RJ: Morning Chris… Congratulations on some awesome books you have published recently. I have read Dark Waters and Falling Again and I love them both… (I may be biased – I love all your stories!)
CQ: [say something nice and funny and CQ!] Thanks, RJ – what was the bribe again? Chocolate, red wine, warmed baby oil and a naked JA?
RJ: Tell us a bit more about Dark Waters. I know this was originally a story you published a few years back. What made you re-release it? I am so glad you did!
CQ: Well, I wasn’t very happy with the cover the previous publisher had for it, and the thought of a Reese Dante cover made my mouth water. So I did some re-editing and submitted it to Silver Publishing in the hopes they’d accept it for a second edition. They did, and I couldn’t be happier! The cover is everything I’d wished for, and I’m hoping the story will reach a new readership.
RJ: Where can we buy it?
CQ: It’s available from Silver Publishing – and their titles can be sent direct to your Kindle. Silver Publishing – Dark Waters
RJ: And now on to Falling Again – This most recent release is a short story that you have self published. What made you decide to release a short story?
CQ: Well, it was originally intended for an Anthology call, but it sort of took off in a different direction and no longer fitted that Anthology. I checked some other calls out there, but it didn’t really fit them, either. I’d been playing with the idea of self-publishing for a while, and this seemed an ideal opportunity to try it. It’s on Amazon here – Amazon – Falling Again
RJ: What was self publishing like?
CQ: In a word? Nerve-racking. And that’s with a certain somebody doing all the hard work. One day I’ll be able to make it up to her *g*.
RJ: ROFL… payment in mutual support works!
RJ: What are you writing now?
CQ: I’m in the last stages of Fool’s Rush, the third in the trilogy I’m writing for Manifold Press. It’ll hopefully be ready for release on February 1st, 2013.
RJ: What are your plans for future books? Any more self pubs?
CQ: Future plans? Oh, God, yes. My Plot Ideas list just gets longer and longer. To be honest, I don’t know what I’ll be working on next – several plots and people have their elbows out, demanding attention. But I’ll certainly be looking to self-pub again in the future.
RJ: Thanks for coming over and chatting.. Good luck on the new release.
CQ: This has been fun, as always *g*. And don’t forget, we need to arrange that research expedition to the HellFire Caves…
“Incubus!” the hermit howled, springing to his feet and holding the crudely fashioned cross before him. The shaft was a spike of forged iron, not sharp but enough to pierce the creature's flesh. He'd finally found the strength to deny it and since dawn he'd waited for the beast to come to him so he could banish or destroy the unnatural enticement. Now it was here, in the perfect man-shape that mocked every belief the hermit held and was everything he himself was not.
Even now, it lured him, silently called to him to reach out and stroke at last the warm silk of its skin, its unbound hair. As it had called to others before it killed and devoured them. Although he knew what the thing was and what he had to do, he could not stop his traitorous body from responding to its sorcery.
“What is—incubus?” it asked, puzzled.
“You!” In his bespelled madness, he'd taught it human speech, the Gaelic, convincing himself that if it did have a soul then he could turn it from evil to Christ's mercy. But the sinful dreams that afflicted him at night, leaving him sullied beyond cleansing when he awoke, could no longer be ignored. The memories of them welled up as clear as if they had been reality. It would kneel before him and part his robes, its eyes wide and dark as it gazed on him with awe. It would worship his body with hands and mouth and wicked tongue, and beg him to save it from evil, to purify it with his touch.
Arousal shuddered through him, heat pooled in his loins, and his penis was throbbing between his legs, rising as if it had a mind of its own, and he was close, so close to that dazzling peak of ecstasy. But the coarse wool of his robe chafed on his turgid flesh, dragging painfully on the gathering dampness there, bringing him back to himself—and the hermit knew that he was irrevocably damned and it was all the beast's fault.
He'd lost count of how often he'd been awakened by the echoes of his cry of release, to find he was alone with his own seed smeared on his belly, and the terrible—wonderful—images fading away. Every time he'd scrubbed himself raw with twists of heather, but still he knew himself defiled even though he had resisted all temptation to touch it in reality.
He'd thought he could tame it, bring it humbled and penitent before the house of the One God. But he'd been deluded, he knew that now. The monster was a soulless fiend that preyed on humankind, and he was a presumptuous fool to think he could do anything other than combat it. He could not have it, but he could destroy it.
“You are foul! Evil!” He raised the cross like a dagger and threw himself forward.
Even as he plunged the holy weapon toward the creature's broad chest, the hermit knew he had failed. He'd forgotten how swiftly it could move. In less than a heartbeat the man had gone and in its place was a daemon in the shape of a bay stallion with laid-back ears and bared carnivore's fangs. It reared and the last thing the hermit knew was the crushing impact of the monster's hooves.