Dream Lovers by D L Richardson

Thank you to Danica at Paranormal Romance Fans for Life for hosting me during my virtual book tour. I hope your readers enjoy this post. This is a humorous insight into what our dreams tells us about our dream lover.

Dream Lovers

You’ve met the paranormal creature of your dreams and he turns out to be a...

 ANDROID      You want a man who can cook and clean 24/7

BIGFOOT       They say big hand means big manhood, well they say the same about big foot

CENTAUR     Admit it, you want your man to be hung like a horse. (Don’t we all). Unlike the unicorn lover, if you dream of a Centaur you also want your hung man to be able to hold a conversation.

DEMON         Sometimes life is too short to be the good girl. You like to play on the wild side and you want someone who can handle the heat.

ELF                You like short green people who make toys. You probably have stuffed animals on your bed. And you like Christmas.

FAERIE          You want a man who wants to go shopping with you for clothes, sparkly things, appliances, doona covers, ooh and shoes.

GHOST          You want your man to disappear when your girlfriends come over to watch DVDs and drink cocktails.

HYBRID         You’re not one to put labels on people and you’re way cool with people loving whomever they wish to love.  

INCUBUS       You want a man who satisfies you when you sleep because you’re too busy working, looking after kids, exercising, writing, and everything else to partake in sex while you’re awake.

JEDI               You want your man to be able to swipe his hand and use his Jedi mind trick to get you into all the best restaurants and nightclubs and skip the long lines at the entrance.

KNIGHT         Self explanatory which sort of man you want in your life, you damsel in distress, you.

LEPRECHAUN           Like the lover of the elf except that you like a man with a funny accent.                      

MUMMY         You’re studying a degree in nursing and want someone to practice on.

NYMPH          You’re not into men or you’re not only into men.

OGRE            Similar to the troll lover, except that you like gentle giants and have a soft spot for ugly men. Maybe you can’t bear to be with a hottie in case he flirts and you go nuts with jealousy.

POLTERGEIST           You like someone who can join you in a good plate throwing fest when you’ve had a bitch of a day at work.

QILIN             A Chinese creature than resembles a dragonish dear, you like your man to be strong on the outside and soft on the inside. 

REAPER        You are a material girl and this man can get you the most powerful gift of all – people’s souls.

SHIFTER       You want a man who can change to suit your current mood.

TROLL           You’re a person who brings home strays because you feel sorry for them.

UNICORN      Like the lover of the Centaur, you want your man to be hung like a horse, and you also want him to be mute so he is incapable of complaining but with his pretty horn he is capable of opening tin cans.

VAMPIRE       You like a man who enjoys nibbling on your neck and takes pride in his appearance

WEREWOLF   You’re an animal lover who wants a man who is in touch with his animalistic side. And if he misbehaves you know he can handle a night in the dog house.

X-MEN           You have a desire to be with a man who is part of a secret organization.

YETI               You like men with long, platinum blond hair, and you’re possibly still in love with any number of 80s rockers.

ZOMBIE          You like a man who can provide for his family in the event that humanity is plagued by disease. All the food runs out, and we have to resort to cannibalism only you’re squeamish about touching meat.

Book Description:

Ethan James, Florida Bowman, and Jake Inala need organ transplants. When they receive the organs of a dead CIA agent, Dylan Black, they take on more than the task of completing the mission of deactivating bombs that threaten millions of lives. Kidnapped, their lives under threat, the memories stored in the CIA agent’s mind begin to awaken within each of them, except the one piece of information they are abducted for - the location of the bombs.

Excerpt:

Chapter One

Wednesday, November 9th, Ethan James

AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” blared through the speakers. Apt music considering the weather conditions. Rain pounded the windshield of the Lamborghini. Crushed beneath the noisy rain, the music took a beating, too. I flipped the volume control to the max, drowning out the steady slap of water on the roof.

The dark shroud of night cloaked the striped lines to my left and right. Street signs blasted yellow warnings to drivers to slow down on wet roads. I ignored them.

Instead, I pushed the car to 120 miles per hour. Coming around a curve in the road, I flew up on a van and sharply jerked the wheel to avoid ramming the Lamborghini up its rear end. I owed my life to my quick reflexes.

Pity.

I drove for another half mile at suicidal speeds, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel to the rhythm of the guitar riff. Another half mile. Then another. Just when the buzz of the ride plunged to a level of indifference, the car hit a pothole, veered me across three lanes, and like a punch from nowhere, it was game on.

A tsunami-sized wave of water fell from the sky. Momentarily blinded by the useless wipers, I sucked in my breath when two rows of lights cut through the haze. Two white lights on the bottom and six or more yellow ones on top—the bright circles headed straight at me.

Semitrailer. Not good.

Gritting my teeth, I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. The truck swerved at the last second, missing killing me by about half that length of time. The driver blasted four long bleats of the horn.

I laughed out loud as I spun around.

I accelerated till the car caught up to its former 120 miles per hour. The chorus kicked in, and I helped with the backing vocals. “Thunder. Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na. Thunder.”

Whether driving under a dome of blue, or a sky darkened by storms like tonight, I liked to push cars to their limit. It didn’t matter what sort of car, but slow cars tended to break apart sooner under extreme pressure. Fast cars handled the punishment of driving at stupid speeds much better.

Speeding made the rush last longer. It filled a void and carried me to a place where I let go of the angst over a waste of a life spent waiting to die of kidney failure. The rush reminded me that seventeen-year-old kids should wish for a professional ice hockey career instead of wishing to still be alive by Christmas.

The song ended, and in that second of silence, my thrill took a dismal nosedive. Images of the hospital I attended every week flickered across my vision. So, I increased the speed. Bad enough the bleak place filled my head and haunted my dreams, but to interrupt my fun—not going to happen.

The next song on the CD kicked in, and it did the trick of hauling me back to the driver’s seat, where I replaced the hospital corridor for a rain-slicked freeway. I figured if I had to die young, I’d do it on my terms. No doubt the doctors would have something to say about this philosophy. If I crashed the car and ended up in the hospital, I’d tell them I reached out to touch life. Better than dwelling on my postpubescent life spent hooked up to a dialysis machine.

I’d probably get pulled over by the cops first, and I couldn’t have that. Aside from speeding, I’d stolen the Lamborghini from a mall parking lot half an hour earlier, and I didn’t have a license.

A crack in my concentration appeared like the lightning bolts streaking the sky. The car drifted into the next lane, and I let it go. A set of lights rushed toward me, and I expertly got the car under control, but at this speed, and despite the car’s sporting capability, the Lamborghini was all over the shot.

Buzzed from pushing the car, I kept going.

At 120 miles per hour, streetlights floated like satiny, white ribbons. The rain-slicked road made it impossible to judge the lines marking the lanes. Curves were hard to anticipate.

Sometimes I oversteered; sometimes I didn’t steer enough and had to yank the wheel to the left or right at the last second. Other drivers blasted their horns. I didn’t care about the rules of the road. Rules were for pussies.

For each minute I survived this suicidal cruise, I’d get two points. So far, I’d accumulated over two hundred. Fifty were up for grabs, if I made it home alive. I had a lot to lose if I crashed the car. I had nothing to lose if I killed myself.

I jumped in surprise when a car came up on my left and honked its horn, whizzing by in a blur of chrome. “I don’t think so, buddy.”

I accelerated. If the cops wanted to stop me, they’d have to use air support. Getting myself on TV only added to the thrill of the chase.

Concern over my reckless driving should have registered, but it didn’t. The speedometer now read 140 miles per hour. AC/DC screeched about “Hells Bells,” and the rain didn’t lessen. If I lost control now, I’d smash into the concrete barriers lining the highway. It’d be game over. No way I’d survive the impact. What a shame this last train of thought wasn’t on whether I’d survive or not, but on whether I’d care.

Lightning bolts exploded across the sky and lit up the windshield. In that brief flicker of visibility, I spotted the plane on fire, blocking the highway—and the spaceship blowing up a bridge with luminous green laser beams. I let go of the wheel, idly watching the Lamborghini plow into the concrete barrier. Metal fragments and orange flames danced in front of me. The sound of something exploding boomed through the speakers. The words GAME OVER flashed across the television screen.

The plane had been okay, but the spaceship insulted me. For sure, the makers of the game reckoned it’d be a hoot to throw unrealistic obstacles in my path.

I tossed the Xbox controller aside and scratched my numb backside. My life couldn’t get any worse…might as well go to school.

* * *

Title: Feedback

Author: D L Richardson

Genre: YA Paranormal

Publisher: Etopia Press

Ebook

Words: 65,000

Release Date: 10/5/2012

Amazon | Barnes and Noble | OmniLit |

 

About the Author:

Music first captured the creative interest of D L Richardson. She got her first acoustic guitar at age ten, and in high school she sang with the school band. When she left school she helped form her own rock band where she sang lead vocals, played bass guitar, and wrote all the lyrics. At age 26 she realized she wanted to write novels for the rest of her life, or die trying, so she sold her equipment, quit pursuing a music career and began writing instead. She currently lives in Australia on the NSW South Coast with her husband and dog. When she’s not writing or reading she can be found practicing her piano, playing the guitar or walking the dog.

Website | Email: dlrichardsonbooks@bigpond.com | Blog | Facebook | Twitter |