Monday, 14 April 2014

Excerpt; Taking Control of my Werewolf

And the heartache continues…
Let’s introduce you to the alpha.
Eamon has lost everything in his life. It’s not until his family forces him to go and close out his partner’s estate that he meets a group of men who change his life, and one in particular who opens his heart to love again.
Only there’s something not quite right here. Once Eamon realizes what it is, will he still be willing to stay?
Taking a large drink of his beer, Eamon looked around the pub. It was one of his favourite things to do—people watch. It wasn’t Patrick’s pastime, though. Patrick liked to be in the crowd. He liked meeting new people, seeing new things, whereas Eamon was content to sit by himself and watch the world around him.
“Oi, arseholes, over here!” a voice yelled across the busy space, grabbing everyone’s attention to three males in bright orange work shirts and dark cargo shorts. All three were average height, within an inch of each other, though only one of them had a solid build. The other two were thinner. “Colin! Tim wants another beer.”
Eamon watched as the thicker of the men veered off with a mumbled word and a nod of heads towards the bar. He leant his elbows on the bar table as he, too, talked to the bartender, who was waiting, already pouring a beer.
Clearly these men came to this tavern a lot. It was evident in the banter between the barkeeper and this Colin character, even more in the settled play of mates in the corner when the other two reached the group. This was a haven for them. You could tell, if you cared to look.
Colin, at the bar, laughed and caught Eamon’s attention again. One of the things Eamon did was, in a way, a part of his job, of who he was, to be able to assess a man from a moment of interaction with someone else.
Colin mumbled and noded, but the bar held that muted volume that made it impossible to hear anything unless someone yelled or directed it to you. Colin took the tray with four beers and walked over to the other man, all dressed in a similar attire. Sliding the tray on the small round table, he picked up a beer with his left hand, slapped a shorter man with his right, and then pulled in another man—one dressed in tight purple skinny jeans and a green top—for a kiss that made Eamon want to turn away out of respect. The intimacy between them put an ache in his chest. It reminded him a little of himself and Patrick, that love.
The men kissing made him look at the group in a different light, with a keener eye. That, along with the rest of the pub. No one there seemed to think anything of it at all. They seemed comfortable with them there. The barkeeper even watched on with a slight softness to his eyes that made Eamon respect the hell out of this establishment even more.
A wolf whistle came from the man who had called across the room when they first came in and Eamon, for the first time, actually looked at him.
Sitting astride a stool with a beer in front of him, the man was short, though Eamon couldn’t determine how short because he was sitting down, but since the specs were around what Eamon liked, the man would be under five-foot-eight, if even that tall. He wore dark cargo shorts with dirt matted up the outside of his legs and sticking to his hair. Dark green sock protectors sat over the top half of his cream boots as one tapped crazily against the metal step on his stool.
He wore what the majority of them wore—a bright yellow work shirt that had the same smudging of dirt across the side. One arm rested on the thigh closest to where Eamon sat. His fingers tapped a different beat than his foot. The other wrapped nicely, firmly around a beer.
His neck was so delicate it made Eamon swallow hard. He hadn’t felt a reaction like this, a need to dive in and taste, simply from a glimpse of skin.. The man’s cheeks were smooth. His chin held a slight dimple.
The man moved, and Eamon lost his view of that face, other than a flash of blue from his eyes and the gloss of messy blonde hair that clearly needed a cut.
Eamon shifted in his seat, distractedly pulling at the material to give his cock a breath of room. He’d never felt this instant need before. Never had the mere look of a man make him want to moan. It annoyed him, especially because he couldn’t push it away. Not when his cock was throbbing to be let out and play.
Cursing under his breath, Eamon watched the men interact with each other as he took slow sips of his own beer. They were obviously close. Close in a biblical way, if Eamon was correct in his own assumption. Though he hadn’t been wrong before, and he didn’t see that he would be now. The men, at least the core of them—the ones in the bright shirts—wore Harper’s Landscaping & Maintenance, ironed onto their backs.
They were close. Not close in a way that they were lovers. No, Eamon could see the distance. Maybe more brotherly. You could see the camaraderie between them all. The shared past. The story that surrounded them that made Eamon’s mind itch with wanting to learn, to understand, and to unravel it all.
Putting the glass up to his lips, Eamon tipped it back and got nothing. Well. He sighed. It looked like it was time to go. With a little dejection in his step, Eamon walked out into the dry heat that was apparently the summer season in this place. Not like what he was used to, humidity coming from having the harbour so close to everywhere he’d lived and worked. He found it odd, but funnily enough, enjoyable, when he had never particularly liked that type of heat before.
He pondered that point as he tried his hardest to not think about the man he was walking away from, and felt as if that statement held truer than he had ever thought possible.
When  got in his car, the heat surrounding him was nearly suffocating. He hadn’t thought he’d been that long, but obviously, his car in this sun wasn’t dealing all too well. Turning the car on, he opened it all up, turned the air-con on full, and set off towards the supermarket.
Lying in the fresh bed by himself was hell. He was caught between two fantasies, both of which he wished would go away. The agony of both was warring in his brain and he couldn’t deal with it. Didn’t want to deal with it. Didn’t want to deal with anything. He just wished for sleep.
He’d been wishing it for months now. He hadn’t a clue what his real problem was, though he should. He was a damned therapist, so he should be able to figure out what was behind his insomnia. He should be able to pull out the thoughts, pinpoint the problems, and then work them out so that he could deal with them and then get a good night sleep, but he couldn’t. Though, in all honesty—which was something he hadn’t been to himself since he fell into deep seeds of depression and shock after his partner had stopped breathing—he wasn’t really trying.
When he’d snapped out of the shock, he had lived in a wall of nothing that was all depression with an act of normalcy. He had not been living, though he moved around with those who were.
Therefore, what was happening to him now? Why couldn’t he sleep? What the hell was going on in his head that he couldn’t shut it down? All the while, he couldn’t seem to think, to process anything that was happening to him, around him.
Sighing, Eamon got up. A check of the clock had given him a time, telling him the hours he thought he’d been trying to sleep were only an hour and a half.
Pulling on a pair of sweats, Eamon walked out the room. Flicking on light after light until he was in unnatural daylight, he opened up the bags, pulled on a set of rubber gloves, picked up a bottle of nature-friendly cleaner and set on working himself to exhaustion.
Taking Control of my Werewolf by Bronwyn Heeley
Release date 15th of April 2014

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