Thursday, April 16, 2015

The Eye and The Arm by Andrew Q. Gordon - NEW RELEASE!!

I'm dedicating today's post to my good friend and author Andrew Q. Gordon and his incredible new fantasy masterpiece, The Eye and The Arm. This is the second book in his Champion of the Gods series. 

Enjoy an excerpt!

“Relax, my friend.” Klissmor’s presence calmed Miceral’s growing anxiety. “You won’t feel my presence.”
Miceral took a deep breath. “Will I be able to hear?”
“Every word. Ready?”
“No, but let’s do it.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“I need your eyes open for everyone to see.”
He snapped his lids open, blinking several times before could focus again. “Sorry.”
“Master Teberus.” Miceral knew the words came from him, but as promised, he didn’t feel anything. “I have Masters Erstad and Wesfazial as well as Wizard-Priestess Glendora. Ask your questions to Miceral and we four will also hear you.”
“Astounding.” The elder Arlefor glanced at the high priestess. “All four at once?”
“Wizard.” Miceral had heard that tone enough to know Klissmor’s mood. “Maintaining this link, this far away with this many minds, is a strain. If we are to save Farrell, you must focus on him.”
“Of course. My apologies.” Teberus bowed deeply. “My examination of the one who did this to Farrell confirmed that he is no wizard.”
“Then how in the eight gates of Neblor did that man defeat Farrell?” Even though Teberus couldn’t know, Miceral recognized the voice as Wesfazial’s.
“The obvious answer is the correct one. A wizard gave this man the weapon.”
“But Farrell could defeat all four of us and all the other wizards you brought with you and not be tested.” Erstad’s steady temperament sounded tested. “No weapon used by a nonwizard should be capable of this.”
Teberus raised the crest of his hairless eyebrow. “But since that is what happened, we must use it as the basis of our search for a cure.”
No one answered. As the silence dragged on, Miceral’s anxiety slowly returned. If Haven’s senior wizards didn’t know what to do, who could?
“Tell us what happened.” Erstad’s request almost didn’t register with Miceral.
“No,” Klissmor said. “Show them. Let them see the memory.”
Miceral closed his eyes and focused on reliving the attack. The clarity of the image caused his chest to tighten, making it hard to breathe. He knew the result, but watching it again, almost in slow motion, added to his agony.
When the image played over again, he realized Klissmor must have been guiding his thoughts.
“My apologies, old friend—the need is great.” Klissmor’s voice didn’t interrupt the stream of images.
“Do whatever you need. Just find a way to save Farrell.”
“Your friends are doing all they can. Have faith that Lenore will send us what we need.”
When the memory started for the third time, he didn’t find any comfort in Klissmor’s assertion. The Six wouldn’t—couldn’t—help. He needed something that didn’t exist—a great wizard like Heminaltose or Kel.
“In theory, I recognize the magic.” Erstad sounded confused. “But I’ll need to find a reference to be sure.”
“What about Farrell?” He knew he shouted, or at least what Farrell told him passed for shouting, but he couldn’t prevent it. “He could be dead before you find that.”
“It can’t be helped, Miceral. I need to be sure before I suggest a counterspell. If I’m wrong, whatever I try might kill him.”
“He is in no immediate danger.” Teberus put his hand on Farrell’s forehead. “But my fear is the number of spells that draw on him for power. I can only give him but so much. If he doesn’t wake, his body will burn out.”
“Do what you can, Master Teberus. We’ll begin searching immediately and contact you when we find the answer.” When Erstad stopped speaking, Klissmor’s presence left with him.
“Hurry. Please.” Miceral knew no one heard him.

Incredible, right? The book was just released by Dreamspinner on April 14, 2015. You can get your copy here:

In case you want to reach out to Andrew and lavish him with praise, here's all the good stuff about a great guy:


Andrew Q. Gordon wrote his first story back when yellow legal pads, ball point pens were common and a Smith Corona correctable typewriter was considered high tech. Adapting with technology, he now takes his MacBook somewhere quiet when he wants to write.

He currently lives in the Washington, D.C. area with his partner of eighteen years, their young daughter and dog.  In addition to dodging some very self-important D.C. ‘insiders’, Andrew uses his commute to catch up on his reading. When not working or writing, he enjoys soccer, high fantasy, baseball and seeing how much coffee he can drink in a day and not get the shakes.


Facebook Page:,


On Twitter:  @andrewqgordon,



Friday, April 3, 2015


Welcome to the third part of Birth Day, a M/M dystopian futuristic story of good & evil, love and redemption, inspired by and dedicated to my very beautiful and extremely special beloved mate and new partner, Brandon. I hope you all find it as sexy and fun to read as I've found writing it.

* * * * * * * * * *
Birth Day; by Tucker McCallahan:

I followed Hank, one of two nurses living in the hospital since the Rising, up the stairs to the Fourth Floor Visitors’ Area. Hank had used several of the older microscope lenses from Pathology to build a pair of binoculars, which he retrieved and handed to me once we reached the large window that overlooked the grounds. I gazed through the heavy binoculars, adjusted them, and shrugged.
“What am I looking at, Hank? I don’t see anything but a bunch of dark.”
“Not down there.” Hank took hold of the ungainly homemade binoculars and tilted them up. “Wait for it… There!”
“Wh- Oh my god…” All the air in my lungs whooshed out. “Is that- ?”

“I think it’s a dragon.”

I mashed the binoculars against my face and strained to get a better look. Dawn was still an hour or so off. Seeing the creature was difficult, but not impossible. Its hide absorbed the available light and reflected it as scarlet sparkles. I stared in complete wonder, watching it undulate and swim through the starry sky.

Since the Rising, I’d seen some damn strange things. The Altered came in or were brought in by their families, often with no memory of how they ended up in their condition. Despite treating these extraordinary people who, overnight, could dodge a bullet or hear things happening a mile away, I never accepted the gateway explanation of the Rising. It was just too far-fetched for a man who had devoted his entire life to the pursuit of science and medicine.

Stories about Chinese war magicians opening doors to hell or any other dimension and the worship of ancient evil were too bizarre for me to wrap my head around. It was easier for me to believe men’s greed was behind the number of lives lost during the mass bombings of the Rising. Proponents of the Gateway Theory argued the lives weren’t lost, but sacrificed to the forces released. They postulated those same demonic forces were responsible for the ultimate unification of India, China, Japan, and the other Southeast Asian countries that formed the Unified Chinean Protectorate.

What made sense to me was people would rather believe some off-the-wall supernatural theory to justify the annihilation of their government and way of life than face a simple truth. The United States of America got its ass beat. No mystical theories or ruminations required. The Altered I examined could all be explained by radiation or chemical exposure, and as others came to the hospital for treatment, I documented their anomalies with that basic assumption in mind.

A dragon flying in lazy circles over my home couldn’t be explained by any type of fallout. All the stories I’d heard, every rumor and theory of dark power and demonic influence came rushing back to bombard my brain at once. My mouth went dry as I stared at the thing still looping through the dark clouds in the distance. A motherfucking dragon. If a tyrannosaurus rex appeared on the front lawn wearing a bib and asking for barbeque sauce I don’t think I would’ve been as terrified as I was in that moment, staring at my continued denial made fact before my eyes.


Hank sounded as unsure and worried as I felt. I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled and saliva rushed into my mouth in response to the wound. Straightening my spine, I drew on the resolve I’d honed over a lifetime in medicine. I handed him his binoculars and gave him my best surgeon’s face, the one I used to use to scare med students into silence.

“Keep an eye on it. Let me know if it lands out there or looks like it’s going to try to approach our building.”

“Do you think it can, you know… Breathe fire?”

I raised one eyebrow, a calculated move that made my square face look academically sinister. “That girl we treated in December could heat things with her touch. Who knows?” Hank’s eyes went wide. I forced a laugh and headed for the stairs.



“Rosy said you came back with a patient.”

I paused on the stairs. My heart hammered in my chest. Rosy had been on guard duty; I told him about Palon on the way in because I had no choice. I couldn’t keep the boy a secret. Everything in me, every instinct I had screamed at me to keep the boy to myself. What the hell was wrong with me? I slowly shook my head.

“Not a patient, no. I came across a survivor in Old Philly.”

Hank’s eyes went wide. “Inside the city?”

“He’s not from the city. He was-” I broke off. I still didn’t know what or who Palon had been running from or why he’d chosen to do something as dangerous and foolhardy as run through the city ruins. “We barely escaped before the burn.”

Hank looked like he was about to froth at the mouth in his excitement. I realized now why I hadn’t taken Palon directly to the others. I didn’t have the energy for an interrogation. I held one hand up to quiet Hank.

“We’re both exhausted. I have to rest before I give my report.” I flapped my hand at the observation window behind him. “That… dragon is still out there. Watch it, and hopefully when I get up we can have a meeting with reports, instead of a calamity where some mythical beast smashes through our building and falls in love with our MRI machine.”

“Why would a dragon…” Hank’s voice faded away as I descended the stairs.

“It’s big and makes noise!” I called up.

I don’t know if Hank got a laugh out of my horrible joke or not. I went straight to my room. When I slipped back inside, Palon was still gloriously nude, and stood in front of my plastic model of a human heart. He’d taken it apart and was having trouble reassembling it. As I came in he turned and smiled at me. His face was like a rainbow after a storm, so lovely it instantly lightened my mood.

My god but it was difficult not to stare at Palon’s exquisitely perfect bare ass. As a doctor I’d seen more butts than I could even keep track of, but Palon’s posterior end could’ve been sculpted by Michelangelo. I gestured to the plastic pieces strewn across my desk and smiled at him as I approached.

“Looks like you broke my heart.”

His face turned a dark crimson and he ducked his head, forcing his shaggy mop of white hair to fall forward. Even in his submissive pose I could see the blush staining his cheeks as he bit his lip.

“Sorry,” he whispered.

“Hey…” I reached out and used one finger under his chin to lift his face. “I’m teasing. It’s meant to come apart like that. Watch.”

With a quickness borne of having reassembled the pieces thousands of times, I rebuilt the average human heart in just under three seconds. Palon watched my hands, his eyes almost glowing. When I set the whole model on the side of the desk, he clapped and flung himself into my arms with an enthusiasm I wasn’t expecting. He almost knocked me over.

“Hey! Wow,” I chuckled. Palon wrapped his arms around me and rested his head against my lower chest, where he hit my body in his bare feet. I returned his hug, and just holding him in my arms sent tingles down my spine. Palon looked up at me.

“Now we’ll fuck?”

I smoothed a hand over his shaggy hair. Its texture was so incredibly soft. “I’d really rather make love to you.”

Palon looked genuinely confused. “What’s the difference?”

Taking his hand, I led him over to my bed. I stripped out of my clothes, climbed up onto the bed, and led him up after me. His sweet face was so eager and inquisitive. Somehow I just knew that he couldn’t fabricate such wholesome innocence. I drew him into my arms and kissed him, a soft press of my lips against his that slowly transformed into a heated feeding.

I forced every movement to be slow and deliberate; it’d been a long time for me. My lips slid up the inside of his arm, fingertips twining in the tuft of hair in his pit. I stroked the satiny skin of his chest, thumbs brushing tenderly over his tiny burgundy nips until they hardened into pebbles. He was hard immediately, and very well-endowed for being so slight and petite, but I wasn’t at all intimidated. Everything about Palon was beautiful and just made me want him more.

Palon writhed under me. His long eyelashes closed and his breathing slowed as I wrapped a lube-slicked hand around both our dicks.  I thrust against him, mouth sucking gently at his throat. Shivers wracked my tall frame, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not now. With a cry, Palon stiffened against me, his back arching as he clutched at me with both hands. As I felt the heat of his orgasm on my skin, my own rushed in and I let it.

When I opened my eyes, Palon lay in my arms staring at my face. I stroked his cheek.

“Are you all right?”

“I am very well.” He bestowed a brilliant smile on me and cuddled against me. “I like making love.”

I held him close. He was the first man I’d touched in nearly a decade.

“I like it, too,” I murmured. “Get some sleep.”

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Be Well ~ Tux