Cosmic, uncanny, and erotic

Out this month, Mystique is an anthology of gay and lesbian erotic fantasy romance. My piece in it, “The Passion of Her Sleep,” is a Poe-inspired f/f love story, eerie, erotic, and sweet…

The elevator pitch–by which I mean what I’d ramble at you were you trapped in an elevator with me–is “Madeline Usher meets a beautiful, clever, and brilliant lady and lover in a dreamworld that is sort of the Masque of the Red Death, but much, much sexier. Together, can they escape the general grimness of storylines from Edgar Allan Poe?”

MYSTIQUE is currently available on the Aurelia Leo website and on Amazon. A paperback and audiobook version are coming soon!

 

An excerpt:

Ashtophet approaches, smiling. 

“You always find me,” Madeline says. 

“I’m always searching for you.”

Heat stirs under her skin. “I…” And words cascade from her, like the streams from the fountains feeding the pools. “I tried searching, too, in a way. I’m sorry it took so long. It used to be that I had trouble staying awake. Now I seem to have trouble falling asleep.”

Ashtophet’s beautiful lips form a frown. “That’s unlucky.”

“I’m an unlucky woman.” She looks down. Dampened from brushing the wet paving stones, the hem of her pale gown has become as clear as glass. “Please excuse my complaints. I’m not wholly unlucky. After all, you continue finding me.”

Ashtophet’s laughter is as musical as the fountains, and it brings Madeline’s head up. “Every night, I look forward to the search.”

“It’s how you choose to spend your dreams?”

“True.” She appears a little surprised at the idea, or simply amused. “Wandering this strange place—this beautiful place—witnessing all that happens here, though holding back from joining it myself… It’s been restful for me.” Ashtophet shifts on her feet. “And I’ve found you, another observer.”

“It’s not that I need the rest here,” Madeline admits, “so much as I don’t know how to begin to participate.” 

“And would you…like to?” Now Ashtophet’s gaze falls. Madeline follows it, landing on a tangle of orange and violet-striped flowers with lacy stems and leaves. A gentle breeze makes the petals dance while neither of them speaks.

“Would you?” she finally asks.

“Like you, I’m unsure how to begin.”

A cry carries across the pool—not alarmed but full-throated and exuberant. Waves surge, lifting sheets of water over the tiles. Even on the ground, its puddles appear black, almost bottomless. 

“I don’t know how to swim,” Madeline says.

“I don’t often have the chance to.”

“Shall we step in anyway? They’re wading on this side.” Even as she speaks, Madeline kicks off her slippers. The earth around the flowers is soft and surprisingly warm against her soles.