I don’t know…


Author Bio:
Since he was a child, he always had a passion for reading, fiction movies, adventure, and school. He always loved school, particularly math. He was the kid that would sleep in Algebra class, then wake up to ace the test. Yeah, no one likes that kid. Oh well.
He is a single dad to two children (of the “canine” persuasion) named Toby (blue heeler mix) and Nala (husky wolf mix). Oh, and he has a cat named Lucy. She is cool too.
Brandon still loves reading, running, and math which is pretty much all he does now. He also loves traveling around the U.S. and other countries when given the chance. He hopes to publish his books, continue to contribute to society through engineering, travel the world, and find his best friend in female-form to marry and raise a family with (both human and canine children).

XBTBanner1

Moonstruck Release


Title: Moonstruck
Author: Aleksandr Voinov & LA Witt
Publisher: 44 Raccoons
Release Date: 12 April 2019
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 95,000
Genre: Romance, contemporary, friends to lovers, May/December

Add to Goodreads

Synopsis

Anthony Rawson is screwed. Fans, producers, and his agent are all chomping at the bit for the next book in his wildly popular Triple Moon series, but he’s got epic writer’s block and is way behind deadline. Then he reads Axis Mundi, a fanfic novel by his online friend “SirMarrok.” It isn’t just a great story—it’s exactly what the series needs.

Samir Daoud is thrilled when “Ulfhedinn” wants to meet up after reading Axis Mundi. When Ulfhedinn turns out to be Anthony Rawson himself, Samir is starstruck. When Anthony tells him he wants to add Axis Mundi to the Triple Moon series, Samir is sure he’s being pranked. And when their online chemistry carries over—big-time—into real life, Samir is convinced it’s all too good to be true.

The problem is … it might be. The book deal, the sex, the money—everything is amazing. But fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and Samir is left wondering if Anthony really loves him, or just loves his book.

Excerpt

Grimacing, he stood and went back into the kitchen to plug in his phone. While it charged, he poured himself a cup of reheated half-day-old coffee, and as he drank it, he stared at his darkened phone. Axis Mundi was amazing. No two ways about it. He wondered what SirMarrok would think if he knew who he’d sent it to. He was probably shy and socially awkward—what writer wasn’t?—and thought he was sending this book to some other Triple Moon fan. Not the author himself.

I need to know the face behind this book.

Anthony tapped his fingers on the counter beside his phone. The two of them had chatted and emailed, even flirted a bit—okay, a lot—but they’d never exchanged photos or real names. According to SirMarrok’s administrator profile, he lived in a suburb of Seattle, so just a few hours away.

Anthony opened his email and quickly wrote out a message.

SirM,

This book is fucking amazing. Would you be interested in discussing it over coffee?

Ulf

Before he could think twice, he hit Send.

Even though he reloaded the page a few times, SirMarrok didn’t respond immediately.

His stomach grumbled again, and he opened the fridge to check for edibles, but nothing appealed to him. There was one lone pomegranate in the crisper, but that didn’t count for a full meal, especially after Ryan had warned him about not eating enough protein right after training. Nobody delivered pizza out here, and he might have been able to throw something together based on the two vine tomatoes, the half jar of pesto, and the red onion he’d spotted, but what he really wanted to do was sit down and read the rest of the story, even though he should probably do his fucking job and at least go up to the office to bang his head against the half novel that was mocking him from the twenty-four inch screen.

Just then, the intercom buzzed—one long, two short. Thank God, it was Chastity. He padded to the door and opened it. She held a pile of letters and a cookie tin. “Hey, do you have time?”

Code for, “You’re not writing, are you?”

“Come on in.” He stood aside and waved her into the house. “You know you don’t have to buzz me, right?”

“I know, but God forbid I let myself in while you’re in the zone.”

“Much appreciated. Fortunately, I’m not.” He started toward the kitchen. “I was reading. Checking something in the chronology.”

“So how’s the book going?” she asked.

“It’s not really going, but I’m working on it.” He resisted checking whether SirMarrok had responded. He knew stalkers and obsessives, and he wouldn’t turn into either of those. “How’re you?”

“Jesse’s off to his grandparents, so ...” She shrugged. “Kind of bored, I guess.” Between being Anthony’s bodyguard, part-time PA, and the mom of a very active eight-year-old, Chas had the patience of a Swiss glacier. Bored or not, she deserved a break.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“I have. And I brought you muffins, in case you’re interested.” She put the tin down. “Jesse didn’t manage to eat all of them, though he gave it a good try.”

“Thank you, St. Jesse, patron saint of starving artists.” He opened the tin and found one of the banana-and-chocolate ones that he loved. Beat cooking for one person while feeling guilty about not writing. “Coffee?”

“I’m too wired. I’ll make tea?”

“Sure.” He offered her the kitchen with a sweeping gesture, “Mi casa es su casa.”

She gave him an ironic glance, considering she lived on the property as part of her package (and because her last house had been torched by her crazy ex). While she went through the cupboards to assemble a teapot and hot water, Anthony demolished the muffin in a few bites, and then set up the coffee machine again.

“So, planning a long night?”

“There’s a full moon. I absolutely plan on a long night.” He had the most amazing view from the office, and he could happily spend a few hours gazing at the moon if the novel didn’t budge. The whole werewolf thing had started because some of his Army buddies had teased him about being a secret werewolf: nocturnal, “dark brooding charm,” a penchant for taking solo night hikes during full moons—all of that. And look where it had taken him.

“You getting anywhere with that book?”

Anthony groaned.

Chas laughed. “Still?”

“Still.” His eyes darted toward his phone. “Of course, then one of my fans manages to figure out exactly where the story needs to go.”

“You’re letting fans beta read for you now?”

“No, no. I told you about SirMarrok, right?”

“Sir—” Her eyes lost focus. “Oh, right. From that fan site.”

“Yeah. He finished his book. And it’s ...” Anthony sighed and threw up his hands. “It’s amazing.”

“So what are you going to do? Ask him if you can use it?”

Anthony straightened. “I’m not going to take his work.”

“No, but if it’s really that good for the series ...”

“I don’t know. Leanne will probably blow a gasket if she even finds out I’ve been reading fanfic, never mind wanting to incorporate some of it into the series.”

“If the alternative is waiting another year for the eighth book, she might be flexible.”

Anthony laughed dryly. “Good point. Well, I emailed him to see if he wants to meet and talk about it.” His stomach clenched. Had that been too forward? Didn’t SirMarrok like meeting people in real life? Might think—

“Oh, Anthony.” Chas snickered. “You’re so adorable when you’re flustered.”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes. “The second you mentioned meeting him, you got all tense and pink.” She gestured at her cheeks, and Anthony could suddenly feel the heat in his own.

“I’m just a little nervous. He has no idea who I am.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Is that the only reason you’re nervous? Because he’ll find out his biggest fan is Anthony Michael Rawson?”

“I ...”

Chas laughed again and patted his arm. “So adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“Is that any way to talk to the woman who keeps the stalkers away at cons?”

He groaned theatrically. “Fine. Sorry. And yes, it is the only reason I’m nervous about meeting him.”

“Bullshit it is.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

She ticked the points off on her fingers. “You blush whenever you mention him. You’re clearly more nervous about meeting him than you were about being on a panel with a bunch of your literary idols at Comic-Con. You actually think I’m going to believe for a second you’re nervous about meeting another writer who’s—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. But you’re still wrong. I’m just, okay, maybe a little intimidated by this kid.”

Chas blinked. “Intimidated? Why?”

He waved a hand at his phone. “Because he can write fucking circles around me with my own goddamned characters! What the hell am I supposed to say to him, anyway? ‘You clearly know my own world better than I do, so how much do you charge to save my ass?’” He shook his head. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have emailed him. It isn’t like I can use his book, and for all I know, he completely botches the ending anyway.”

“And how likely do you think that is?”

Anthony met her gaze, then sighed. “About as likely as me finishing book eight by tomorrow morning.”

“Sounds like he might save your ass, then.” She smirked and started to speak, but he gestured sharply at her.

“Don’t even say it.”

“Say what?”

He glared, and she smothered a laugh.

“All right, I won’t say it. But has he responded to your email yet?”

“I don’t know.” He glanced at the phone again, eyeing it like it had morphed into a spider that was about to bite his hand. “I haven’t checked.”

“Well.” She nodded toward the spider-phone. “Check it.”

He hesitated, but figured there was no point in arguing with her—there never was—and picked up the phone. He refreshed his inbox, revealing several new emails. Most were notifications about posts on threads he’d been following on the fan site, but there it was:

SirMarrok.

Holding his breath, he tapped the message.

Are you serious? Coffee? That’d be great. When/where? — SM

Anthony was almost certain that if Chas hadn’t been standing there, he’d have made a very undignified sound. Only her presence and playful scrutiny saved him.

“He wants to meet.” And Anthony couldn’t help grinning like an idiot. Probably blushing again, if the heat in his cheeks was any indication.

“Aww.” Chas grinned. “So it’s a date?”

“It is not a date.”

“Why not?”

“Besides the fact that he’s probably half my age?”

She snorted. “Or maybe twice your age?”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Point being, I want to meet him because I want to talk writing. Maybe I can hook him up with Leanne, get his career going.” Unless, of course, he was already a seasoned writer who’d been impersonating a newbie to get his kicks. But no. No. SirMarrok had seemed really fucking genuine about everything. Anthony didn’t know that much about him in real life—they’d mostly talked writing and wolves and fan stuff. He’d kept his own life under wraps so he could be himself. Which was ironic. This whole fame thing locked him into behaviors and reputation and expectations.

“Anthony.” She folded her arms and arched her eyebrow. “It is okay to get involved with someone. You know, if you click.”

“And it’s okay not to get involved with people.” He sipped his coffee. “I’ve done just fine this long.”

Chas studied him. “You get lonely sometimes.”

He shrugged. “Happily married people feel crowded sometimes. Doesn’t mean they want the other person to leave. In my case, yeah, I get lonely once in a while.” Another shrug. “Doesn’t mean I want someone else in my space.” They’d had this discussion before, and the thought of going through the whole thing again exhausted him, so before she could answer, he held up his phone. “You mind if I send him a quick reply?”

She waved a hand. “Sure.”

He typed out, You’re in the Seattle area? What about Saturday, around lunch? You choose the location. He knew SirMarrok was working in IT—he sometimes referred to a “job” and a “boss.” And if they hit it off, he wanted the option of spending a few hours rather than being constrained by schedules and such. Damn that need for a day job for most writers. A talent like SirMarrok should be raking it in and choosing his own hours.

“So what’re you going to wear, Casanova?”

“Uh. I was planning to go kind of low-key.” Thank God he’d only given in to that author photo-related pressure after the publisher had agreed that it didn’t necessarily have to resemble him; some atmospheric black-and-white shoots and Photoshop had made sure he didn’t really look like the guy on the jacket. However, if SirMarrok was the ├╝berfan he appeared to be, he’d have seen Anthony at conventions, or on Tumblr and YouTube. “Won’t be fooling him I guess. Damn.”

“Ah, the burden of fame.” Chas put a hand on her heart.

“Well, I could use a little break. Head out to Seattle on Friday, watch a movie or something, and come back on Sunday? You want to come along?”

“Movie sounds great.” She opened his fridge and made a face. “I have a nice ratatouille bake at the house.”

“No competition from the lone pomegranate.”

“I thought so. And while I go get that ...” She pointed at the pile of letters. “A few nice ones this time.”

“That’s because you burn the nasty ones.” He finished off his coffee. “How bad were the bad ones?”

“Mostly threats over the next book not coming out.”

“Christ, every time I read one of those I want to kill a character.”

“Yeah, yeah, Mr. George R. R. Martin, we know.” She laughed. “I’ll go get that ratatouille.”

She left the kitchen, and Anthony’s gaze went back to his phone. So that was that. In a few days, he’d meet the guy who apparently knew his own stories better than he did. And much like the unfinished book upstairs, he had no idea how this weekend was going to play out.

Purchase at Amazon

Meet the Author


Aleksandr Voinov is an emigrant German author living near London, where he works as an financial editor, writing coach, and complementary therapist. At 43 years of age, Voinov has written more than two dozen novels and published five novels with German publishers. After many years working in the horror, science fiction, cyberpunk and fantasy genres, Voinov is now primarily writing queer fiction.

Described as a "workaholic speed-writing freak" by fellow writers, a "creative writing class drill sergeant" by his writing 'padawans', Voinov is a self-confessed geek and has enlarged his days by 12 secret hours in return for the sacrifice of ten albino virgin pygmy hippos.

Voinov's style has been called "dynamic to the point of breathlessness" and "disturbingly poetic" by publishers and literary agents. A recurring theme in his fiction is "the triumph of the human spirit" or an individual rising to challenge the status quo in a world gone bad.

Intellectually, he is drawn to the dark side of human nature and history. As a trained historian, he is fascinated by wars, religion and the conflict between the individual and society.

Interests at the moment include WWII, medieval siege warfare, William Marshall, the Golden Age of Piracy, and whale-hunting. These interests are subject to change from one day to the other, and Voinov single-handedly sustains two bookshops in London.

Public Contact Email: vashtan@gmail.com
Website: http://www.aleksandrvoinov.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aleksandr.voinov.12
Twitter: https://twitter.com/vashtan
Goodreads Author Profile: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3074905.Aleksandr_Voinov
Tumblr: http://aleksandrvoinov.tumblr.com/
Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/aleksandrvoinov
Newsletter: https://us3.list-manage.com/subscribe?u=0648aab5d3675b949f1329b38&id=eae6814f9c


Giveaway

a Rafflecopter giveaway

 Blog Button 2

Sahariel's Awakening A Series Of Angels Boost




Sahariel's Awakening
A Series of Angels Book 4
by Joel Crofoot
Paranormal Romance




Sahariel was a fallen angel, cast into hell for sleeping with human women, but there, his radiant skin was a beacon to all demons. In effort to hide, he locked himself inside a coma, and snuffed out his light. But even though they have been released from hell, his slumber continues. All of that changes when a young woman wanders into his dreamscaped sanctuary, but how did she find him? Heather is a psychologist now residing with the earthly angels since they rescued her from a demon attack that left her with nightmares. One night, in her dreams, a man with luminous skin saves her, and she chalks it up to a dream until she discovers the man in a coma living in the back house. How could she have dreamt about someone she has never met?



He sat beside her on the bed, lingering and feeling her approach as she neared the realm of slumber and left the waking world behind. He could see her prone form now and the peaceful countenance of relaxation, free from worry lines or tension. One hand lay over her chest while the other fell at her side, and the hand over her chest was resting on a pair of ripe breasts pressed against her t-shirt that ignited a spark in his body. A desire he thought was dead was instantly resurrected, but there was more to it than that.

The tranquility of the moment washed over him too in way he hadn’t felt in a millennia. No danger, no threats, just peace. He longed to hold onto that feeling so much so that he didn’t notice his hand taking hers until his skin made contact with her fingers.

Her skin was warm and smooth.

Inviting.
Welcoming.
He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and felt the connection immediately, an all-encompassing peace wrapped around him like a warm blanket as he breathed in her scent and he didn’t let go when he felt her start to stir. How could he? He hadn’t felt security like this in so long and he wasn’t about to let go now.
Safe.

The hand he was holding suddenly jerked back and was followed by a slight shriek as she tried to back away.

Apparently she remembered him.
“Wait, I’m not going to hurt you!” he cried desperately trying to return the peace of moment but she had already jumped out of bed and was headed for the door. “Wait, please!”
“I don’t have horns or claws!”
She halted at the door when she noticed that he wasn’t chasing her but already her absence from him left a void of the comfort he had sought for so long and experienced for only a second or two. “Please don’t go,” he all but begged. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“You tried to kill me!”
“I’m sorry, I thought you were a demon,” he replied, slowly venturing closer.
“Not all of evil is ugly. Evil comes in many forms,” he replied.
Everything he wanted to say raced through his mind and impulsively he wrapped her in a hug and nuzzled into her hair, despite her attempts to push at his chest. He wanted to say how he felt, to thank her for finding him, to tell her about his loneliness and his wonderment of her, but all that came out of his mouth was “Don’t leave me.”
She gave a skeptical look but turned away from the door, and his heart vaulted excitedly at the prospect of her sticking around. It felt odd and wonderful to be in the presence of another being. It was like coming home, but to a home he’d forgotten. He had the overwhelming urge to express this but he wasn’t certain how to proceed.

Then he pressed his lips to hers in a desperate, searing kiss that sent a yearning all through his body. Her smooth lips parted and with his tongue he tried to convey everything he wished he could say. He felt her accept his kiss, sucking more of him in, reassuring him, healing him, exciting him.
And loneliness.
“What is happening?” Heather asked in wonder when he’d finally reluctantly pulled away, allowing them both to catch their breath.
“You’re dreaming,” he whispered.

Oh crap, what am I doing?He asked himself as the sudden realization of his actions hit him. He was revealing himself, touching someone, and a human at that. The feeling of the monster he knew himself to be churned his stomach and he disappeared back to his world.

Back to safety.



It was him!
She’d never laid eyes on this man before but somehow she knew with absolute certainty that the man sleeping on the bed was the same one from her dreams. He had the perfectly blissful countenance of sleep, a trimmed stubble of whiskers, the same straight nose and full eyebrows. His lips were closed but the familiarity of their softness on hers was still fresh in her mind from last night. He was just as perfect in real life as he was in her sleep.
Was she dreaming again?
She placed her hand on his cheek to test the theory and he turned to nuzzle into it just before his eyes fluttered opened and found hers. The same dark blue she’d come to know in dreamscape was now gracing her and his hand landed over hers, clutching it to his face.
“It’s you,” he whispered, just as his skin began to emit a warm ray of sunshine, serving only to emphasize his physical appeal even more, like touching his skin was akin to touching a piece of God himself.





Joel Crofoot was raised in northern New York state on a large family sheep farm, then left home to join the United States Marine Corps at 18 years-old. After spending four years in Japan as a radio operator, Joel re-enlisted into the bomb squad (explosive ordnance disposal) and was stationed out of California. Two tours to Iraq later, Joel decided to leave the Marine Corps to pursue higher education and recently graduated with a doctorate in psychology in the summer of 2017.