Thursday, May 2, 2019


As we bring this ManLove Fantasies Contest to a close, I would like to thank all the readers who left such wonderful, uplifting messages for our participating authors. More times than not, it's the little things like a reader's love for a book or a particular character that gets out muse moving and helps us write that next book. I would also like to thank all of the authors that took the time to participate in this contest and share with us their favorite books. Remember to come back in July for our ManLove Fantasies Summer Contest. Our authors are already working on their stories.
Now, for what you've all been waiting for. The winner of our grand prize Kindle Fire HD7 with a donated book from every participating author is...drum roll please...
Rhonda Wolf

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

AJA FOXX - Part Two

Alpha Knows Best

~ Chapter Two ~
"This is him?" someone to his left asked. "This little runt?"
Fagan wanted to argue with the man that he wasn't a runt, but he wasn't sure just how many people surrounded him, and he knew they were surrounding him. Now that he was listening for it, he could hear their different breathing patterns.
"Mind your manners, Jagger," someone in front of him said.
"Way to be welcoming, Jagger," a man on his right snapped.
"Hello, my name is Greyson." That voice came from right in front of him. It was a deep voice, soothing.
The man chuckled. "Yes, I know."
"The one with the mouth is Jagger and this is Dominic and Talon."
"Can you tell me what's going on?"
"You don't know?" Greyson asked.
Fagan shook his head.
"None of this was explained to you?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure what this is. Headmaster Either called me to his office, asked me about my birthday, then had me escorted here."
That was pretty much all he knew.
"And that's it?" Jagger asked. "That's all you fucking know?'
Fagan breathed deep before replying. "Yes, that is all I know."
"Fucking perfect." The voice laced with disgust was Jagger's. It was easy to pick out.
Fagan didn't like this guy. He was rude and crude and he gave off bad vibes. Well, not bad vibes, but not warm vibes either.
"Can you tell me what's going on?" Fagan asked. "Why am I outside the walls?"
"Look, Fagan, I don't know why this wasn't explained to you, but we don't have time to talk to you about it right now. We need to go. Time is of the essence."
"Go where?"
"Here, put this on," Greyson said instead of answering.
Something round and hard was shoved into Fagan's hands. He marveled at the smoothness of whatever it was. The surface was cool to the touch, but smooth. And hard. It was very hard.
"Do you know how to put one of these on?"
Fagan nodded. He had a general idea. "Why do I need a helmet?"
"Here, let me help you."
Fagan grunted when the helmet was taken then pulled down over his head.
"Have you ever ridden on the back of a motorcycle?"
Fagan shook his head. He'd read about them, but he'd never seen one in real life, or felt one in his case. Elders and students of the monastery didn't tend to drive motorcycles. They didn't really drive cars either.
"Okay." Greyson took his arm and led him a few feet ahead. "It's fairly easy. All you have to do is hold on and lean when the driver leans."
Sounded simple enough. "Am I going somewhere?"
"Bloody hell, they really didn't explain anything to you, did they?"
Fagan shook his head again, because, well, they hadn't.
"Okay, get on. Once we get where we're going, everything will be explained to you."
Fagan reached out with his hand, assuming there was something in front of him to get on. When he encountered a soft leathery surface, he moved closer. He carefully mapped it out. It was a seat.
Okay, that explained the "getting on" part of things. Fagan ran his hands along the seat a little more then swung his leg up and over it, settling down on the soft leather. He reared back when someone sat down in front of him.
"Hang on," Jagger said.
Fagan was unsure of what exactly he was supposed to hang onto, but the moment the machine beneath him roared to life, he clutched at Jagger, no longer caring. "What is this?"
"This baby is a Twisted Cherry Harley Davidson Roadster."
Fagan understood the word cherry, and it had nothing to do with the rumbling beneath him. No one had told him motorcycles were so loud. He cried out when they shot forward. The wind blew past him at an alarming rate. Fagan held onto Jagger as hard as he could, so terrified he couldn't even swallow.
Fagan had no idea how far they'd gone, but there came a point when his body started to go numb. He wasn't sure if it was fear or the freezing cold. Maybe both. He tried to pulled his legs in closer to himself.
He screamed when his leg pressed against something hot. He jerked his leg away and reached down to rub the burned spot. Whatever machine he was on swerved. Fagan screamed again when he went flying through the air.
The breath his lungs left with a painful whoosh when he hit the ground and rolled several times. He laid there for a few moments, trying to breathe through the pain. Little by little, he wiggled his toes and his fingers and up his extremities until he could be sure nothing was broken. Bruised, but not broken.
"Fagan, are you okay?"
Fagan recognized the voice as belonging to Greyson. "I think so."
The helmet was pulled up off his head.
"Here, let's get you up."
With Greyson's help, Fagan climbed to his feet. He was a little unsteady, but Greyson's hand on his arm kept him from falling back down to the ground.
"You little shit," Jagger shouted. "Do you see what you did to my bike?"
Fagan stiffened when he felt a wave of anger rising against him. There was a displacement of air close to his face. Fagan raised his arm, effectively blocking the blow aimed at his face. He quickly raised his other arm, blocking the next blow. Before a third blow could fall, he jabbed out with his fingers and struck Jagger in the throat.
"Fuuck!" Jagger gasped.
Fagan quickly took a step back when the others started to laugh. He didn't know what was going on, but he knew there was danger about. He didn't exactly fear for his life, but he didn't feel safe either.
Someone laughed. "He kicked your ass, Jagger."
"How?" Jagger whispered in a scratching voice. "He's a runt."
Greyson snorted. "Even better, he's a blind runt and he still kicked your ass."
"What?" Jagger asked. "You're blind?"
"I am," Fagan answered, although he wasn't sure what that had to do with getting his ass kicked.
"Shit!" Jagger swore.
Fagan relaxed his stance when he felt the man move away. "Why did you try to hit me?"
"You wrecked my bike."
"I do not understand." Fagan was pretty sure he'd know if he'd wrecked something.
"You caused us to crash."
"Something burned my leg."
"Probably the muffler," Greyson said.
"The muffler, that's part of the exhaust system isn't it?"
"It is," Greyson said, "and it gets very hot."
He reached down and tentatively touched the burn on the inside of his leg. He winced at the ache. It wasn't a huge wound, about the size of a quarter, but it still hurt. "That would explain the burn."
"How bad is it?" Greyson asked.
"It'll be okay." He'd heal it once he was alone. He wouldn't do it in front of these he didn't know. Fagan glanced in Jagger's direction. He knew where the man was because he could still feel a wall of anger coming from him. "I'm sorry about your motorcycle."
"Are you sure you're blind?" Jagger asked.
It wasn't exactly something he could fake. "Yeah, I'm sure."
Did people fake being blind?
"Then how did you fight me?"
"Your anger."
"My what?"
"Emotions have a feel to them. Anger is hot. I felt it coming toward me so I knew where you were. When you raised your hand, it displaced the air." Fagan shrugged. "I knew you were going to hit me."
"And that thing with your hand?"
Fagan smiled. "Krav Maga."
"How in the hell do you know Krav Maga?"
"What do you think they teach us in that monastery? Finger painting?"
Fagan knew he was being rude, but Jagger was insufferable. 
Greyson chuckled. "I like this guy."
"Whatever," Jagger mumbled.
"Is your bike rideable, Jagger?" Greyson asked.
"Well, check it over. We need to get Fagan home before it's too late."
"Have him ride with one of the others. I'll catch up."
"Uh." Fagan raised his hand. "Before what's too late?"
He wondered what he was missing.
"They really didn't explain anything to you, did they?" Greyson asked.
"No, I told you that." Fagan had no idea what was going on.
"Well, I'm sorry, but we don't have time to explain it right now." Greyson grabbed Fagan's arm and led him over to another bike. "You can ride with me."
Fagan took the helmet when Greyson handed it to him and pulled it on his head. He felt around until he found the motorcycle then climbed on, just like he had before. He doubted anyone would tell him what was going on until they reached whatever destination they were headed for.
And he really wanted to know what was going on.
"Do you have a jacket I could wear?"
"Of course."
Greyson opened something behind him then settled a jacket over Fagan's shoulders. Fagan slid his arms into the sleeves then zipped it up. This would make traveling a whole lot easier.
"Thank you."
"We should have thought of this before," Greyson replied. "It might have saved us a lot of trouble."
That was probably true.
Fagan tensed when Greyson started up his motorcycle. After being tossed through the air once already, he wasn't sure he wanted to ride one again. "Don't you have a car or something a little less dangerous?"
"Afraid not, Fagan."
Fagan sighed in resignation as he wrapped his arms around Greyson's waist and held on tight as the motorcycle started moving. He didn't even care if this was one of those fancy Harley Davidson motorcycles. He wanted this right to be over so he could get off the damn thing.
They drove for hours.
By the time they finally came to a stop, Fagan was afraid he might be presently bent into this position. When Greyson turned the motorcycle off, Fagan lifted his nose into the air and drew in a deep breath.
He got an overwhelming scent of pine. That, combined with the lack of sound of the modern world, gave him a bit of a clue to where he was.
Sort of.
"Are we in the woods?" Fagan asked. It smelled like the woods.
"Pretty much. There is a town about twenty-five miles west of us," Greyson said as he climbed off the bike. He grabbed Fagan's arm and helped him off. "This is our territory for fifty miles in every direction."
Fagan's eyebrow lifted. "Your territory?"
What exactly did that mean?
"Of course." Greyson grabbed his arm and started to pull him. "We need to hurry, Fagan. This trip took longer than I thought it would."
Fagan stumbled after Greyson. They others followed them.
"I'm not up on blind person etiquette so you're going to have to tell me if I do something wrong, okay?"
"Well, we call it vision impaired, but blind works too."
"My apologies, Fagan."
Fagan shrugged. "If you could keep me from running into things, that would help."
Greyson pulled him to a stop. "We're going to go up three steps here to a porch."
Fagan felt around with his foot until he found the step then easily made his way up all three of them. They passed through a doorway and Fagan was instantly swamped with warmth, the same warmth he experienced during his meditations. But it was weak, fading, growing cold.
"Come quickly." Greyson pulled him down a hallway.
As soon as a door opened and they stepped inside a room, Fagan brought his hand up to cover his mouth. The stench of sickness and death was heavy and thick in the air. Fagan's stomach clenched, threatening to rebel.
"What is that?"
It was disgusting.
"Over here, Fagan."
Fagan's nose was telling him that they were moving closer to whatever that horrid smell was. He tried to pull back, but Greyson was stronger than he was. "Greyson, what are you doing?"
"Please, Fagan, he's fading so quickly."
"Your mate."
Fagan's jaw dropped. "My what?"
"Your mate," Greyson said again.
Fagan dug in his feet and yanked his arm out of Greyson's grasp. The man was talking crazy. "What in the hell is a mate?"
Fagan screamed when his hand was grabbed in an icy grip and he was yanked down onto the bed, or rather, onto a body on the bed. It became immediately apparent that it was a man when his hand slid across a hairy chest.
"Wha—ahh!" Fagan screamed again when he was pulled close then razor sharp fangs sank into his neck. He struggled to get free, pushing at the man biting him. When that didn't work, he tried to reach pressure points.
Before he could do any damage, his hands were grabbed and held behind his back. Someone else held down his feet. Fagan growled in frustration.
"I'm sorry, Fagan," Greyson whispered in his ear. "It has to be this way."
What way?
What was going on?
Fagan opened his mouth to ask, but all that came out was a small whimper as something deep inside of him snapped into place, jarring him enough to stay conscious, but barely. He could feel his strength leaving him.
"Please," he whispered.
"Beck, that's enough," Greyson said. "If you take anymore, you'll kill him. Beck!"

The teeth in his neck pulled away before his skin was licked. The last thing he saw—which shouldn't have happened considering he was blind—before the world faded away was a set of golden eyes staring down at him.

The rest of the story coming in Spring 2019

Paranormal, Contemporary, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Erotic Romances. Passion in all its glorious forms. Sisters Ciena and Aja Foxx write about it all. They spend their days creating stories from their vast knowledge of exciting adventures. At night, they put on their super hero outfits and save the world. There is no limit to their imagination.



Monday, April 29, 2019

AJA FOXX - Part One

You've already met my sister, Ciena Foxx. This is the debut of my series "Alpha Kings". I'd like to thank Stormy Glenn for allowing me to join ManLove Fantasies. I hope you like my story.

Alpha Knows Best

~ Chapter One ~

"See you tomorrow."
Fagan ran his finger over the words written in Braille, almost not believing them. Every year, since the day he was born, he'd received a card on his birthday. Each one had said, "See you in such and such years", with the year numbering down each time.
The birthday cards had no name on them. Just the initials MB. Fagan had no idea who MB was. He didn't know anyone who had those two initials. Truthfully, he didn't know that many people.
The elders who cared for him and gave him his daily lessons. The other omegas in the monastery. The guards who kept those at the monastery safe. And the lawyer who came once a year to deliver Fagan's birthday card to him.
That was pretty much it.
He'd been delivered to the monastery the day after he was born. He knew no other life. He'd read a lot and he'd certainly heard stories, but he didn't know how many of them were true and how many were simply rumors or wishful thinking.
Fagan certainly had a lot of wishful thinking about the outside world. He dreamed of no longer being restricted to life inside the walls of the monastery. He wanted to see what was beyond those walls, or at least experience it.
Even if it was just for a few minutes.
"Fagan, time for your lessons."
"Yes, elder." Fagan tucked his latest birthday card away in his keepsake box then stood and followed after the elder. He had his walking stick in his pocket, but he'd walked through these corridors so many times, he could do it in his sleep.
Once he reached his first class, he made his way to his assigned spot and took up the proper pose—one hand clasping his wrist behind his back, head tilted down, eyes lowered, and feet exactly six inches apart. It was a pose he'd been taught from the time he could stand on his own two feet.
When Elder Fallon walked in and stood at the front of the room, he clapped his hands together and said, "All right, let us begin."
He was a man of few words.
Fagan began his stretches, making sure he was loose and limber then settled himself down on his pad on the floor. He crossed his legs and settled his hands on his knees. When he heard the unmistakable sound of the steel grates over the windows lifting, he tilted his face up. The first ray of sunshine drew a quick breath from him before everything in him settled.
He didn't understand many of the elders' teachings, but he loved this one. Every morning, the first thing he did was meditate as the sun was coming up. The elders insisted on it. They said that he needed to center himself in order to maintain a calm demeanor throughout the day.
Fagan wasn't sure how true that was, but he'd been meditating first thing in the morning for so long, he didn't know any other way to start his day. The summer days when the elders opened the doors and the first rays of sunshine came through  with a soft breeze were the best. Fagan couldn't see them, but he sure could feel the sun's warmth and cool morning air as they moved across his face.
Fagan cleared his mind then concentrated on filling himself with calm. He felt the presence of the others in the room, his fellow students and teachers. As his awareness of the cosmos moved out in an ever expanding circle, he felt the presence of more students and teachers, the elders and guards. He felt it all before and was easily able to mute their presence.
There was one presence he was searching for. The one he always searched for. He couldn't see him or hear him, but he knew the man's warmth like a flickering light in his soul. It had been there as long as he could remember, comforting him, soothing him when he was afraid. Fagan feared what would happen if that presence ever left him.
He breathed in a long, slow breath and reached out through the cosmos for the warmth, his golden man among the stars. He was out there somewhere, waiting. He was always waiting. Fagan sucked in a shallow breath when he felt it, the warmth surrounding him.
He often wondered if the others had a golden warrior to warm them. Maybe he was the only one. He didn't know. He certainly didn't ask. Wistful thinking was not allowed and Fagan worried what would be done to him if any of the elders ever discovered his secret.
He soaked in the warmth. If someone had asked him what the feeling was that floated through him each time he connected with his mystery man, he would have been at a loss for words to describe it. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced in his life. Of course, having lived his entire existence inside a monastery, that wasn't saying much.
The persistent clinking of the waking bells drew Fagan from his meditative state. As reluctant as he was to stay in the warmth of his sun, he knew he couldn't. He drew in a couple of cleansing breaths then opened his eyes. He waited for the bells to stop then stood to his feet and shuffled toward the door. It was time for his next class.
Tae Bo, Taekwondo, and Tai Chi. By the time he was ready for lunch break, his entire body ached. Tomorrow would be worse. Krav Maga. Fagan doubted he'd go to bed without severe bruising.
Of course, now was better than when he'd taken his first lesson at the age of five. Between the melee weapons training and the hand to hand combat, he'd been knocked unconscious so many times, he was surprised he didn't have brain damage.
Lunch, when it came, was as simple as it always was. Fresh fruit, nuts, sliced cheeses, and a crusty roll. Dinner would be a bit more elaborate, but pretty much the same foods. Omegas did not eat meat. It was something in their genetic makeup. They couldn't process it.
Fagan never really understood it, but he vividly remembered the stomach ache he'd gotten the one time he tried chicken. He thought he was going to die. He'd never had the desire to try meat again.
Fagan finished eating and cleaned up after himself. One of the many things that had been pounded into his head by the elders was cleanliness and not making messes. The students at the monastery were not to create extra work for others.
They were being trained to serve, not be served. Fagan just hadn't quite figured out who they were being trained to serve. Other omegas who'd left before him had never been heard from again. He prayed that wasn't an example of what was to come as he was about to reach his twenty-fifth birthday, the day his time at the monastery would come to an end.
There were only two classes in the afternoon, language skills and manners and etiquette. After that, Fagan would spend a couple of hours in quite meditation in his room before going to evening meal. He had three hours to himself in the evenings, sequestered in his room.
While the classes had changed over the years as he grew older, the schedule was still the same. Fagan doubted he had deviated from it from the first time he understood what a schedule was. Just once, he wished he could choose what he did with his time. Maybe he'd enjoy painting or reading a book he'd picked out instead of one chosen for him. He'd even enjoy cooking if he was doing it for fun and not because he was being taught to cook for someone else.
Fagan sighed as he pushed open the door to his room and stepped inside. He quietly closed the door and walked over to his meditation pad. After sitting down and finding a comfortable position, he started the timer for an hour then closed his eyes and let the world fade away.
This time when he reached for the warmth, it came quicker than it usually did, but there was a cold bite around the edges that Fagan didn't understand. He'd felt it once or twice over the years, but never like this. Even in his meditative state, he shivered.
He wanted to back away, but he was spellbound. The warmth had always been there for him. He didn't feel right about abandoning it simply because something had changed. He knew even as he thought it that his mind had taken a weird direction, but he was willing to explore that path in pursuit of his sun.
Fagan wasn't sure it would work, but he tried to send out some of the warmth he'd always received, to push away the cold that was invading his meditative state. There was a strange resistance. It caused a pressure in his chest that stole his breath.
He imagined the resistance like a wall of water that he simply needed to step through. He pressed his hands together and made a spear with his fingertips then pushed it against the wall of cold. Once he breached the wall, he separated his hands and allowed the warmth from inside of him push through, sending it back to his sun.
The sudden evaporation of the cold and the warmth that flared up, threw Fagan out of his meditative state. He panted heavily as he reeled from the experience. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt in his life.
He was terrified, yet jubilant, and he didn't know why. There was almost a sense of accomplishment and pride about what he'd done, but that couldn't be right. He hadn't really done anything. That was the dream world. It didn't manifest itself in the real world. Fagan was almost afraid to venture into a dream state in case it happened again.
Fagan turned off the waking alarm. He doubted he'd need it right now. He drew in a couple of deep cleansing breaths then stood and made his way to his bed. He didn't have a whole lot to do until bedtime, but he couldn't go to bed before the night bell went off.
It was times like this that he wished he was allowed to make his own choices. He'd love to go for a walk or even just sit outside and feel the cool evening breeze on his face. He hated being confined to his room, even if his time was supposed to be his own.
It never really felt as if it was.
"Yes," Fagan said when someone knocked on his door.
He drew in a discreet sniff before smiling. "What can I do for you, Davan?"
"Headmaster Eithar would like to see you in his office."
Fagan got up automatically and headed for the door. Things didn't go well for students who ignored a summons from the headmaster. He'd tried it once, and only once. He imagined many of the students did. They all quickly learned the error of that defiance.
It didn't take long to make it to the headmaster's office. Granted, it was on the far side of the courtyard near the front of the monastery, but he hurried. He didn't want the headmaster upset with him.
The door opened when he reached the headmaster's office. Fagan stepped inside then took up the rest stance he was so used to. Hands clasped behind him, head bowed, feet slightly apart.
"You wished to see me, Headmaster Eithar?"
"Yes, Fagan," the man said. "Today is your twenty-fifth birthday, is it not?"
"Tomorrow, sir."
"Yes, sir."
"Well," the headmaster said, "I suppose there's nothing that can be done for that."
"Tyrnan will escort you to the front door."
Fagan tried not to flinch when Tyrnan grabbed his arm, but it was hard not to. Tyrnan was the headmaster's punisher. If a student needed a reprimand, Tyrnan was the one who dolled it out. Fagan was pretty sure the man enjoyed inflicting pain.
"Am I going somewhere?" he asked as he was pulled out of the headmaster's office. He'd never gone to the front door before.
It was forbidden.
When Tyrnan stopped, he yanked Fagan to a stop as well, then shoved him against the wall. His breath was hot as it blew out against Fagan's cheek. Fagan turned his face away as a shiver of unease wrapped around him.
"You were supposed to be mine," Tyrnan growled in a voice so low, Fagan doubted anyone could hear the man except him. "They promised you to me, and now you're being taken away from me and being given to that monster."
Fagan had no idea what Tyrnan was talking about, and he really didn't want to know. He loathed the man. He wanted nothing to do with him.
And what monster?
"I will find a way to come for you," Tyrnan snarled. "You will be mine."
The front door was yanked open. Tyrnan shoved Fagan through it with such force, he stumbled forward and fell to his knees. He heard the door slam shut and then nothing.
Fagan swallowed hard as he slowly climbed to his feet. He brushed his pants off and then his hands. He was outside the walls. He wasn't sure why and he certainly didn't know what he was supposed to do now.
Was this a test of some sort? It had to be. It had been drummed into his head over and over again that he was never supposed to step foot outside the walls, and yet, here he was.
Fagan stilled when he heard a noise. It sounded as if something had crushed a leaf. Most people probably wouldn't know that sound, but Fagan had listened to enough leaves fall to know exactly what he was hearing.
To Be Continued...

Paranormal, Contemporary, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Erotic Romances. Passion in all its glorious forms. Sisters Ciena and Aja Foxx write about it all. They spend their days creating stories from their vast knowledge of exciting adventures. At night, they put on their super hero outfits and save the world. There is no limit to their imagination.




As we bring this ManLove Fantasies Contest to a close, I would like to thank all the readers who left such wonderful, uplifting messages...