Welcome to your new destination for fiction - DARK ROAST PRESS!
This was darkroastpress.com's original website offering visitors the opportunity to buy and read their authors newest works. Sadly in 2014 this ePublisher had closed its doors. The domain registration expired and the site disappeared from the web. What you find now is a limited selection of its archived content.
We are at the forefront of the Black Coffee Movement. We, the Black Coffee Klatsch, believe that a good romance should have a driving plot and thriving story. Make it smart, make it sexy, make it real! This most certainly is not your mother’s romance novel, and it may not be your sister’s either.
Dark Roast Press is an ePublisher with not only a GLBT focus but also with a thirst for the dark side of life. No, we will not abandon the "mainstream" road that the Erotica world has laid before us, but we have created a home for the kinks of life we like to keep secret. Our goal is to create a company that has much to offer; a little bit of everything to please anyone.
DARK ROAST PRESS ONLINE STORE
Unfortunately you will not be able to browse our selection, and check back often for new releases!
Dark Roast Press is brought to you by the letter "R", and by these fine people:
Helgaleena – Senior Editor
Monti Shalosky – Girl Friday
Juanita Campbell – Artist
Rhiannon Rhodes – Owner & Editor in Chief & Promotions
Jamie Lynn Miller
Jamie Lynn Miller has been writing male/male fanfiction stories for nearly fifteen years and decided to take the plunge and go pro in 2008. She’s a romantic at heart, and her stories reflect the desire we all have to find “the one”, persevering through trials and heartache for that happy ending.
Jamie has a degree in Fine Arts and has spent the last thirteen years working as a Graphic Designer. She was born in Chicago and still lives there today, with her husband and their furry, four-footed “children”.
Besides writing, Jamie enjoys traveling, softball, reading, science fiction, hanging out with friends, and just being creative.
She is eternally thankful for all of the love and support her husband has given her over the years with her writing and other endeavors.
If you’d like to contact Jamie Lynn, her email address is: email@example.com or friend her Live Journal.
Burnin' For You
Christopher C. Newman
Chris Newman lives in northeast Ohio with his soul-mate Diane, two sons (Anthony and Brendan), and has five grandchildren (Sebastian, Miguel, Duncan, Keegan, and Nathan). The residence is home to their pet cat Murphy (who is always under foot). Much to Murphy’s dismay Michaeledes the rat peers down from his cage (if only he had a ladder). Michaeledes teases him as Chris writes nearby. Chris is the published author of The Truth About Vampires, and its sequel Rites of the Vampire Cult, as well as “Ghost Lover & Other Erotic Fantasies” an anthology of erotic/horror.
A life-long fan of Robert E. Howard, Richard Matheson, and Stephen King the bookshelves at the Newman residence run the gambit from erotica to horror to spirituality to humor. In fact, Chris hopes one day to inherit a library (or a castle with a library, that’d be nice!). Surrounding his eclectic library is his collection of medieval weaponry, helms, and shields. Woe be to the foolish mortal who tries to invade the Newman home.
You can find out more about Chris at his website.
The Curse of Albrecht Manor
Hound of Doom
A Terrible Tryst of Fate
Those Dangerous Times
J. C. Natál has been writing since she was old enough to hold a pen. There was a devout Pentecostal phase which produced some of the worst poetry the world has ever seen. There have been short stories and novel length stories that should have been shorter. There was a lot of dribble with a few gems emerging over time. Despite the efforts of real life to derail her, J. C. worked at honing her craft with various original projects, then discovered the world of written erotica and the world as she knew it changed. Even more when she discovered the world of fan fiction erotica, and the discovery that other people were turned on by the same things she was. And that, in turn brought her here.
Learn more about J.C at her Live Journal.
J C's Books
Born in a town with a population of 400 at the edge of the Ozark Mountains in Missouri, she grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. Dreams of being a comic artist consumed her every thought from the time she was twelve until she graduated from high school. Unable to attend college for financial reasons she moved to St. Louis at eighteen where she’s held a number of jobs over the past 22 years including sales associate and design student at a floral studio, operations administrator of a ceramic tile company, and a number of positions in food service including baker, grill cook, and 2nd assistant cook. Presently she is managing rental property, honing her writing skills, and dreaming of a long-lived career as a writer. Her first novel Shadows Beneath is slated for an April 15, 2008 release from Dark Roast Press.
Keep up with Jesse at her Live Journal, her Myspace or her website.
Le Jardin de la Lumiere
Tyree Q. Kimber
Born in California, grew up in central Kansas, and currently live in Kansas City. Tyree has a Bachelor of Arts degree in Theatre from Kansas State University.
"I have always been artistic and possessed of a passion for storytelling. Over the last ten years my interests have shifted increasingly from the performance side of storytelling and into the writing side. Love and sexuality have always fascinated me, as have the fantastical realms of the imagination. Realizing that perhaps these two areas may be two halves of the same whole, I made the decision a few years ago to enter the genre of erotica fantasy. APOCALYPSE WOMAN is the result of that initial foray and I have not looked back since."
Apocalypse Woman has been acquired by Dark Roast Press and is slated for release June 20th 2008.
You can find Tyree on Live Journal or Myspace.
Angelia Sparrow is a middle aged truck-driver, living quietly in the Mid South with her husband, four kids and two cats. She's written numerous short stories and a few novels, both alone and with Naomi Brooks. In her spare time she crochets and reads porn in waiting rooms. She's still waiting to grow up to be Han Solo.
You can find Angelia on her personal website, her Yahoo group or Myspace.
Some of Our Books
In Service by J C Natal
In a modern world where rampant disease and prostitution has been dealt with through institutionalizing the sex business, and where American nobility, Lords and Ladies, hold significant power, Lord Elias Doherty is a man who has always had everything he ever wanted. Spoiled and arrogant, Elias thinks only of his upcoming twenty-fifth birthday and his only desired gift, a Servant of his very own.
When he spots Jared Karan, he knows exactly what he wants, but Jared is owned by another, a powerful British Lord with a reputation as a ruthless and unforgiving man, in business and in personal matters.
Elias gets what he wants through his father’s political and business maneuvering, and Jared is his. But Lord Stuart isn’t content with his defeat, and he uses his own power and influence to give Elias a gift, one that on the surface seems legitimate, but hides a very dark secret.
With a powerful enemy and a political climate that is more than a little volatile, falling in love with Jared could lead them both to destruction.
Elias realized he was holding his breath and let it out slowly. It was a beautiful thing to watch, the fingers disappearing into him and moving about slowly, opening him up. According to the paperwork, he’d never had anything near the size of an actual cock inside him. Fingers, dildos for training, but all small, all designed to leave him essentially a virgin for his Lord.
It made him sweat to think about it, that no one else had touched him the way he was about to. Jared finished and stood up, turning to Elias. “How do you want me, my Lord?” His eyes were downcast, his voice breathy.
Elias crossed to him, letting his fingers dance over the bare skin, over nipples and abdominal muscles, over hips, around to the rounded mounds of his ass. He slipped a finger inside him and closed his eyes, savoring the heat. “Undress me,” Elias said.
Jared hesitated only briefly, then his hands rose up between them, unbuttoning Elias’ shirt. His hands skimmed over Elias’ skin, up, under the shirt, over his shoulders, slipping the fabric from him as he circled around Elias.
Lips, soft and damp, moved over his back as the shirt fell into Jared’s hands. Kisses and tender touches made Elias close his eyes and relax. He never saw where the shirt landed, but he felt Jared’s hands, over his lower back, around his waist…his fingers at the button of his jeans.
It was so quiet in the room Elias could hear the denim slide through Jared’s hands as he opened the fly and guided the pants down. As they reached his ankles, Jared circled back around so that he was in front of Elias, on his knees, staring at the erect cock he’d released.
Jared steadied Elias with a hand on his hip and wordlessly encouraged him to step free of the clothing. Elias’ cock bobbed in front of him and after he’d pushed the jeans away, he looked up at Elias, eyes wide.
“May I, my Lord?”
It took Elias a moment to realize what it was he was asking. “Yeah…yeah…do it.”
Jared’s mouth opened and then his lips closed around the end of Elias’ cock, just the tip. He sucked in, his tongue sliding just under the head, then tracing it. He pulled back, kissing the end, before his tongue lapped over it, then under it, down the length and back. Elias hissed and barely managed to keep from thrusting in hard and fast when Jared swallowed him whole.
Nikolai by Angelia Sparrow
Nikolai is a kinky gay Pygmalion set in a Dark Future America. James Ligatos is a man with an unusual hobby. He turns promising young criminals into world leaders. His latest project is Nicholas Boyd, formerly Nikolai of the Revenant street gang. But the little killer-turned-file-clerk is much more than Ligatos and his staff bargained for.
As Kentucky attempts to secede from the Confederated States of America and rejoin the United States, Nick's skills and the group's training are put to the ultimate test, and the price of failure is death.
The street-preacher on the corner of Highland was harder to ignore than the newscreens. He towered over the passerby, black and frightful-looking, his hair a wild mass of dreadlocks, his filthy robe tattered with wear. He proclaimed the end of the world in his great deep voice that carried for blocks.
“Even now,” he intoned, “events rush to their conclusion. The demon that squats atop the world has called his Nikolai to him.” Nick startled a moment at the sound of his taken name and then saw an ancient battered copy of Nicolae: The Rise of the Anti-Christ in the preacher's hand. It was nothing, just weird coincidence. He had taken the name from the book, though, and something made him uneasy. Nothing had gone quite right on this heist.
He continued to the shop.
Nick opened the door of the pawnshop into must and dust and the smell of desperation. Old contraband computers, old televisions, prohibited fiction books, cheap jewelry all piled together with someone’s wheelchair and old forbidden movies in formats no one made players for any more. It didn’t look promising, and the feeling that something was going wrong only grew stronger.
He looked at the old woman behind the counter, taking in her short gray hair and overly applied make-up that enhanced her age rather than hid it. He decided she was probably old enough to be exempt from the appearance laws that prohibited cosmetics. He pretended to browse for a while. “I’m looking for Mr. Ligatos,” he finally said when he’d worked his way around to her.
She smiled and nodded. “Iakobos,” she called into the back of the shop, and followed it with a string of words in which Nick only caught about every fourth. An old man beckoned him into the back room. The filthy windows turned the light as yellow and nicotine-stained as the old man’s fingers. The heat of the room pressed in. The smell of insects and rodents, mold and dust made Nick want to sneeze. He was sure he saw something move in the half-draped, flyspecked mirror across from him.
“Sit. You have, for me, an item of value?” His command of English was better than the old woman’s. Nick smelled alcohol, cheap, homemade and raw, barely cut with licorice, on the old man’s breath. Yes, this would be the perfect place to fence his take.
“Guaranteed one of a kind. You had a deal with Vlad of the Revenants. Vlad didn’t make it out of the heist but he told me where to come.” Nick drew out the candelabra and set it on the table.
The old man looked it over, slowly and carefully. From the corner of his eye, Nick thought he saw movement, but when he turned nothing was there except the stacks of clutter in the dim, filthy back room.
“Yes, yes. I have a buyer. One who is much interested in such an artifact.” He prodded the item a few times with a gnarled finger. “It is what you say it is, boy.”
“If you can buy it, can you buy these as well?” Nick took out the small carvings he’d stolen. “Real jade, real ivory.”
Old Ligatos looked over the little statues. “Young jade. Not worth so much. Ivory, that, that is worth a fortune. I give you three thousand for all.”
“And for the candlestick?”
A voice from behind him said, “For that you’re going straight to prison, boy.” The cold metal of a gun pressed into the hollow of his skull.
Le Jardin de la Lumiere by Jesse Fox
A successful young artist, Ryan Esson lost everything in the blink of an eye, including his ability to create. Courtesy of an anonymous benefactor, he’s given an opportunity to reclaim something he thought lost forever when he receives a mysterious invitation to a weekend artist's retreat at a pre-Civil War sugar plantation.
Built on a secluded string of islands off the Gulf Coast of Louisiana, Le Jardin de la Lumière is a place of intrigue, a haunting legend, and one beautiful stranger, who will mesmerize Ryan. In a stranger’s eyes, will he find the strength to open his mind and his heart again?
Le Jardin de la Lumiere
Ryan swallowed hard, trying not to let on that a second before he’d been staring at the tightly muscled curve of Eric’s ass beneath his slacks. “Yeah, I guess so.” He nervously shifted his own duffle on his shoulder and stepped past Eric, eyes focused ahead deliberately on the sleek lines of the yacht. “So why do you suppose we were invited?” He could sense Eric at his side, standing far too close for comfort.
“Who knows?” Shrugging, Eric stepped in front of him gracefully, walking backwards as he studied Ryan with an amused expression.
To be honest Ryan didn’t much care for the familiarity with which Eric looked at him, especially considering he’d never seen Eric before in his life until five minutes ago. It stank of some uppity rich boy gigolo trying to scope out his prey. Ryan had seen more than his fair share when he’d attended parties, showings, and gallery openings all over the country, and it had never seemed to matter to any of them that he was on Michael’s arm. So many of them had assumed Michael was wealthy and he was nothing but eye candy for the sake of appearances.
He sniffed in disgust. “There has to be a reason.”
“Why?” Eric questioned as he spun and stepped up on the gangplank. “Can we just say it is what it is? Enjoy whatever pleasures we might discover here?”
Ryan hesitated for a moment; then the memory of that empty loft reared up, blinding him to any doubts, he might have about his present mind set. “No,” he shook his head, “we can’t.”
A soft hum escaped Eric’s pursed lips, “And why not, Mr. Esson?”
“Because,” Ryan met those wide azure eyes, “nothing is ever what it appears to be.”
“True, but then where is the adventure in that?”
Ryan dropped his duffel to the polished deck and leaned into the railing as the crew released the moorings, the boat slipping away from the dock and out across the twilight waters. “Some of us have had enough adventure in our lives.” He huffed out a breath, staring down into the dark water as the yacht sliced through it silently. “We don’t need any more.”
“Oh, but adventure is what brings us hope, desire, even beauty and faith. Adventure is what life is about. Don’t you believe that as well?” Eric chuckled, but there was a sadness concealed somewhere in the sound of his laugh.
Lifting his gaze from the water, he studied Eric for a moment. “No, I don’t.” He paused then admitted, “I did once, but not now—never again.”
Darkness Falls by Jamie Lynn Miller
Matthew Tucker is a successful actor on a hit television show, his career on the rise. Life is good. What more could he want?
Daniel Westman, that’s what – his co-star and close friend for the last two years.
Matthew desires more than friendship with Daniel, though, his attraction for the other man growing day by day. So much so that Matthew gives up the safety and security of his current long-term relationship for the slimmest chance of a relationship with Daniel, feeling there’s something between them, just under the surface. And he was gambling his happiness on it.
But months go by, with Matthew suddenly afraid to go forward, to make the first move, to tell Daniel he was falling in love with him. Because if he was wrong, and Daniel was just being his natural charming self and Matthew was looking too deeply into it…he’d lose his best friend.
So instead Matthew longs for his friend in silence, until an accident on set may leave Daniel permanently blinded. With his friend hurt, scared and confused, his life possibly forever altered, Matthew never wavers from Daniel’s side, no matter how difficult it gets.
His dedication brings them closer than ever before , but is it possible to find happiness, and love, in the wake of a tragedy? Or has Matthew’s hesitation cost him that chance and he’ll lose Daniel to the darkness instead?
Matthew reached out and took his friend by his wrist, pulling him closer, guiding him to stand between Matthew’s widespread legs.
Matthew took a second, and a breath, as his heart jumped a bit, having Daniel so close, naked from the waist up. He closed his legs, until they were just barely brushing Daniel’s, and he felt as if that drew Daniel even closer to him. Matthew swallowed, reluctant to release Daniel’s wrist, the skin of it so warm under his fingers.
“Hey, everything okay?”
Daniel’s quiet question broke Matthew out of the moment and he blinked, letting go of his friend’s arm.
“Umm, yeah, sorry,” Matthew stammered, and he turned his upper body toward the sink on his right, twisting on the taps. He adjusted the temperature just this side of too hot and soaked the washcloth, before handing it to Daniel.
Daniel wet down his face and neck with the cloth as Matthew first pulled up the stopper in the sink, then flipped open the cap on the shaving cream.
Face thoroughly damp, Daniel handed the washcloth back to Matthew, who laid it next to him on the counter, then turned off the taps on the sink. He squirted a small amount of shaving cream onto the fingers of his right hand, set the can down and rubbed the cream onto his left hand as well.
Reaching out, he slowly smoothed the cream onto Daniel’s face – under his cheekbones, above his upper lip, across and back on the sides of his face, over and under his chin, then a short way down his neck. He felt Daniel release a small sigh and saw his shoulders relax.
The water running in the bathtub was the only sound in the room as Matthew picked up the razor and began carefully shaving his friend. A slow swipe down, a rinse in the sink…repeat…repeat…repeat. It was sensual, almost hypnotic, as more and more of Daniel’s skin was revealed with each pass of the razor.
Matthew felt Daniel’s hand touch his leg, slide up, until his palm was resting high up on his thigh. Matthew breathed in at the touch, breathed in the warm steam enveloping them, felt his legs close a fraction more.
One last pass with the razor and Matthew was finished, Daniel’s skin pink and smooth once more. Eyes never leaving Daniel’s face, Matthew set the razor down on the counter. There was a spot of shaving cream on Daniel’s left cheekbone and Matthew reached up, palm resting against the side of his friend’s face, fingers curling around behind Daniel’s ear, his thumb sliding over Daniel’s cheek, clearing the shaving cream away.
Time seemed to freeze, catching the two men in the moment as Matthew felt his chest tighten, his heart pound, and he couldn’t breathe, felt lightheaded.
This is why he left his three-year relationship with his boyfriend Colin nearly four months ago. When he no longer got this feeling being around him, but around his best friend instead.
When he realized he was falling in love with Daniel.
His thumb caressed Daniel’s cheek again and Matthew desperately wished that he could see Daniel’s eyes, to see what he was feeling. God, was he alone in this madness? He needed to know…
Matthew felt Daniel sway towards him, his waist pressing against Matthew’s groin, his fingers flexing on Matthew’s thigh, and Matthew’s throat went dry.
Daniel’s voice was barely a whisper. “Matt?”
Apocalypse Woman by Tyree Q Kimber
Selkines Ondine, a minor noblewoman without the means to fulfill her hunger for knowledge and power, faces a lonely life in service to the Aratriconian Church.
To avoid this fate she makes a pact with Abryax, a fallen angel who defied the god Aratricon at the dawn of time.
In exchange for bearing the demon's child she willreceive on wish for anything her heart desires.
Selkines plans to use this wish to gain the wealth and power that society denies her. But the archbishop of the Church has a secret agenda: an interest in Selkines that goes far beyond the religious. And the servants of Heaven will do anything to keep a soul they have set their sights on from Hell's grasp.
Meanwhile Selkines's longsuffering admirer, the poet Erasmus sets out to win her hand as well, unaware that his competition is a creature of ancient and terrible power.
Abryax's motto is that Hell gives us exactly what we want. But Selkines learns that what we want may come in a form we never expected or desire. Heaven and Hell ultimately gather for a showdown with Selkines's body as the battlefield, but Selkines is shocked at the depth of her own capacity to love when Erasmus selflessly enters the conflict for her sake as well.
In that hidden vale, with the moon dark and her sins unseen, Selkines began to dance, or, perhaps it should be said, to writhe for her patron's pleasure. It seemed to go on forever, a chaotic series of movements, the best of which were utterly obscene. Yet Selkines continued for what seemed like hours, continued until sweat coated every inch of her painted body and her lithe muscles ached. All the while, she prayed, raggedly chanting dark words until her lungs burned and it seemed the voice was not her own. And then, after it seemed an eternity had passed, with a gesture as vile as it was climatic, the dark dance ended.
Selkines fell to her knees in the dirt, flanks heaving, body glistening, and all silent save for the crackling of the fire. She was utterly exhausted and yet terribly aroused. In truth, the level of sexual hunger she felt was unprecedented, almost painful. Alone with no one to see and no one to stop her, it took all of the willpower she had not to send one hand seeking a pert breast, the other the damp cleft between her thighs, and begin a frenzied effort to release this alien tension playing havoc upon her body and soul. But no, at all costs, she must wait. Still, no sounds came to her except the licking of the flames. But the ritual had to have worked. He had to have heard her entreaty. He must come!
Nothing. Silence. Selkines' heart grew heavy and her loins, ever more impatient. All in vain, then. Her cry had gone unheard. Now, truly, she was alone. And then the fire changed.
First, the bright, blinding white of burning magnesium, then the livid green of burning copper, then, the yellow of a sulphurous cloud. The flames changed, and changed again. And then he was among them. Instantly averting her eyes, Selkines caught only the barest glimpse, but Abryax burned in her memory like the fires of his eyes which sifted in patterns identical to those of the bonfire consecrated to him. Much taller than a man, the demon stood, its limbs and body clothed in a living blackness which seemed to devour all light that touched it. Its masculine face was handsome beyond measure, even in spite of its bone-white skin, small horns, and the bottomless flaming sockets of its eyes. Its - no, his- beauty in all its unholiness was frightening to behold. The hunger in Selkines' loins silently cried out to him and her body trembled.
Abryax emerged from the shifting fire and was immediately before her. Selkines did not dare raise her eyes. What had she done? What would the fallen one demand of her?
An elegant, clawed hand extended languidly toward her and took her by the chin, forcing her to meet the bottomless, beautiful hell of her demon's eyes. Those endless, colorful fires pulled her in, entrapping her in an enchantment of lust. It seemed the price would be exactly as she'd expected. Very well. The lust in her body, already unbearable, now redoubled tenfold at the demon's command. Almost of their own volition, Selkines' hands now moved to her most sacred regions and a blasphemous dance of a new kind now began.
Hound of Doom by Christopher Newman
“Mama” Fonti, his maternal grandmother doesn’t buy the coroner’s verdict of a massive coronary. The Italian matron suspects her grandson’s last girlfriend of arcane foul play.
Despite William’s aunt Rosa O’Leary’s protests, she has a friend search the Internet for a reputable occultist. She finds Noah Ravenswood and his associate Dr. Sarah Bookings, occult investigators-for-hire. Trained since birth to battle the fiends of the dark, Noah accepts the task to uncover the truth for Mama.
Why is Carrie Welsh, WXPL’s morning weathergirl seeming to be benefit from the attacks? Is she an innocent bystander, or is she in control of the very thing that is wreaking vengeance against the men who wrong her? Suddenly Carrie is attacked by something fiendish, as other supernatural beings enter the picture.
These infernals, which have no relationship to the death of William Paterno, further muddle Noah and Sarah’s inquiry.
Then there is Rosa, who begins to take an emotional interest in the bald wizard. Her fiery Italian temperament, outspoken opinion, and pointed observations of Noah’s life provide an unwelcome distraction. Can they stop the attacks and discover who’s to blame before more of Niles’ citizens fall under the deadly gaze of the Hound of Doom?
Hound of Doom
Will walked naked into the living room and found the abandoned glasses. He frowned as he saw they were dirty. He knew they had only just used them an hour ago, but he preferred to use clean ones. He took them to the sink and plucked out a new pair from the cupboard beside the window.
As he turned he swore he saw something moving around outside, beyond the white lace drapes. He moved the curtains aside and stared out into the darkness of the complex’s parking lot. There was a slight fog on the ground. Its white smokiness swirled and danced in the spring night, like some ethereal creature summoned from another strange plane of existence. He was momentarily mesmerized by the hazy and eerie white glow caused by the streetlights filtering through the fog, before he spotted it again.
It was a creature the size of one of those miniature horses. It was a black outline against the whiteness of the fog and moved towards the window with its head bowed down, apparently sniffing the ground.
It’s a dog, Will realized with a tilt of his head. One of those hillbillies across the street must’ve not tied his mutt tight enough. The damn thing has gotten loose and is sniffing around for garbage.
The longer he stared at it, the more it looked like one of those big mastiffs, the kind you see in those horror movies about dogs. The canine wandered closer and closer, and Will stood there buck naked and wondering what it was up to. It upset him to think the animal assumed he would be so crass as to fling garbage out his window for it to dine on. A sneer crossed his face, and he wished he hadn’t thrown out the hot water he had cooked the pasta in.
“A face full of scalding water is exactly what would teach that rotten animal to stay where it belongs!” he mused to himself. In his mind’s eye the comment evoked mental images, and sounds of the animal yelping and running across the street only to be hit by a passing car. Laughter burst from his lips with a startling sound.
“What’s so funny, Will?” Carrie’s voice drifted into the kitchen from the bathroom.
“Just some stupid dog sniffing around outside, babe,” he turned to reply, as she turned on the shower. But when he looked out the window again he jumped back with a stifled shout of fear. He almost dropped the glasses he was holding.
Two blazing red eyes inches from his own nearly scared the shit out of him. The mutt had risen on its back legs and was glaring at Will eye-to-eye. The dog’s stare seemed to burn into him; then, with a blur of movement it was gone, leaving behind only the terror it had caused. His hands continued to shake for a couple of minutes; he seemed to be rooted to the very spot where he stood, and his mind was frantically trying to calm down.
“Are you coming?!” Carrie shouted past the closed door of the bathroom, above the noise of the shower.