the dara sequences. chapter four. (and an announcement)

Guess what? You can once again purchase signed and personalized versions of my books!

I’ve partnered with the amazing Boulder Bookstore here in my new home state to offer signed/personalized copies. You can also preorder The Love Variations here! (In case you didn’t know, preordering books is the single most important thing you can do to support an author. It tells the publisher—current one, and any future publishers—that you are interested in work from that author, and encourages them to put more support behind that book and future books by that author. Basically first week sales, which include preorders, matter a lot.)

Request signed/personalized copies of A Lesson in Vengeance, the Feverwake series, and A Shot in the Dark here.

Preorder The Love Variations here.

Now on to the bit y’all came for:

The next installment of the Dara novella!

This is an extra-long one, so buckle up.

Content warnings: Gordon Ames (and insinuated sexual abuse), Lehrer (over the phone, insinuated sexual and physical abuse), alcoholism, references to drug use

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” Ames said as she all but shoved Dara onto her bed. Dara, already nauseated, whimpered quietly—not that it earned him any sympathy. “I’m not always going to be around to clean up your mess.”

The room felt like it was weaving in front of him. Like trying to stare at something far away, underwater. “’M sorry,” he mumbled.

“Yeah. I bet you are. Take off your fucking shoes.”

Dara kicked them off, hand-cobbled Italian leather clump-clumping to the floor. “You got drunk, too,” he complained.

“Yeah. Not like you.”

Ames stripped off her dress and physically climbed over him to get into bed, wearing only a bra and panties. Even before Dara had told her he was gay, Ames hadn’t exactly cared what Dara saw. They were too close for that.

Dara rolled over so that he could look at her properly. This close, he could actually see her, even though that mostly meant he was seeing her frown at him like a disappointed parent.

“Sorry,” he said again, trying to sound more sincere this time. “Too…too many shots.”

“And too much cocaine,” Ames added archly, which was…fair.

Dara shifted closer to her warmth, until Ames sighed and wrapped an arm around his middle. Dara hummed out a satisfied noise and shut his eyes. His head felt swimmy, his skin oddly heavy against his bones.

It was several moments, long enough that Dara started to wonder if Ames had fallen asleep—or maybe he himself had, and this was all a bizarre dream—when he murmured:

“I like that we’re both…broken. We’re broken, but we’re broken together.”

Ames’ breath gusted out against his cheeks. “That’s a fucked up thing to say, Dara.”

“Maybe. It’s true though.”

She was silent for a second. Then… “Yeah. I know.”

They fell asleep together, Ames’ head tucked under Dara’s chin and her hands on his waist, breathing in each other’s familiar scent until dawn.