I forgot to put the cover with the first excerpt so here it is. I really like it and the great cover artist (Trace Edward Zabar, one of the co-owners of Amber Quill, the art director there and a writer himself!) even got a sunset in there for me.

Anyway here is Liam’s first dream about the life he and Rhys shared long ago. They are both afraid of losing their friendship in this life if they confess to the deeper feelings they have for each other! Discover of the shared past starts to pave the way to the admission and acceptance that it can be the same now as it was then!

Excerpt:

Finally back home, Liam realized he was tired to the bone, but he dreaded bedtime and falling asleep. He’d been having some strange and disturbing dreams lately and this was surely not going to help. He’d die before he’d admit it to Rhys who was always going on about déjà vu and lucid dreaming and shit like that, but some of Liam’s dreams were getting much too vivid and hard to forget. Maybe I’m not cut out for this work after all if it’s going to cause this sort of reaction. Hell, even Iraq wasn’t this bad. Blood and guts and death he could handle–well, most of the time–but this weird stuff gave him the heebie-jeebies. Bad medicine indeed.

* * * *

He seemed to come awake drenched with sweat, aching in every fiber of his body. The bed was hard beneath him, an uneven surface with prickly texture. The blankets felt heavy, smelled of dust and a raw animal scent. The room seemed dark; the only light a low fire flickering to one side. A man-shaped shadow moved between him and that light. The bed sank a little as the man sat down on the edge. Then a damp cloth swiped over Liam’s face, soothing, cooling. A pungent herbal scent stung his nose of a moment, but it seemed to ease his pain and fear. He was safe and everything would be all right.

“You’re awake.” The voice was low and mellow, as soothing as the herbs and the cool damp touch on his face.”You’ve been very sick, stranger, but I think you’re going to pull through. The wounds are closing, and I’ve broken your fever.”

The speaker used words and a tone he recognized–Druid. They were healers, wise men, priests and more, the few who held keys to the future and ways to appease the vengeful gods. Maybe even ways to deal with the spirit suckers who would steal so much from their victims there wasn’t enough left to get to Tir-Na-Nog or be born again. He found a vague memory of encountering one of them in the forest while on patrol.

How he was still alive, he was not sure. A miracle. He’d have to make some major offerings to the gods when he could walk again, even throw his best shield and maybe his spear into the holy well. You had to thank the gods for saving you with valuable stuff. Weapons could be replaced, but souls could not.

“Thank you, Druid. I know I’m blessed to remain among the living after all I suffered. I will not ask how or why. And I will make offerings to the gods–whatever you deem right–as soon as I am able to get up.”

“Rest easy. There will be time enough for that later. My name is Rhysanos. Yes, I am Druid, but that is a title and a duty, not a name. What do you go by, stranger? How came you here to our quiet corner of the Isles?”

“I think I am called Finbar, but my memories are unclear. I was on a patrol for my king, guarding the boundaries of his domain, looking for signs of raiders and those who would steal from our people. Where is this place? It seems far from my home.”

The Druid’s touch was gentle, yet it sent a strange energy surging through his weak body. His cock stirred at that touch and blood pounded through his whole form as if he must run or fight or do something else he did not understand. He stiffened with a mixture of fear and eagerness.

“No, be still. Do not fear. You will be all right. Now you need to sleep more to let your body heal. I will be here, guarding you while you sleep. I guarantee you will be safe.”

As soft grayness enfolded him, he drifted off into it, fading to a similar shadow of existing. Fear blinked out; arousal and tension did so as well. For a moment, he had a dim recollection of the security of his mother’s arms–a mother long dead and almost forgotten except in times like this…

Trust was not something he really knew, but it came to him now. This strange, powerful man, though no warrior, would keep him safe. He knew that beyond any doubt.