Blaine D. Arden has a new MM sci fi book out:
âItâs not all about serving coffee and typing reports.â
Working for a secret organisation specialising in alien cover-ups, Connor Smith is no stranger to the abnormal or dangerous. His love life on the other hand⌠not so exciting. Until he reluctantly agrees to a blind date and meets the perfect bloke, Jason.
Things are finally falling into place for Connor, so of course thatâs when he attracts an alien stalker.
Noah Jones, ex-alien, has been stranded on Earth and forced to live as a human since 1648. Alone and detached from the world around him, Noah has spent centuries observing and recording humankind. In all that time, heâs only experienced a connection with a human once⌠until he finds Connor.
Even knowing Connor is in a relationship, Noah canât ignore their potential bond, or stay away.
While dealing with missing alien artefacts, a dangerous and shadowy group of collectors, and the ever-present Noah, Connor finds his orderly life crumbling around him. At least he still has the perfect boyfriendâŚ
When Noah goes missing, Connor is forced to face the feelings growing between them and the mounting evidence that Jason isnât who he says he isâŚ
Amazon | QueeRomance Ink | Goodreads
Giveaway
Blaine is giving away two sets of “A Triad in Three Acts” & “Oren’s Right” with this tour â enter via Rafflecopter:
Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d4731/?
Excerpt
The Dross Woods, four-bloody-something in the morning, hunting for six-armed, two-legged white creatures.
Agent Connor Smith, personal assistant of Chief Security Lieutenant Natalie Tallis of Primrose UK, yawned. The lingering mist clung to his ankles as he tightened the straps of his field gear. He took his tranq out of its holster and flicked his torch on. The dense, tall trees hampered visibility, and the smattering of shrubs didnât help, either. The path, at least, was wide enough for two.
âHow many were there again?â Agent Simpson, team Alphaâs leader, asked. His dark, bald head gleamed in the early dawn as he moved to stand next to Connor.
âTen, I think.â Or eleven. Connor hadnât been awake enough to pick up everything during the interview with the Cleaton brothers, two aging sheep farmers, who had called it in. Why have a sheep farm so close to this vast and dense piece of forest? It was asking for trouble.
âThey kept them in the stables, right? So, what happened?â
âBroke out,â Connor said as he trailed into the woods after Simpson. Though Connor outranked the stocky but agile team leader, Simpson had at least a decade of field experience on him. Simpsonâs torch lit up the uneven, knobby-rooted ground, and Connor used his to search the shrubbery next to the path. He wished heâd brought an extra coffee, because he was not awake enough for this. Hopefully, the pale colour of the creatures made them easier to spot.
âSo, broke out?â
âHave you seen the thing they called stables? Itâs nothing more than a rickety old shed. Even one-armed creatures would have had no problem breaking out, let alone these… Noren, I think the brothers called them.â
âAll I understood was that weâre here to catch us some aliens.â Simpson veered left, following the whimsical bend in the path, and looked back. âIt was a late night.â
âRight, you were chasing another missing artefact. Lieutenant Tallis filled me in. Fileâs probably making its way to my desk as we speak.â Connor squinted, aiming his torch at the shrubbery to his left. A mix of red, yellow, and purple flowers brought some colour to the otherwise dreary looking forest. âItâs the eighth time this has happened. Itâs becoming a problem.â
âDonât I know it. So, did they say how big these fellas are?â
âChest height or about. Why? Spot something?â Connor pointed his torch along Simpsonâs.
The shrubs shuddered and shook until Simpson stepped forward. A twig snapped, followed by meowing. A cat. Just a cat.
Connor shrugged at Simpson and they moved forward again.
Somewhere a shout rang out: a high-pitched screech that caused goose bumps.
âOne down!â someone called through the commlinkâteam Bravoâs Forente or Briers, Connor guessed. âThere are at least two others here.â
âThat way,â Simpson said, pointing to their right, onto a narrow path overgrown with creepers.
Connor nodded, but Simpson had already turned away.
Step by step, they followed the narrow path, the darkness only broken by the light of their torches. They were hampered by the creepers as they moved alongâlistening, stopping, and listening againâas well as having to push low branches out of their way every other step.
One by one, more teams called in their catches.
âThey seem to like sheep,â Forente commented after his first catch. âI heard one bleat, and the next thing we know, one of those Noren is coming right at us.â
âGood to know,â Simpson said. âKeep up the good work.â
âHow many is that now?â Connor eyed the shrubbery in front of him, squinting as he pointed the torch at it. Eerie how dark a forest could be at daybreak. He preferred the smell of fresh moss to the damp, woodsy smell that now hung around him.
âSeven. I think.â
So, three to go, and he and Simpson had yet to run into any.
Something rustled behind them, and Connor turned, aiming his tranq. He hoped it wasnât another cat. More rustling, but no movement in the shrubs. The foliage was denser hereâthey must have reached the middle of the woods by now.
Satisfied a Noren wasn’t stalking them, Connor went to catch up with Simpson. when a sudden crunching of leaves to his right stopped him again. Something whitish moved behind a tree, too large to be a rabbit. He wished heâd paid more attention when Tallis had told them what to look for. Not that sheâd been any more awake than he was. Simpson wasnât the only one whoâd been working late. Theâ
Another crunch, nowhere near, though. If there were two Noren around, he’d need Simpson. He tapped the commlink. âSimpson?â
âThat was me. The path circles back onto itself.â
That was a relief. âThereâs one behind a tree in front of me.â
âRight. Want me to move around it?â
âGood idea.â Then he remembered the comment about the sheep. âWait. You donât have to. Draw it out, bleat if you have to. All I need is a clear shot. I canât take a shot as long as itâs hiding behind that tree,â Connor said, keeping an eye on the tree the Noren hid behind. He hoped it was just the one, even though they didnât seem violent towards humans.
Simpsonâs imitation of a sheep sounded nothing like the real thing, yet the Noren thought it genuine enough, since it came out from behind the tree, straight into the dense shrubbery next to it.
âBugger.â Connor tracked the movement, but the shrubbery blocked his view. âI donât have a shot. It fled right into the bushes.â
Simpson didnât reply. Instead, he made his way around Connor, judging from the flashes of torchlight jumping around, and repeated his sheep imitation.
The leaves shuddered, and Connor narrowed his eyes, hoping to get a clear shot.
Simpson bleated again, and this time the Noren came running out of the shrubbery. Connor aimed and pulled the trigger. The Noren went down hard. Hit in one. He knelt next to the creature, taking the cuffs out.
âNice shot, Smith,â Simpson said when he reached them.
âThanks.â Connor cuffed all three sets of arms. It seemed like overkill, but he knew better than to take any risks. He was about to activate his earpiece to ask how many were still on the loose when a shrill whistle sounded, calling them back.
âWell,â Simpson said as he helped Connor pick the Noren up, âI guess thatâs that.â
âAll in a dayâs work, Simpson, all in a dayâs work.â At least, for a personal assistant at Primrose.
Author Bio
Blaine D. Arden is a purple-haired, forty-something author of queer romance mixed with fantasy, magic, and suspense who sings her way through life in platform boots. She is an EPIC Award winning author, and her scifi romance âAliens, Smith and Jonesâ received an Honourable Mention in the Best Gay Sci-Fi/Fantasy category of the Rainbow Awards 2012.
Born and raised in Zutphen, the Netherlands, Blaine spent many hours of her sheltered youth reading, day dreaming, making up stories and acting them out with her Barbies. After seeing the film âAn Early Frostâ as a teen in the mid-eighties, an idealistic Blaine wanted to do away with the negativity surrounding homosexuality and strove to show the world how beautiful love between men could be. Our difference is our strength, is Blaineâs motto, and her stories are often set in worlds where gender fluidity and sexual diversity are accepted as is.
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