Things That Go Bump in the Night by B.A. Tortuga Guest Post & Excerpt!

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Hi guys! We have B.A. Tortuga stopping by today with her upcoming release Things That Go Bump In The Night, we have a brilliant guest post from B.A. and a great excerpt, so check out the post and enjoy! ❤ ~Pixie~

Things That Go Bump In The Night

by

B.A. Tortuga

This collection of paranormal erotica will give you goose bumps, make you shiver, and keep you up at night… though maybe not with fear.

In these tales are Alpha werewolves, a literal cat burglar, a cougar-shifter with self-esteem issues, a blind vampire, a wounded angel, a psychic, and more… and they like to play with their prey. From humorous to dark, these stories show there’s a perfect lover out there for everyone, no matter who—or what—they are. With their mates by their sides, they’re heating up the world unseen by most… and making lots of things go bump in the night.

Stories included:

Guapo
Bad for Business
Home Fires
Instinctive Harmony
Pinyon
Ring My Bell
The Mind’s Eye
Cats in a China Shop

B.A. Tortuga!

Hey y’all. I’m BA Tortuga, resident redneck and lover of all things paranormal.

A huge collection of my paranormal stories is releasing from Dreamspinner Press and to celebrate I’d like to share my top ten werewolf movies. (Because the wife and I are addicts. ADDICTS.)

  1. An American Werewolf in London. Because ZOMBIE JACK OMG
  2. Don’t judge. Jack Nicholson makes me happy.
  3. Brotherhood of the Wolf. Young mostly naked Mark Decascos.
  4. I LOVE the whole lycanthropy as metaphor.
  5. Dog Soldiers. Sometimes werewolves really are a bitch.
  6. In the Company of Wolves. Bizarre costume period drama with one eyebrow. Nuff said.
  7. The Howling. Mmm…Biting…
  8. It’s a Whitley Streiber book made into a movie, y’all.
  9. Silver Bullet. FIND GARY BUSEY!
  10. I Was a Teenage Werewolf. I don’t even have to explain. This is classic.

Much love, y’all.

BA

B.A. Tortuga - Things That Go Bump in the Night Square

Excerpt!

THE NIGHT was still. Too still for Dieter’s taste, as he preferred a light breeze, one that carried the scents of the night to him. There was much less work to it that way. They were much easier to find.

Tonight he was in one of the worst parts of the city, searching for someone who might have spice. Someone who might fight. Dieter was bored.

So very bored.

Thus far he had passed up a stocky older man who wandered down the street past him singing “El Rey,” and a woman who was probably quite strong, as young as she seemed—both rejected because of their scents.

He had enough despair of his own.

Just when he thought he would give up, go home, Dieter caught something on the air. A man. Young, feral, full of heat—someone composed of pepper and lime and sweat. Perfect.

Dieter stepped from the doorway he stood in, flicking his cane out and immediately dropping it, standing frozen, as if lost without it.

“Dios mio! You dropped you stick, man.” The clack of his cane sounded, and then it was pressed into his hand. “You gotta be careful, yeah? Bad dudes out here after dark.”

Oh yes. Young enough to still think he was invincible—Dieter could tell by the voice.

“Oh. Thank you. I… I appear to be hopelessly lost.”

“Where you trying to be? You’re at Gonzales and Third.” Cocky, self-sure.

In return, Dieter gave an uncertain, almost panicked sound. “I was to meet someone. A friend. Is there a station nearby?”

“Like a bus? Sure, man. Two blocks down and one over, by the little taqueria.” A warm, callused hand touched his shoulder. “What time’s your bud supposed to show?”

Smiling just enough to look wry, Dieter turned toward the touch, hand reaching out. “Perhaps an hour ago?”

“Oh. You been stood up. Come on, Guapo. I’ll take you to the bus stop.” His hand was taken. “You gotta be careful.”

Groping, Dieter took the young man’s arm. “Thank you so much. What is your name?”

“Eh? My homies call me Mago, the magician. You?” Oh, strong, heated, male.

Stroking absently at the warm skin, Dieter breathed deep, feeling his hunger stir at the musk and tequila scent the breath brought to him. “I am Dieter. Why Mago?”

“Mama says she couldn’t keep me in my crib, in the house. She says I’m always disappearing and reappearing.”

“Ah. How intrepid of you.” They were nearing the bus stop far too quickly, and it was the main exchange, he’d guess from the diesel fumes. That would never do.

“Okay. Thanks, I think.” The chuckle was low, sexy, deep, unaffected.

He chuckled as well, fingers moving, testing the resilience of muscle and bone. “Did I offend? My English sometimes is poor.” Certainly his accent made it sound so; though faint, it was still strong enough to mark his speech.

“Oh, my Spanglish is wicked, so we’re cool, man.” The kid moved faster, walking him toward the bus stop. “Almost there, Guapo.”

Damn. Dieter stopped, his hand popping free as he sniffed the air. “Is that a restaurant?”

“Eh?” He heard sneakers squeak on the concrete as the boy turned. “No…. Oh! Damn, man, you got a nose on you! That’s Jade Gate, four doors down.”

“Is it any good? I… well, you have been so nice, and I hate to impose. But I should like to have some food to take home. I missed my dinner.” Grimacing, Dieter made a vague gesture with his hands, indicating his embarrassment.

“Good sweet-and-sour chicken, yeah. Okay. Sure. I…. What bus you taking, man? It’s getting late.”

He wasn’t taking the bus, had no intention of it, and could not for the life of him remember what route he might need to get home. His house was a beacon to him. He could get there from any part of the city. Evading, he reached for Mago again, pushing slightly toward the restaurant. “I have time. If you do. I understand if you have some place to be.”

“Nah. Not really. Going home. I’ll help you out, yeah? Good deeds and all.” Mago started toward the restaurant, moving slowly.

This one was almost enough to give him second thoughts. The boy was… kind. It was a rare enough thing that it intrigued him. Still, Mago’s scent was addictive, and Dieter wanted to see if the boy tasted as good. He would pay for Mago to eat, then eat himself.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Whatcha doing in this part of town anyway? You don’t look low rent, Guapo.”

“I was to meet a friend, as I said. My part of town, it makes him uncomfortable.” The small restaurant they entered was warm and steamy and had a strong odor of cabbage and sticky-sweet sauce. Underneath it all there was still Mago, and Dieter only just caught himself leaning to take another deep whiff. Really, it was not like him to be so careless.

“Yeah, friends are like that. You want it to go? You know what you like?”

Letting go reluctantly, Dieter moved toward a seat, carefully feeling his way as if he needed to sit rather desperately. “Well. Have you eaten? Perhaps… well, no doubt you have. The sweet-and-sour chicken would do nicely. And if you wish, get something for yourself.”

A wad of bills accompanied that statement, and Dieter pressed it into Mago’s hands.

“Oh. Oh Jesus. Man. You gotta be careful. Shit.” Mago sat him down, voice stunned, sitting across from him as a waitress came up. “You’re gonna get mugged. Shit. Uh. Two number sevens, and you wan’ a drink?”

“Water, please. Bottled, if they have it.”

The waitress had squeaky shoes and a high, sweet Asian giggle, which told him Mago must look as good as he smelled, and she smelled of garlic and bubble gum.

“Water and ice tea, yeah? Thanks.” The money was pushed back into his hand. “Take your money, man. I’ll buy my own. I ain’t bumming off a blind guy.”

Drawing himself up stiffly, Dieter took the money and tucked it away. “Of course. I apologize.”

“Oh. Oh, dude. I didn’t mean nothing. I mean, you don’t know me or nothing, and you shouldn’t have to buy a guy food for being decent, yeah?” Oh, there was a genuine concern, a rich worry.

The difficulty he would have with this one became more and more plain. Mago caused a spark of interest he had not felt in so long as to forget that it existed. It was… exhilarating.

“I am sometimes quick to defense. I simply hate to eat alone and would be happy to share with you.”

“Well, that’s cool. I’m all about meeting new people. Where you from, Dieter? That’s German?”

“Yes.” Was where he was from even there anymore? Sometimes he had difficulty remembering. “I have only lived here a few years.”

“Yeah? I’ve lived here all my life, but Mama and Poppi come from Chihuahua.” The waitress brought the drinks, the scent of lemon as Mago squeezed it in sharp and sour.

“Do you like it?” Terrible, his polite attempts at chatter. Stiff, formal, even to his own ears, Dieter wondered how long it had been since he’d had a conversation. A year? Two?

“Here? It’s okay. I got my friends, my job. One day I want to go to LA or something, but right now? I’m hanging.”

Dieter reached for the water, fumbling just enough with the cool glass to make it real. “It is much the same to me. Does that sound bitter?” He laughed. “Everywhere is noisy and dark.”

“That’s gotta suck, man. You do pretty good, though, yeah? Get around okay?” He could hear Mago’s fingers sliding along the chintzy tablecloth.

“In familiar surroundings, yes. As you can see, I don’t do as well when I am lost. Thank you again, for helping.” The arrival of the food stopped him from reaching out, touching that hand as he wished to.

“Do… is there anything I can do to uh… help you? Eating, I mean?”

The food smelled good, which surprised him, as usually it made him faintly sick. “If you could just orient me. Tell me what is where.”

“Okay. Your rice is at the top, the chicken at the bottom, sauce in the bowl in the middle. You got chopsticks and a fork.” Mago’s stomach rumbled, making them both chuckle. “I guess I was hungry, yeah?”

“It sounds it.” Beaming, Dieter picked up his chopsticks and snagged rice, wanting Mago to eat heartily. The motions of smiling and nodding and eating came easier to him than he would have thought. He was enjoying himself.

“Do you work? I paint windows—advertising, you know?”

“Really? Is that why your hands have paint on them?” Work. What a foreign concept that was to him now, when once he worked until his fingers bled.

“Yeah. I….” Mago’s voice trailed off. “Hey! How’d you know?”

“I felt it. When you grasped my hand. Dried tempera. I once had a dear friend who was a painter.” That should cover him. It was only part of the truth, but the truth nonetheless.

“Wow. Wicked!” Mago’s laugh was low, rich, sensual.

That laugh worked up his spine, making him gasp, making him want to rip the boy’s throat open right there on the cheap plastic table with the cracked vinyl cloth. Dieter clamped his mouth shut, afraid of what might show. Dipping his head, he ate a piece of chicken, grimacing at the soggy, soft-bread taste.

“Man, you’ve got to have sensitive fingers. Mine? Are all nicked from the razors.”

“I no longer work with my hands. I have not been very good at it since….” Dieter shrugged, listening to Mago shift uncomfortably. “Are you a good painter?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. I mean, I ain’t got the training that some guys do, but I got heart, and it’s what I love, yeah?” The passion in the low voice was audible. Delicious.

Edible.

“Yes. The best art comes from love.” If he was not mistaken, he had consumed enough of the food to make it real, and Mago was finished. The food would make Mago slower to react, would make the blood harder to draw.

“Yeah.” Mago finished his tea. “Come on, then. You’ll miss your bus, and I don’t have a car.”

“Yes. I’ve kept you long enough.” Mago took his hand when he held it out, helping him up, and Dieter savored the warmth. What a shame it would be to feel cold.

They settled the bill, Mago paying half, then helping him to the door. “Thanks for inviting me to eat, man. It was nice.”

“It was.” Why it should still surprise him to find it so, he didn’t know, but there it was. All that was left was to pull Mago into the gaping mouth of the alley he felt loom next to them, the breeze of the suddenly open space and the smell of a ripe dumpster giving it away. Dieter was shocked to find that he could not do it. “Perhaps we will meet and do it again sometime.”

“Sure. I got a business card with raised-up letters. Would that work for you? You could let me know if you’re in my part of town again.” A cheap card was pressed into his hand. “Oh, the name on there’s Javier. That’s me. Not as cool as Mago, but business, yeah?”

“One must be serious for business, indeed.” He hoped Mago was sharing his smile and not offended by it. He took the card, feeling the thin stock and raised print. “This will do just fine.”

After pulling a thin silver case from his pocket, Dieter returned the favor and handed over a thick vellum card with what he was told was gold script with his name and number. “And you must call me if you have the urge.”

“Oh wow. That’s a great card.” They made it to the bus station, the smell of fuel and oil strong. “Do you need me to stay?”

“No, no. I can get there from here. Thank you so much.” He took Mago’s strong hand in his and squeezed, enjoying the last bit of contact, letting the scent settle into him. He would be able to find Mago anywhere now.

“Okay. Good night, Guapo. Safe journey. Call me, we’ll have lunch. I’m painting a Wendy’s later this week and they’ll feed us for free!”

Bemused, Dieter felt the air move warmly as Mago left, making him wonder at himself.

Really, it wasn’t at all like him to play with his food.

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About B.A.!

Texan to the bone and an unrepentant Daddy’s Girl, BA Tortuga spends her days with her basset hounds and her beloved wife, texting her sisters, and eating Mexican food. When she’s not doing that, she’s writing. She spends her days off watching rodeo, knitting and surfing Pinterest in the name of research. BA’s personal saviors include her wife, Julia Talbot, her best friend, Sean Michael, and coffee. Lots of coffee. Really good coffee.

Having written everything from fist-fighting rednecks to hard-core cowboys to werewolves, BA does her damnedest to tell the stories of her heart, which was raised in Northeast Texas, but has heard the call of the  high desert and lives in the Sandias. With books ranging from hard-hitting GLBT romance, to fiery menages, to the most traditional of love stories, BA refuses to be pigeon-holed by anyone but the voices in her head.

Where to find the author:

Facebook |  Facebook Author Page | @batortugaPinterest  | Blog | Website | Instagram

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