Fragile Bones excerpt

I hope everyone had a wonderful Holiday last weekend. Going into New Year's weekend, here's a little excerpt for you:

“You would've killed me.”
“Yes.”
I bit my lip. He said it so easily, but I thought I heard a whisper of guilt or maybe it was my imagination. “I don't want to see any more. I've had my fill of your past.”
“It's not our decision. But I agree. It's getting too dangerous. I'll be looking for you. In my past, after that moment, I constantly looked to the shadows, searching for you. I remember.”
I stood up. Sickness sank into my stomach like a hard knot that refused to pass. Things had gotten too strange. Everything I knew about Michael, everything I'd come to depend upon changed. I'd told him so many times I trusted him, but I couldn't help but wonder if that were completely true. The memory of the devil's face cast a shadow over the light.
“I don't know how I'm going to deal with this,” I admitted.
“I tried to tell you before.”
“I know, but imagination can't conjure the truth of experience.” I pushed through the door. “I can't breathe.”
I scuffed across the church and climbed the stairs to our room. Our room. Our bed. I wanted to puke. How many times had Michael warned me? Yet I didn't want to believe it. Not really. I sat on the edge of the bed and closed my eyes. I opened them again. Behind the darkness, a vision of those glowing eyes and blood, thick and black, dripping. I looked at my hands. The dried blood still on my fingertips seemed to flow down into my palm, pooled there, and continued to climb up my arms. I tried to wipe it off, but it leaped onto my other hand until the sticky gore painted both hands and arms.
“No.”
It wasn't me.
But it was.
I curled in on myself and fell into the mattress.
One truth made the whole episode worse: I was jealous. Jealous of that pitiful young man in the alley. For a few minutes, he'd felt the raw, savage lust of the unchained monster. I fantasized what it might be like; wanted it more than anything. Michael cleaving away the unwanted parts of me. The part that raged. The part that cowered. The filthy parts, the fragile parts. Maybe then I could stand beside him worthy of that position. I wanted to partake with him.
Though he denied it, I knew that fear haunted him. How could he not be afraid? Years might have distanced him, but the memories lingered. Refreshed anew by our visits to those places. Images uncovered and once more open to the light of day. Questioning oneself is never comfortable. All the 'what ifs' overwhelming any sense of self. Though, I couldn't imagine Michael ever lost himself to such lines of thinking. He resisted.
Laughter boiled up and tangled in my throat; strangled me. It came out in coughing staccato beats.
The shock faded away and left me cold and empty. The murderous impulses threatened to fill that space. I clenched my hands until skin split under my nails. How easy it would be. Willingly enslaved by that singular pleasure. Those eyes, familiar, yet so alien, would forever chase me. I saw what I could become. That same look had probably graced my face when I murdered that man such a short time ago.
Oh, how sweet that power sang along my every nerve.
The warring feelings tore at my insides.
I wanted to feel myself again.
But who was that? The tender victim? The untamed killer? The young man who overcame both those things?
Whatever had fetched me away from my former life believed in me. Michael believed in me. Why couldn't I believe in myself? I was weak. I couldn't master even my simple impulses, how could I hope to conquer those greater things that gripped me?

You can get it here in paperback and for kindle: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1453822054
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Fragile Bones excerpt

At the halfway point reading through Fragile Bones hopefully for the final time, so I thought I'd post a little excerpt from where I'm at in the book. :)

The days bled together as they always did when there was nothing
to occupy my time. I paced the apartment when Michael was away. I
sometimes snuck down the fire escape to loiter in the alley. Worried
about whether I would become a victim again, yet hoping for a reason
to vent the insidious, burning rage.
“I need to do something,” I complained. “If I'm here to help people,
I need to be out there amongst them.”
“I've been thinking the same thing.”
My jaw dropped. I wasn't expecting him to agree with me.
“You can close your mouth,” he said with a smile. “We're going
out tonight.”
I grinned. “It's about time. I've been well enough for a while.”
“Don't look so eager. It's going to be hard on you. Whether or not
you think so. Don't you remember that first time?”
I looked away. I remembered. I remembered the sickness in body
and mind from the backlash. “I'm prepared for it this time.” I locked
eyes with him. “I didn't know what to expect last time; now I know.”
“I've inquired about an easier way and there is none. The only
thing I can do is try to bleed off some of the power after it's over.”
I cocked my eyebrow. “And what does that entail?” I tried to keep
my thoughts on a high ground, but they sank low and I smirked.
“They left it at my discretion.” He didn't look too pleased.
“I'm sure you'll think of something,” I said innocuously. If he
didn't, then I certainly could.
“I know what you're thinking. It's not going to happen.”
“So you keep saying.”
“At least let me know when you start to get sick. I can help you. Now that I also know what will happen, I can deal with my own backlash.”
That piqued my curiosity. “How does it affect you?”
“It's nothing I can't handle.”
“That only fuels my curiosity,” I told him.
“You just focus on what you need to do and I'll do what I can to
take the edge off.” He glared at me as if to make a point.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I'll do what I came here to do.” I looked
down at my hands and shook off the impression of black blood stains
splattered up to my elbows. “And if I dirty my hands, it's not as if I
haven't done worse.”
Michael put a hand on my shoulder. “It'll be okay. I'm here with
you.”
I would be okay. I planned on being more than okay. Part of me
pitied the first person that we came across that would benefit from our
particular attentions, but that was a very small part. Anyone who would
assault another deserved no mercy and they would get none from me.
Any compunction I might've had was long gone.
---

Update:

You can purchase Fragile Bones on Amazon in paper or for your Kindle here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1453822054
or in any other ebook format on Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/94497
Use coupon code VD36L for 35% off good through Dec. 26, 2011 on Smashwords.

The Winter of the Birds excerpt

For those of you who've read The Summer of the Frogs, this excerpt might be of particular interest.  For those of you who haven't... get thee a copy and read it.  ;-)
---

I wasn't expecting Stian to show up in my room. Andy. Tommy. Miss Kitty. A random traveler who took the wrong doorway, sure. But not Stian.

I looked up at him expectantly.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“Writing in my journal.”

“May I sit?”

I waved over to my bed. I was too comfortable in my chair to get up. He sat awkwardly on the edge and looked around my room. I went back to writing. He fidgeted for a moment before he stood up again and wandered over to my book shelf. He picked up a piece of foam and chuckled.

I looked over my shoulder at what had caught his attention.

“You still have this?” he asked.

“Sure, why not?”

“I remember the set this came from.”

“I don't.”

“Well, that's hardly surprising, even if you didn't have amnesia.” He put the foam back in its place on my shelf.

“I get the feeling you aren't here to look at my stuff,” I said.

He exhaled. “No. No, I came here to talk to you about something.” He walked back around my chair to return to his tense perch on my bed.

“You probably don't remember, but I told you about when I was in my coma?”

“Stian." I shut my journal.  "I found my stuff. Things are starting to come back to me.”

“I see.”

“What I can't remember for myself, I know from reading my past journals.” I put my chin on my hand and looked at him pointedly. “Are things beginning to come back for you also?”

“The dreams. The dreams I told you about before are becoming more vivid, more real. Some times I'll catch things out of the corner of my eye. I just thought if I talked to you....” He trailed off.

“You want to make sure the crazy isn't contagious or something?” I frowned at him.

“No! Of course not! But you know things. You were the one who found me, right? I thought you could tell me what really happened.”

I lifted my eyebrows and considered him for long moments. He was so tightly wound, I thought he'd pop a vein before long.

“What are you prepared to believe?” I asked him.

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe you should just read about it. I'm surprised you haven't already.”

He bristled. “Don't insult me. Whatever you write down is your business.”

I backed down. “I think if you read it all from the beginning, you would have a better grasp on things. But only if you're ready to open yourself to possibilities. Otherwise, don't bother and don't ask me questions.”

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“Why wouldn't I be?”

“Are you back on your meds?”

“Stian, get out,” I sighed. I flipped my notebook back open to the page I was working on and went back to documenting my hum-drum life.

I heard my bed springs squeak.  I could feel his gaze as he stood there. I ignored him for a moment to finish a sentence.

I looked up at him. “I want to help you, Stian, but you have to be open to what I'll say. You have no idea what's out there.”

“Okay” was all he said before he walked out.

I shook my head. I felt for my brother. I knew what he was going through. The paranoia, the insomnia, the itch that couldn't be scratched, the idea there really was something out there just outside our senses, yet teasing the edges of them. He'd be back when the shadows became shapes and the shapes moved about on their own right in front of him.

I set my pen down and stared at nothing. Why had they even taken Stian in the first place. And where? Had he been poisoned too? Didn't they know our frail human bodies weren't able to absorb and pass it? I rubbed my forehead. They wanted to be rid of me so badly, but they, in their short-sightedness, had created two of us. If they did inject him, which seemed to be the case, I hoped it was in very small doses. Unlike me who had taken an entire venom sack in one shot.

--- 

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