As always, it is truly a pleasure to have her as a guest on my blog. Please welcome, V.L. Locey, and her new release!
Before I start chatting about zombies I`d like to thank Misty for having me back again, she must be getting tired of seeing me here. I`m like a bad penny, or that creepy third cousin that shows up at family affairs, or a zombie virus outbreak. Nice segue huh?
I know that many people just cannot think about romance and zombies being in the same book. I mean that is just squicky, and nasty, right? Well, not necessarily. If you stop and think about it, when would love ever be more important? The world is falling apart, the dead are rising up, and the Twinkies are all gone. Having someone to love and cuddle during such a horrendous time would certainly make survival that much easier. Just think of Daryl and Carol. Go on. I’ll give you a minute. *Takes moment to enjoy recollections of Norman Reedus looking all sexy and whatnot*
Yeah, recalling their reunion made me tear up too. See, love and romance and spicy things are needed when one is facing an apocalypse. With that in mind, may I present my newest novella in the Two Guys zom-rom-com series?
Paul and Gordon aren’t your typical zombie hunters. They’re a loving couple of educators who might be infected by the virus that is turning the world’s population into mindless, undead eating machines. So why haven`t they turned? Well, Gordon has a theory about that. He suspects that those who march under the rainbow flag just might be carrying the cure for the plague in their bloodstream. Zendra, the massive pharmaceutical company where the mutated virus was made, certainly seems to be in a hurry to round up all the gay survivors they can grab.
To avoid the clutches of Zendra, Paul, his partner Gordon, and a ragtag band of survivors head into the Great White North – the land of maple syrup, hockey, lumberjacks, and thick bacon. Here they plan to spend the winter, hopefully safe from roaming bands of undead, militaristic companies with far too much power, seedy groups of other survivors, and the always dreaded moose. Can two guys in love lead a motley crew to safety?
Two Guys Walk Into An Apocalypse 3: He`s a Lumberjack and He’s Undead is available at the Torquere Press Store, as well as all major eBook retailers.
Torque Press: http://www.torquerebooks.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=78_85&products_id=4288
My sigh and a steady but thin stream of urine pattering on the pine needles and last fall’s dead leaves were the only noises until something stepped on a branch directly behind me. The dead bough cracked like a pistol. My urine stopped flowing as my heart dropped into my gut. A hot breath blew over the back of my neck causing every fine hair to stand up on end. The exhalation stank of rotten teeth and pond scum. With one hand, I tucked the shriveled beast back into its BVD cage. If a phobie was going to rip me into strips I was not dying with my *#*# out. That’s just a thing I have. Death can claim me but my genitals will be covered if I can manage it.
With a very unhurried demeanor and a sudden weakness in my legs and knees, I simultaneously reached behind my back for the gun while I swiveled my head around. The largest brown eyes I have ever seen gazed down at me. The creature shook its massive head and blew snot from its nostrils. My fingertips skimmed the gun as a scream of sheer horror escaped me. The moose promptly freaked out. It bulled forward (I know, it’s funny isn’t it? Bull plus moose. Ha. Ha. God, I hate moose) as if someone had rammed a hot poker up its bunghole.
I pulled the gun free and fired. The moose got over being scared and got royally pissed off, which was rather a bit of irony since I now was fearful of losing control of my bladder. Where I hit the monstrous beast from hell I do not know but I think we can rest assured that it was not a killing shot. Bullwinkle threw his head to the left and right. I turned to run, was hit in the shoulder by a moose brow and was thrown to the side like some insignificant gay Raggedy Andy. My face met a tree, my gun flew from my hand, and Sir Moose attacked the nearest bush thinking — in its brilliant moose way — that the bush was the man who had screamed in its face and then shot beside its ear. I watched all this from the ground where I was balled up in a fetal position, whimpering about the sap on my lower lip.
My shot must have roused the camp, for within a moment (although between you and me it felt much more like several hours) the sound of people crashing through the woods broke through the snorting, thrashing, and pawing the long-headed cousin of Bambi was doing. A brilliant light swept the area. I screamed. The moose spun from his bush battle. Rider and Gordon skidded into the scene, the beams from their flashlights hitting the moose right in his ugly, flubbery face. Gordon raised a shotgun into the air but never got the chance to shoot. The moose plunged between the men, sending both diving to opposite sides. Bouncing shafts of light accompanied the departure of the moose as he crashed away into the land of nightmares.
“Sweet Jeezus,” I heard Rider pant somewhere in the darkness. “Damned shame I didn’t have my deer rifle, we could have eaten on that bitch for a month.”
“Paul, are you okay?” my partner called as he struggled to get to his feet and locate his flashlight.
A mousey sound tumbled from me. I coughed and tried several times to find my voice. When I located it down by my spleen, I had a question for my saviors. “Did– Did he mean ‘bitch’ like that animal was a female, or like some sort of rural Southern expression like ‘Damn son, we could have eaten on that bitch for a week!’ when in actuality the beast was a male?”
I twirled my rabbit bone for ten minutes. I stared at the stars and the moon and my love’s strong back. My head fell forward. I rose slowly, my feet getting stuck in the sudden appearance of a guilt puddle. That shit is sticky. Tugging free from the black ooze of self-recrimination, I made my way to the fire. Tallahassee was prowling at the exterior of the dying firelight, her green eyes glowing eerily when she would look at us from the weeds. Not knowing what to do now that I was beside him I threw my bone into the fire. It smoked terribly but the clouds curling off it were sweetly tinted with meat and marrow.
“You know what I miss?” I said, my hands now deep in my back pockets. I heard Gordon suck in a fast breath. This was a new game we had taken to playing since the world had turned into a place that neither of us recognized anymore. We would curl up, one snuggled against the other’s back, and whisper about what we missed in the normal world until we fell asleep. With so many travelling companions, making love to the man was virtually impossible. He made a sound in his throat that I knew to mean “Go on” so I did. Rocking to my toes then falling to my heels I finished my confession. “I miss Simon and Kyle from Beautiful People.”
Gordon choked on a swig of the drink of water he was taking. “And here I thought you were going to say something profound about missing the man who holds you every night until you fall asleep. But no, you miss a British comedy about a young window dresser.”
I glanced down at him seated on a stump.
“Well, I can’t say I miss you since you’re right here. And you can’t deny you adored Kyle and Simon as much as I did,” I replied, watching the bone I had thrown into the pit char and blacken. “Someday, when we’re situated with our happy little family of misfits here we’ll have a talent show and I’ll sing ‘Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves’ in honor of Kyle.”
His fingers moved around my wrist. I pulled him up then slid around to face him. “That, I wouldn’t mind seeing,” Gordon said, his thumb now stroking the pulse point in my wrist. “Paul, I am not trying to make you be something you’re not. That you would even say that to me was like a knife in the chest. I love you for what and who you are, you know that, don’t you?” he asked, his head falling to the left a few inches to try to capture my eyes. I nodded, my sight fixed on his mouth.
“I understand what you’re trying to do, Gordon, I do. I know I swore I would try to be more helpful since everyone seems to look to you and me for leadership for some crazy-ass reason.” I had to touch him, so I cupped his face, the thick, dark whiskers tickling my palm. “I haven’t been much help and I apologize. I vow from here on out I will try not to be such a doily knitter, but he has to try as well.”
“I’ll talk to him, and thank you, babe,” Gordon whispered, then drew me to him for a kiss. My fingers moved across his jaw into his hair. It was coarse and dirty, yet felt like satin to me. His teeth nipped at my lower lip, his tongue slid over my bottom teeth. I pulled his head towards me, making the kiss rougher than ordinary. I hoped it conveyed how damned hot I was for him. Gordon thrust his tongue deeply into my mouth, sweeping every corner he could find. His hands latched onto my hips, one thick thigh pushing between mine. The instant his erection moved sinuously against mine whatever residual irritation I may have had blew away with the smoke of burnt offerings. Without warning he broke the kiss but kept his lips hovering a millimeter from mine. “Do you really think I want you to be any less gay, you silly man?”
A short snort of amusement rolled from me. I tugged his mouth back over mine with one hand then found his pulsating shaft with my palm. He inhaled sharply, drawing air over his teeth and mine. A snap of a branch not far away had us leaping apart and pulling our weapons from our pants. (No not those weapons, you randy scamps!) Rodney stepped into the dying firelight, his bow and quiver over his shoulder, his round face painted shades of green and brown to match the trees and leaves. We both lowered our guns.
“Jeezus, you two are worse than a couple of horny hogs,” he grumbled.
I shoved my handgun into the back of my jeans. “No, this is not a gun in my pocket since mine is in my hand, so I must be extremely glad to see you,” I flung out. Rider spit on the ground, scowled and stalked off.
“What?” I asked to my partner’s exasperated look. “I said I missed him. I was being nice. I could have said I hoped he had fallen out of a tree but I didn’t.”
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, belly laughs, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a steer named after a famous N.H.L. goalie, and a flock of assorted domestic fowl.
When not writing lusty tales, she can be found enjoying her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania, fresh cup of java in hand.
I love to meet new friends and fans! You can find me at-
My blog- http://thoughtsfromayodelinggoatherder.blogspot.com/
More V.L. Locey Torquere Press books:
Two Guys Walk Into An Apocalypse (Part of the He Loves Me For My Brainssss anthology), Two Guys Walk Into An Apocalypse 2:It Came From Birmingham, Love of the Hunter, Goaltender`s Penalty, All I Want for Christmas, Every Sunday at One (Part of the 2013 Charity Sip Anthology), Night of the Jackal, An Erie Halloween
Coming soon exclusively from Torquere Press . . . An Erie Operetta and Early To Rise – A Toms & Tabbies Tale.