Prism Book Alliance would like to thank Amelia Faulkner for taking the time to talk with us today.
Title: Blind Man’s Wolf
Author: Amelia Faulkner
Publisher: Self Published
Cover Artist: Scarlet Cox
Genre/Sub-Genre: Fantasy, Gay, M/M Romance, Paranormal
A night-blind vampire. A werewolf with lousy self-confidence. And a whole hell of a lot of danger…
Tooth & Claw, Book 1.
Ellis O’Neill is an art dealer with too many problems: his eyesight has deteriorated to the point of night-blindness; he’s estranged from his family, to whom he owes a considerable sum of money; and his guide dog went right off him the night Ellis died. Without his dog, Ellis is trapped in a life bouncing between home and work, dependent on his personal assistant.
Werewolf Randall Carter has problems of his own. He loves his pack, he really does, but as their Omega he’s always the one to bear the brunt of their rage. It’s a role he can’t avoid, and Randall isn’t sure he can take it for much longer, so he buries himself in his day job. Randall’s the best dog trainer in the city, and when he’s offered a client who needs him to work evenings he’d be a fool to turn it down.
Soon Randall is falling for someone he should despise. Everything about the undead is anathema to his kind, but Ellis is exactly the kind of guy Randall would want to ask out on a date – if he were still breathing. Worse, they may not have too long to figure their feelings out. Someone or something is gunning for Ellis and anyone else who gets in the way; they won’t rest until the vampire is destroyed.
Thank you so much for allowing me to join you for my tour!
Have you been writing long?:
I’ve been writing and drawing for as long as I can remember. Over the years I have fallen in and out of love with art – something I have drawn on somewhat in shaping Ellis as a character – but I’ve always written.
When I was seven or eight my father got hold of a typewriter and brought it home for me. I bashed out poems, songs and stories, and got my fingers trapped between the keys an awful lot. A mechanical typewriter is a harsh teacher, but you learn to type more accurately if you want to keep your skin!
My Secondary School heavily discouraged children who wished to pursue creative careers. It’s only looking back on it now that I realise they were driven by the need to mould students into good employees, but at the time I bought the oft-repeated line that both art and writing were “highly competitive fields” and “impossible to get a foothold in”. I took up A-Levels which didn’t interest me, followed by a BSc in a field which was only a mild curiosity, and I gave up on childish ideas of writing books for a living.
Writing dogged me, though. It was like an addiction. If I could solve an office problem through writing, that would be my first choice. My career was IT, but I produced training documentation, HOWTO guides, and presentations so that I could educate employees and empower them to use their technology to better benefit them; it seemed a better way, rather than sit at the end of a phone line and wait for people to call me with problems.
Then one day I realised I hated IT. Bugger it, I was going to write for a living and that was that. I moved into technical documentation and freelanced for magazines on the side.
Was the urge satisfied? Hell no. I didn’t want to write hefty manuals about obscure hardware. I had stories that I needed to get out; stories about gorgeous men and dangerous enemies. Tales of sorcery and vampires, psychics and werewolves.
Now? Finally I’m doing something I love. Deep inside me there’s a child with a typewriter who couldn’t be happier.
“Can I ask you something?” he blurted. It was as though his subconscious had stolen control of his mouth just long enough to force the words out, and Ellis trapped his lip between his teeth. It was like shutting the gate after the horse had bolted.
“Yeah, of course.”
God, he was so sweet. He didn’t hesitate at all, did he? Whatever Ellis wanted, Randall was ready to provide.
Ellis cleared his throat. “What do you look like?”
And there it was: the little leap in Randall’s heart rate; his minute intake of breath. Each little sound was part of an orchestra, softly playing Randall’s emotions out for Ellis to hear.
“Well, um. I’m…” Randall was shy. His voice caught and lowered as though finding some way of describing himself to another would make him think about his appearance too closely. “I’m five foot eight. I dunno. I kept waiting for a growth spurt and it never came.” His laugh was weak. “Uh, anyway. I keep myself in shape, work out a bit, but I’m not like some muscled-up beefcake, you know. I’m black, and my eyes are, like, sort of dark brown. I don’t do anything mental with my hair, uh. It’s just cut close. It goes a bit afro if I don’t.”
Ellis smiled a little and asked Tiberius to sit, then he faced Randall. “Mind if I look?”
“Look?” Randall’s pulse spiked higher.
Ellis chuckled. “Well it sounds better than ‘mind if I put my hands all over your face?’”
“Oh!” Randall’s voice wavered, and a twinge of excitement made his exclamation lilt upward as it ended. “Yeah, of course. Um, I mean. Yeah, go for it.”
He wants this, Ellis thought. He wants me to touch him.
God, was this all about to become an awful mistake? Randall liked him every bit as much as he liked Randall, it seemed. That could only bring problems. It couldn’t last even if they did have feelings for each other. Hell, it probably couldn’t even get off the starting block.
Randall’s breathing was quick as he waited.
Ellis gently lowered Tiberius’ harness and told the dog to stay, then he raised his hands to Randall’s chest and placed his fingertips lightly over his heart. The vibration of it could be felt through his ribs and the hard muscle that covered them. It transferred through the soft cotton of Randall’s t-shirt along with the warmth from his blood, and Ellis’ body leaned toward him, drawn in by a magnetism he didn’t want to understand.
He forced his hands upward. He wanted to cling to Randall’s body, to learn every line of it, but not here. Not in the middle of the park. And certainly not without asking first. His palms joined in the exploration mission as he found his way over the collar of Randall’s t-shirt and straight to the bumps of exposed collarbone and softness of his throat.
Randall’s breath came in hurried gasps. His muscles quivered with the effort of staying still.
Ellis drew his fingers up the sides of Randall’s neck. His touch was unhurried, a soft tease to feed Randall’s anticipation. Ellis knew he was being a bugger. He could’ve asked Randall to guide him straight to his face, but then where would the fun be?
It was an excuse to touch him, and he was damn well going to take the opportunity.
About the Author:
Amelia Faulkner was born in the rolling green countryside of Oxfordshire, and moved to London once she was mostly grown up. She has a degree in Computer Science, and spent quite a long time working with computers until her childhood love of writing could no longer be ignored.
Since then she has written for corporate clients and personal pleasure, and finally stepped away from office-bound working in 2011 to freelance from home.
Amelia is also a keen photographer and film-goer, and resides in the city (not the City) with her husband. She is notoriously camera-shy, so please enjoy this picture of her cat!
Mailing list: http://eepurl.com/ZiAEX
I have a number of paperbacks, most of which are signed, to giveaway. Over the between now (11 Mar 2017) and 31 Mar 2017, every comment on the blog (this post and all other new posts), will be entered to win 1 of these paperbacks. There are also some misc swag items, so there will be a few packs of these to give away as well.
Thank you so much for your support over the last 4 years. Prism will be closing its doors on 1 April 2017. All content will remain available, but no new content will appear after 31 Mar 2017. As such all request forms have been turned off. Again Thank you,
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