QSFer Rowan Amaris & Theo Behr has a new MM paranormal romance out (gay, bi): White Rabbit, Silver Fox.
Twenty years of longing. One night of passion. What could go wrong?
Twenty years ago, rabbit-shifter Wyte was trapped in the fae realm as punishment for taking a human lover. He didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to the human, Tommy. Since then, he’s drifted through the years, telling himself he’s silly and rootless and not heartbroken at all. But when Wyte gets a chance to return to Tommy for a single night, he takes it. One perfect night, and he’ll be over it.
Wyte has one problem. Tommy thinks he’s dead. And Wyte turning up on his couch, having not aged a day, isn’t helping. Still, Wyte’s determined, and Tommy always was a sucker for his pout. Surely they can get back to how things always were. Only, Tommy isn’t the closeted, immature man of Wyte’s memories. Oh, he kisses with the same rough passion. But there’s silver in his hair and new warmth in his smile. And his kindness, the way he treats Wyte with indulgence and understanding, is more than Wyte can bear.
Because this is just one night. Come sunrise, the fae realm will be waiting. And Wyte will never see Tommy again.
White Rabbit, Silver Fox is a second-chance HFN romp with no cliffhangers. It features an indulgent former tough guy turned retired softie and a silly, playful rabbit fae with far more depth than he’s entirely comfortable with. There’s snark and dry humor out the ears, enough spice to make the eyes water, and reconciliation after too long apart. This is a standalone novella in the Fallen for a Fae series. Each book follows a different couple (though we do love cameos).
Warnings: References to the AIDS epidemic. Body insecurity.
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Excerpt
Lysander, a nice, soft-featured kid, was as good as any Gate at finding places. He dropped Wyte off on the doorstep of what he promised was Tommy’s house. Wyte fixed his glamour in place, ridding himself of his ears and features too delicate to belong to any human. Then, taking a breath, he charmed the lock and stepped inside.
No one was home, leaving Wyte to wander through the dark, rehearsing all the possible things he might say to a man he hadn’t seen in over twenty years. Things like ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave without saying goodbye’ and ‘did you even miss me?’
Winter, five minutes in Tommy’s house and there were the same old feelings. The stupid desire to make more of it than it was.
Theirs had been a strictly behind closed doors sort of fun. Nothing serious. He’d find Tommy after one of his hockey games, and they’d go somewhere for a little mutual enjoyment. Neither of them had ever asked for more than the other readily gave. How could they? Tommy was in the closet and Wyte didn’t really exist in the human realm. No phone, no set address.
What had he been thinking? Why was he here? It’d been stupid to run away. Childish. But Lysander wouldn’t be back until morning. Wyte was stuck. He’d have to make the best of it.
When he’d imagined the scene, it’d been simple. There’d been no two-story condo with a comfortable, lived-in feeling and pictures on the walls. It’d been Tommy’s messy old apartment. Just the same as it always was, with Tommy waiting for him.
Naked.
Instead, Wyte was alone. No Tommy. No anyone. Just a large, friendly cat.
Well, fuck it. In for a penny. Wyte flopped onto Tommy’s couch, his thoughts on how it used to be. Stolen moments in hotel rooms. The heated press of Tommy’s mouth. His hard grip and his laughter. The taste of middling whisky on his tongue.
Why not set the scene? It might at least put Tommy in the right mood. What they needed was some cheap pizza, the kind Tommy used to say he couldn’t have before eating half the pie, and something strong to drink. That, at least, Wyte could manage. All powerful fae he was not, but pizza and a bottle of Jack, he could manifest without much trouble.
Time passed. Wyte replayed memories and failed to rehearse speeches. (One more reason he shouldn’t be on the Council.) The cat sprawled across his chest and purred, until the sound of a key in the lock sent it scampering.
“I’m home, Mr. Kitty,” a voice called out. Not quite familiar. But familiar enough. “You try to run out, and I will make you into mittens.”
Wyte pushed up on his elbows, taking in the man as he walked in. To the human, the room might be dark, but Wyte could see him just fine.
Tommy?
Oh. Right. Twenty years. Aging. Humans were adorable. Tommy looked softer, now. Gray in his curls and in the shadow of a beard on his cheeks. But he had the same height and broad shoulders Wyte remembered. Same soft eyes. Lips that liked to smile. Lips that had liked a lot of things.
Yeah. This would do just fine.
“Mr. Kitty?” Wyte called, forgetting all his half-rehearsed explanations. He flicked the lights on with a spark of magic, for Tommy’s sake. Didn’t sit up, but smiled. “I remember when you called me Rabbit. But I’ll take it. Hey there, Tommy. I brought pizza.”
Tommy stood frozen in the doorway, his hand halfway to the light switch. His eyes were wide and fixed on Wyte. Not quite the slow grin and once over Wyte’d become used to twenty years earlier, but he’d take it.
“Rabbit.” Tommy’s voice was level, despite the disbelief in his expression. He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. “I thought … Aren’t you dead?”
“Dead? Nah. Where’d the fun be in that?” Wyte watched the man through lowered lashes, and tried not to look too much like he was praying to Summer itself that Tommy wouldn’t panic.
He needed this to work. It would work. It had to work.
Tommy had always taken things well. He’d known better than to ask questions like ‘where do you live’ or ‘why don’t you have a phone, a car, or an ID.’ And whenever things got a little weird, like that time Hyacinth decided a little fae magic would spice up the evening and gotten the whole bar under the spell of his voice, Tommy’d had the sense to only remark on the strength of the drinks.
“You– Fuck, Wyte. You disappeared. I thought–”
“I’m not dead,” he promised, voice gone soft with guilt. “Come here. Sit. You can touch me if you like. Prove I’m real.”
He swung his feet down, sat up, and patted the couch invitingly.
“You– Then what the fuck?” Tommy’s eyes were still wide, even as he approached the couch. He didn’t look angry at least. He looked … hurt. A little lost. “Rabbit. Fuck. You look the same. This isn’t– Shit like this can’t happen.”
“Tommy, sit, please?” And Wyte couldn’t help it, the way his voice nearly broke, with need and fear both. Tommy had never rejected him, before.
He’d been ready for him to be angry. Confused. He hadn’t been ready for grief. He should’ve been. Should’ve realized what Tommy would have thought.
Bitter times, when he’d last visited. Bad and getting worse. Fae didn’t catch diseases, but that hadn’t stopped Wyte’s human friends from dying. AIDS, they called it. Young, beautiful people, wasting away with shocking suddenness. Friends and lovers banned from their hospital rooms, not told when the end came.
And Tommy’d thought it had happened to Wyte.
“Please?” he said again. “This is real. I’m here. I just … got stuck back home for awhile.”
Author Bio
Rowan Amaris is a delightful person who made the terrible choice to allow her frequent co-author to write her bio. She lives with her cats in a city that has water nearby and enough grass to touch every so often. You’ll often find her drinking a hot beverage and writing saucy stories about terrible, emotionally stupid men who love each other.
Theo Behr is a writer who never actually thought she’d be in a position to be able to call themself that. She live with two cats somewhere far away from the sea, with occasional bounces to one coast or another. You’ll often find Theo playing cozy games, drawing, and writing spicy tales about ridiculous men with lots of feelings who love each other.
Author Website: https://www.rowanandtheo.com
Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=61561038983710