valarltd | Orrrr-eg--an-oooooooooooooooo!

You'd think that submitting stories would stop feeling like I'd run out of cliff.

Nope, out here again with my little Wiley E. Coyote wave.

And more nervous than usual this time, because--despite thorough beta work (thank you, I love you all!)--this is het. My track record with het is...well, whatever the level BELOW "Abysmal" is.

So, while you're waiting for "Showdown at the Yellowstone River," go buy something!

Your ~~tax advance~~ ~~bribe~~ "stimulus check" will be arriving soon.

Go buy

reannon's award-winning vampire books. Sexy and smart, these Memphis murder-mysteries are available in E-book and print. (Buy enough Abaddon to get it to go Print! My mom wants it, and has no computer)

Get yourself a copy of Twilight and Thorns or my own Nikolai for reads that will make it hard to sleep.

Kestrel on the Horizon is becalmed. Who doesn't want gay pirates?

And if you want het to tide you over...Pushing the Boundaries of Reality is still available.

The pseudo-medieval world of hill and dale and forest created by her program gave way to desert. She paused at the edge. Her running program was one of the strongest. Other runners stumbling across her trail found themselves in her created reality instead of their own. She had only encountered one other program—the Wheelman's twisted vision of the Roman Legions—that could override hers. Curious, she stepped into the sands to see who the second was.

A desert program was very unusual. Turkish bazaars, great soaring malls and 1940s Americana were among the most common programs among the runners who could afford them. Hers was one of the more popular, and the runners who used it fancied themselves warriors and wizards, seeing information as jewels and spells, while slaying the corporate dragons that guarded them. She had to know.

Her own appearance changed only slightly as she entered the other runner's reality. Her emerald traveling cloak became a green abbaya over her black robes. She followed the tracks of a camel caravan toward a distant oasis of date palms. As she drew near, she saw the camels–data streams, really—milling about, their loads of information being greatly lightened by the black and violet swathed raider.

"Gemini," she whispered, recognizing the avatar. His program was one of the most realistic she'd encountered, easily as good as her own, in addition to the sheer brute power. The camels even stank. The guards–ice–were neutralized, looking like corpses on the ground, and the camel drivers made no protest as Gemini extracted his tribute for passing his ocean of sand.

He looked up, and her mouth went dry as his eyes caught hers. He gave a sardonic little smile that seemed to shiver clear through her body and returned to his work. She knew he knew she was not part of his run. A wiser runner would have split, jacked out and found a new avatar. But Zara was the Technomancer and she ran from no-one, not even LedaTech's best. She swallowed and calmed her overheated body.

She'd first heard of Gemini ten years before, when she was new to the net. She knew him by reputation alone, having only met him formally once, and never in real-space.

The caravan moved on and he turned his intense gaze on her. She held his dark eyes, daring him to drop them first, although she wanted to look him over more. The small smile that curved his very full lips grew larger. He beckoned her.

She canted her head and shifted her appearance to something that suited the surroundings even more, pausing long enough that she did not appear to be leaping to his command. Sheer ghawazee pants of green and black silk topped with two clinging silk tunics with close fitting sleeves replaced her usual flowing black work robes. Gold gleamed at her throat and wrists and along the edges of the thin black veil on her face. When she took a deliberate step towards him, ankle bracelets chimed as well. She gave her avatar a slightly more curvy figure than her own spare, small-breasted frame, and the silks clung and shadowed without truly concealing.

His smile grew and she longed to taste his mouth. Each step tinkled, the bells at her henna-patterned feet the only sound in this reality.

When she was within reach, he seized her shoulders, pulling her to him. "Zara," he said, the name a caress that felt like velvet on her skin. Few knew the Technomancer's real name.

She smiled herself and reached out to stroke the edges of his dark, oiled beard with beringed and henna-stained hands, keeping her implanted razor-sharp metal fingernails well away from his skin. The myrrh and spice scent of him surrounded her. This was not what she had planned, but from all she knew of him, she must be bold and forward or he would never respect her.

"Hello, David." She'd paid far too much for that name, the given name of LedaTach's best runner.

His dark eyes held her green ones until it seemed the net would crumble around them from the weight of eternity. She saw the amusement and passion flaring deep within them.

He yanked the veil away and kissed her, fierce and claiming. She pressed up into his mouth, teasing and tasting him before allowing him entrance. She sucked at his tongue, felt the sharpness of his large white teeth and nibbled his lower lip, just to see if it was as full of spice and honey as it looked.

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