For a limited time, you can download a copy of Carillon’s Curse! It’s a dark paranormal romance/mystery set in Texas in 1888. Trigger warning: it contains flawed characters and gore—including the bodies of murdered children. I’ll be releasing the sequel soon, so now is a good time to grab the first one! Carillon’s Curse is a standalone. It was supposed to be just one book, but some readers requested a sequel, so that’s how Carillon’s Corpus was born.
Description:
In 1888 Austin, Texas, a shy medium with clubfoot is visited by the horrific ghosts of murdered children and enlists the help of a surly Texas Ranger to pursue their killer. As the two men hunt the murderer, they find themselves not only in the grip of a taboo love that could—at best—send them to prison, but also in danger of becoming the killer’s next prey.
In the twenty three years of his life, Thomas Carillon has known nothing but unrequited love. People don’t notice him; they only notice his clubfoot. He has given himself up to a solitary existence with only the companionship of his cat and the ghosts who visit him. When a rare child ghost, her massive injuries evident, asks Thomas for help, the only lawman that will listen is a hard-bitten Texas Ranger who reawaken’s Thomas’s secret desires. The two grow closer as they chase the killer, but can they hold onto their fragile, budding love in such hard times?
Hadrian Burton thinks Thomas looks like an angel, except for whatever horror he’s hiding in that strange boot. Temporarily leaving life on the range and his complicated past to track down a killer with Thomas, Hadrian finds himself doing something he vowed never to do again—falling in love. Their “congress,” as Thomas calls it, is more intense than he has ever experienced. After a lifetime of virginity, the clubfooted man is going wild, and he doesn’t balk at Hadrian’s unconventional appetites. But they’re too different; Hadrian fears he will only hurt Thomas in the end. And yet, he has never fallen so hard for another man. How can he keep both his and Thomas’s hearts from being broken? And how can he bring the elusive Child Slayer to justice with only the help of a medium and ghosts?
This dark, erotic gay romance contains violence, period homophobia, period racism, period ableism, and graphic sex scenes.
Excerpt:
Hadrian watched the German man take Thomas’s coat and hat. He should have guessed Thomas would have servants. When the German, a tall, gaunt blond in his late thirties, asked Hadrian for his coat and hat as well, he somewhat reluctantly shrugged out of his tan leather duster and gave him his wide brimmed brown felt hat. It was a new sort of hat called a Stetson, after the man who invented it. The German took the hat as if it were a king’s golden crown. Hadrian raised an eyebrow. He didn’t think this man was a man of the shadows like him and Thomas, but there was something about him that was different. Hadrian could almost smell it.
“Thank you, Karl. Please inform Gretchen my guest and I will be taking lunch on the back veranda.”
Thomas looked even tastier without his long greatcoat. A surprisingly broad chest tapered to narrow hips. The muscles of his stronger leg bulged against his trousers. Hadrian’s mouth fairly watered.
And he loved the scattering of light brown freckles on the man’s beautiful face. It lent even more to his air of boyish innocence. In truth, he didn’t seem much younger than Hadrian himself. But that pretty head was full of oddball notions, and he doubted those elegant hands had ever killed an outlaw. Or a lover.
These pesky servants were a problem, though. Sodomy was illegal in Texas. It didn’t take much to convict a man of sodomy, either. In England, not all that long ago, really, a couple had been hanged to death on the testimony of a witness who claimed to spy them pleasuring each other through a keyhole. Doing something on a veranda, servants or not, was basically asking to be caught.
Thomas was yammering on as Hadrian followed him through the house. The cat was up on his shoulder again. The little animal rode the cripple like a cowboy riding a bronco. Poor Thomas. If he ever went bankrupt he and the cat could join the circus.
The house put the governor’s mansion to shame. Every inch of it was more opulent than anything he might have imagined. The wooden floors, polished to perfection, were nearly as beautiful as the exotic rugs covering them. There were huge paintings of horses so realistic, you could almost ride them. The paintings of forests begged him to walk into their shade. Statues, large and small, of both real and mythological beings, looked like flesh and blood creatures caught in various poses.
He had never seen so much fine wood paneling. And the many stained glass lamps, some looking like parasols, others fluted, looked to be lit by electricity. Most of the poor, rural areas of Texas still used candles and oil lamps. Gas was even a distant dream for them. And here Thomas and the governor had electricity in their mansions. He wondered which one was less deserving.
When Thomas swung open the doors to the veranda, Hadrian sighed. He knew, then, that Thomas and he were not of the same mind. The large porch, each beam holding up the roof decorated with lacy gingerbread architecture, had a view of the pasture and stable, where the driver, who was also, apparently, the groom rubbed down the horses—including Bucephalus—with the help of a stable boy. They would be able to see any happenings on the veranda.
The only pleasant sight was Thomas’s Morgan, a beautiful animal that stopped grazing to look up at them with pricked ears. The stallion whickered, presumably for Thomas. Bucephalus did that sometimes. It bespoke a strong bond between man and horse.
“Hadrian?”
He looked around at Thomas. Almost hating him. The fool actually believed he’d had a premonition about lost children. Hadrian just wanted to get his pecker wet. He had, for an instant, almost believed that bullshit about lost children, but really, he had just let his cock get the better of him. Premonitions, visions—all of that stuff was foolery.
“I’m listening.” He pulled his pipe out of his pocket and leaned against one of the posts.
“I would ask you not to do that,” said Thomas.
Well, this just got better and better. “Why?”
Thomas ran a hand down his chest. It was a delicate movement, his long, beautiful fingers sliding down his front and causing his shirt to outline his chest for a heartbeat. He was gorgeous. He would have looked even more so with Hadrian’s cock between his beautifully sculpted lips. “I’m afflicted with asthma,” said Thomas, a wince in his voice.
So he couldn’t even smoke his pipe. Great. He stuck his pipe back in his pocket. “Not a problem.” He wanted to pitch Thomas over the railing. This wasn’t the way any of this was supposed to go. He scowled when the prim blond butler or whatever he was, came out with a pitcher of iced tea and slices of bread topped with cheese and sprigs of dill. No, they weren’t going to fuck, but they were going to sit about and chatter like old biddies.
“Please, have a seat.” Thomas indicated the other rocking chair with a wave of one of his beautiful hands. He could see hands like that writing important things with fluffy quills or working his hole until he came a bucket of froth.
Still thinking about one or two of Thomas’s fingers massaging his hole, he took his seat, managing his erection by eying Thomas’s crippled foot. He wondered if Thomas didn’t have appetites because he was crippled. Or maybe it was because he was soft in the head. Either way, Hadrian couldn’t wait to make his escape.
Thomas sat in the rocking chair beside the small rectangular table between them. The cat moved from Thomas’s shoulder to his lap.
“So, I know you don’t believe in religion anymore, but there is life after death, Mr. Burton.”
Soft in the head. He cared as little for these spiritualists as he did preachers. They all preyed on the hopes people had for a better life elsewhere, for justice, for the ability to see their loved ones again. They were as bad as the charlatans with their little potions. Worse, truly. Hadrian grunted. He wasn’t going to waste words on Thomas’s bullshit. The only thing keeping him there was the tiny voice of his cock telling him Thomas might want to go upstairs. Maybe he could ask for a tour of the house. Maybe that would get them away from the damned nosey servants.
“See,” said Thomas, “I didn’t truly have a premonition. I only thought that would be received better by the marshal. The truth is, I was contacted by a spirit. I’m a medium—I see through the Veil.”
“Right. You’re one of them fellers that charge folks who can’t stop grieving for the loved ones they’ve lost.”
Thomas sat back. “I do that from time to time. But I never charge. I have no need. I inherited a significant amount of wealth.”
“Mm-hm.” Hadrian took a swig of tea.
Thomas pressed on. “The thing is, most spirits come to me. I help them when I can, and—”
Hadrian couldn’t resist. “You help ghosts?”
“I try. Usually, if they come to me, they need help crossing over to the Great Beyond.”
“What’s that?”
Thomas shrugged. “The afterlife. Whatever it is. I can’t see it. I can see—like a hallway and a door—but that’s all. I like to think that it’s different for different people—like Heaven for Christians and the various places people of other religions believe, and maybe simply a peaceful rest for those who don’t believe in anything.”
It was all Hadrian could do not to let his mouth hang open to catch flies. If Thomas ran around talking like that he was going to end up a lot worse off than with just a funny foot. “You don’t...tell people that too often, do you, Thomas?”
Thomas crinkled his nose with the light sprinkling of freckles over it. “I—that is—no. Not usually. I—” He bit the side of his lower lip. “I only told you because you don’t believe in anything. And I truly need your help. The little girl who came to me was horribly maimed. She died an agonizing death. And she said the man who murdered her had kidnapped a small boy and probably intended to do the same thing to him.”
Hadrian knew people well enough to tell that this was no jest and no machination. As wild as this was, Thomas believed every word of it. He didn’t quite know what to do then. All of the anger and frustration he had been feeling toward the man melted away. He no longer wanted to fuck Thomas. He wanted only to gather him against him and stroke his face. The world was too cruel. It had the gall to wound this poor angel and take his mind on top of it. Had they been somewhere away from prying eyes, he would have done exactly that. As it was, things were different. “Thomas,” he tried to say the poor wretch’s name as gently as possible, so wishing it were a big, strong hug instead, “I need to get going. I have a lot to do in Austin before I hit the trail again.” He stood.
Thomas followed him, the cat leaping from his lap to the boards as he bolted out of his chair. “Wait! Please.” He grabbed Hadrian’s hand.
The touch of their bare flesh filled Hadrian’s cock with blood. He almost moaned. He had never wanted anyone this badly, not even Corny. “I have to go.”
With nimble fingers, Thomas took up his pocket watch. “Come out now! I need your help, Rebecca!”
Hadrian wanted to leave, but Thomas was still holding his hand. He would think on this press of flesh tonight when he stroked himself before sleep. Being taboo in an unfriendly land meant being able to savor the smallest of pleasures.
Thomas was no longer talking to his watch. Now, he was talking to someone who wasn’t there. He seemed to be trying to control the anxiety in his voice for the benefit of the invisible person. “This is a Texas Ranger. His name’s Mr. Burton, and he’s going to help us if you can help him believe you’re real.... Why, yes. That’s a splendid idea.” He smiled at Hadrian.
A dazzling smile that made Hadrian’s heart ache. Poor Thomas. Poor thing.
And then something shocked his wrist. He pulled away from Thomas’s hand, grabbing his wrist. “What the blazing hell—”
“Please,” said Thomas. “She’s only five.”
“How did you do that?”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Some kind of parlor trick—”
“It wasn’t, I assure you.” He leaned down to the imaginary child. “Can you write your name? Very good. Go write your name on Mr. Burton’s palm.”
For reasons he couldn’t even explain to himself, Hadrian held his hand out to the imaginary child. He felt the scratchy capital letters, as if traced by a tiny finger, chill his skin. He glanced up at Thomas. “Can you tell me more about the fiend who murdered her?”
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Please take care of yourself. You’re important and the world needs you!
Always love,
Sionnach
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