In celebration of An Elf for All Centuries being nominated at Love Romance Cafe for Best Fantasy/Paranormal AND Best LGBT Book of 2012, I'm posting excerpts. This is a book a reader should peek at before taking the plunge. It's not for the faint of heart or for those lacking a sense of humor.
Fabion drove me crazy writing him but I love him. Readers who relate to the Bill and Ted vibe Fabion gives off adore him.
This excerpt deals with Fabion's epic overreaction to finding a wizard in his condo.
Elven super model Prince Fabion's day is perfect until wizard Matradorian kidnaps him from his penthouse. Surprise, Fabion is a spiritual match for elf king Henda’s dead lover. Only he can save the dying Henda. The problem is Fabion lives in the thirty-ninth century. Henda lives in the nineteenth.
When he lands in the nineteenth century, Fabion controls himself from punching Matradorian, saves Henda and falls in instant lust with his romantic fantasy. After all, this is a romantic comedy.
When Fabion realizes his polluted, on the verge of ruin thirty-ninth century is gone, the super model pitches the temper tantrum of any century until he realizes sexy Henda accepts him as his true lover. Being the virile, handsome Henda's lover fills Fabion's emotional gap. Despite the lack of facials and hot water, the former super model adapts to living in the backwards century.
Soon Fabion learns the nineteenth century is more dangerous than his vanished thirty-ninth century. Who wants to kill him now? And why?
The supermodel reached the Sequoia's warded doors. Tough-looking guards nodded his way. The fawning security chief opened the doors inserted into the tree's giant base.
Before he entered, Fabion stopped and glanced to the right. Wait, who lurked over there? How had he slipped past security?
An ancient oldster, clad in a peacock feather-coated top hat and a tattered, blue robe, slumped against the Sequoia's rough, far edge. Upon spying Fabion, he stood straight. His excited stare speared into Fabion's flesh. Fabion sensed the invasion pass through his clothing and examine him down to the bone. How did the old wart create the strange violation?
Fuck, the insane wizard everyone was talking about now stalked him.
He owned no time for magical nonsense. Fabion pointed in command. "Guards, secure that suspicious, old cretin!"
The five aggressive guards followed Fabion's gesture. Huh? No way! The scruffy dude had vanished!
A tall, blond hulk respectfully glanced toward Fabion. "Prince Fabion? Sorry, there's no one there."
Right, like duh, butthead. Did the blond lunkhead suppress a snicker? Asshole. "Wow, my eyes must play tricks on me."
Like hell! Fabion possessed sharp elven vision. The old bastard had stood right over there. The weirdo had even managed to make eye contact with Fabion. Super-duper creepy.
Fabion stared in further suspicion. Nothing. He sighed and entered the tree's unnaturally enhanced pine-scented interior. No matter, the sweet air instantly calmed him down. At least the designers had left the rough wooden interior alone. How rare.
Another forlorn jab hit Fabion's mind. What was wrong with him today? He needed to feel fabulous, not introspective. Fabion turned to the tall, human security head and amped up his smile wattage.
"Kyle, make sure no old wizards sneak in here. One lurked out front and I swear the skanky asshole shot me the evil eye. Too weird, right?" Fabion shook his head. "When Hestran arrives, send him right up. No need to buzz me."
The handsome human winked in acknowledgement. "Will do, Prince Fabion. How did your meeting go?"
There, someone cared about him. Fabion preened in giddy delight. "Mmm, Kyle, consider my rent paid for eternity. Worry not, the fabulous bonuses for the many kicky extras you supply me still flow your way."
Winking coyly, Fabion trailed his long fingers down Kyle's cheek. He loved slumming with the muscular human. The security administrator's bloodline traced back to an ancient, trusted royal human family sworn to support the elves. Too bad the Walmon goons had declared human dynasties illegal. Arrogant power-hogs.
"The news makes my day, Prince Fabion." Kyle ducked away from the security camera and wetly kissed Fabion's soft palm.
Fabion smacked Kyle's firm cheek. "Stop it, you naughty boy. Hey, you're off tomorrow and I'm not busy." Fabion playfully winked again and licked his lips.
He adored how Kyle almost drooled in aching delight. "What time should I arrive, my prince?"
"Come up around four. Bring take-out from that clever dwarf fusion café. Their barbecued electric eel and fried kiwi combo platter is faboo. We can enjoy a picnic out on my balcony, well, if the pollution isn't deadly. No matter what, at least we'll enjoy each other."
"I can't wait, fair one!" Kyle bowed in respect.
"Keep hot for me, sweetie."
His secret human squeeze deserved one last radiant smile. Fabion strolled to his private elevator and punched in his access code. He smiled at himself in the gleaming mirrors. What a delightful view. Nothing in squalid Pinar matched the pristine sight. He always wore light colors to offset his emerald eyes and waist-length, coppery tresses. This tailored suit displayed his masculine assets in a subtle yet impressive fashion. No wonder everyone adored him.
Fine, fuck, almost everyone. Stop!
The doors opened into the snug security foyer. Cameras monitored his movements. Another access code opened stern steel doors. Fabion stepped up to his custom, hand-carved double doors depicting him as a benevolent savior. As he murmured soft runes, Fabion's fingers touched key spots in the beautiful display. They were located at his nipples, cock, and lips. Yum. Elven magic supplied more security than keys and locks, although when drunk, Fabion owned a dragon of a time entering his own penthouse. Slurring during a strict, elven rune chant messed up the works. He hated calling his building rune master, but the problem occurred more often than Fabion cared to admit. Rune Master Sarde had made a fortune off befuddled Fabion's house calls.
The thick doors swung in. His mobile phone sang Hestran's tune. Now what? Hestran probably needed advice on a purchase. His fingers plucked out his phone from his vest. Fabion entered his penthouse. His finger aimed for the answer button.
Instead of answering his phone, Fabion shrieked in total alarm. The phone fell to the expensive carpet.
Fabion turned to escape. The heavy doors mysteriously slammed shut. What the fuck? He launched his body at the doors. His hands grasped the silver boar's head doorknobs and yanked backward. No effect. Cursing intensely, he slammed his handcrafted leather heels against the doors and pulled back in enraged elven might. Nothing happened. Come on, his superior physical effort should have ripped the knobs free from the wood.
Fabion muttered his security runes again. He touched the proper places on this side.
Nothing. Nada. Null. Impossible!
Fabion did not need this radical nonsense. Time to kick wizard ass in a lethal manner. He seldom released his elven strength but when he did, if he was sober, he understood how to inflict nasty damage. Abnormal strength and pristine looks were Fabion's only special elven assets. He hated violence but hated violation even more.
His feet slammed back to the carpet. Fabion whirled, raised his taut fists toward the old geek standing before him and bellowed in fury. "Listen, you filthy old bastard, get the fuck out of my penthouse right now! I don't understand how you slithered in here, but you need to slither out! I have more crucial things to do than endure your shit!"
The grubby dude performed an elaborate, arcane gesture. His staff bobbed. Fabion froze. What? Gaag! He couldn't move, speak, or even blink! As Fabion helplessly watched, the winkled old dude performed a triumphant little dance. His feathery top hat bobbed atop his long, white hair. No points for grace.
"That I am able to smite thee tells me that ye are truly the one!"
Huh? Smite thee? Geesh. Struggling mightily, Fabion almost broke free from his freeze. To his annoyance, the old one flicked his fingers again.
The wrinkly dude stopped dancing and cleared his throat. His epic frown reminded Fabion of a frustrated prune. "Right. Sorry, I need to sink back into your odious speech patterns. Dude, I have conquered thee—wait, let me make this clear for you." He hesitated one more time. "Bud, I can freeze your pretty royal ass, which means you are the true Prince Fabion. Do my words compute? Do you savvy my sizzlin' stunt?"
Who had slipped him the hallucinogens? The frozen Fabion stared in pure amazement. His fractured temper soared into the polluted sky. This old asshole deserved an extra large helping of elven ass kicking with a side of manic stomping. He deserved to be tossed off the balcony into the Dumpster.
"Right, you can't talk." The old git twirled his right hand in an intricate pattern. "Pal, now you can talk. Let me warn you, if you raise your voice again, a choking spell will knock you out. Are we clear on the new house rules? I will let you talk, but no caterwauling. High-pitched elven hysteria hurts my poor, old ears." He waved his tall, gnarled staff toward the astonished Fabion.
Fabion snarled in prime annoyance. "What are you babbling about? My prize-winning voice is not high-pitched. I record my own commercials and win awards!"
Instead of looking impressed, old prune puss shook his head. "Fabion, if I release you, do you swear upon your elven soul, or what passes for an elven soul in this wretched century, not to jump me?"
Fabion rolled his eyes. "Yuck, do you think that I want to grope your grubby dick? Dude, so not true! I'd rather kick your wrinkled ass. Besides, what are you gonna do to me? Keep me frozen and pork my tight ass?"
A vastly insulted look crossed the old man's features. "Listen, mouthy, I don't like your attitude. I'd best keep you restrained. Fabion, although you are a sweet hottie, I am not here to jump your bones. Please listen to me. I have wandered across this filthy, crowded city looking for the chosen one. I need to find the royal elf who is a bitchin' soul match for Fabion Leonia, son of Tonasdian, who died in the year 1803. Tag, pal, you're him."
Super-duper great. Fabion rolled his eyes again. "Asshole, you are in the wrong place. I am lovely Fabion, supermodel, he who anticipates dinner then hot, sweet sex with Hestran."
The old fart's eyes widened in stunned surprise. "Hestran of Atlantica?"
Fabion snorted in vast amusement. "He certainly believes he is, but who cares? Atlantica is a high-tech vacation empire controlled by greedy Walmontech. No big deal there."
Stricken silence invaded the room. A furious Fabion wanted to tap his foot but only his perfect head obeyed his will. "Yo, old fart, did you hear me or is your waxy ear hair too dense?"
A vastly pained expression twisted the old geek's wrinkles into canyons. "Yes, you rude, young ass, I heard you. This crappy century is too abysmal. No wonder the fates urged me to find you. If this is how Pinar turns out, everything we worked for was a total waste of time."
"Well, excuse me! This is how Pinar has been for ages. It's no bowl of fresh kumquats anymore. The honor and glory flushed down the smelly toilet a few centuries ago. Why do you complain about reality? Do you live in a cave? Pinar is a violent, stinking place controlled by wicked Walmontech. Grand thing I'm a royal elf, 'cause if I were a mere groveling human, I'd shoot myself. They're lucky they can even breathe the yellow air cheese."
Fabion blinked in annoyance. Come on, why did he try explaining real life to a crazy man? Admit it, this old dude owned mondo forbidden powers, which made him a dangerous, crazy man. The nasty concept kicked Fabion's anger into stun mode.
"Ass-wipe, are you licensed to spell-freeze elves? In case you didn't hear the news, we are a protected species. You break the law. You need to release me and scram." Fabion tried to cross his arms in threat. Nothing happened. He snarled in frustration. "If I break free, you will be super sorry!"