Navigation is simple ... but don't forget to "drill down." This is a wiki, and many layers deep. The wiki takes the form of lists of lists, and some lists have lists of their own!

SEARCH:

As a registered member, you're at liberty to post, comment, create new pages of your own, and maintain them. There are very few "rules and regulations," but before you get started, please take a few minutes to scan the Terms of Service ... which is NOT a legal document!  

Help is available in the form of tutorials, User Forums and The Guide ... enjoy!  

Still reeling from an accident that left his face scarred, Joey avoids as much contact with other people as possible.  But when Joey meets a blind violinist, they both discover that together and with love, they can both break down the boundaries they’ve set for themselves. More...

Shy and uncomfortable with his height, Quinn Delaney doesn’t have much luck with men.  A singles’ trip to Disney World sounds awful to him, but a promise forces him to go.  Then he meets sexy Josh Hart and is instantly attracted. More...

Max Tomlin is an advertising genius, but he doesn't know much about love. Can sexy Joe Bennett teach him? More...

The artist whose life is in tatters, and the model who's hiding secrets so deadly, they could both die! More...

Best selling erotica author, Amanda Young presents a new twist on the vampire genre. More...

Roman warrior Lucius doesn't believe anyone could want him, a man with an ugly, twisted leg. He resists his attraction to Varick, while his pleasure slave tries to convince his master he desires him. More...

Bobby has loved Kenny since they were teenagers.  Kenny pushed him away for his own good.  Now they have a second chance, but will history repeat itself?... More... 

•   Advertise with us!

Struck Excerpt

STRUCK
A power awakens, a destiny begins.

Struck
Excerpt (Opening Scene)

Rinconada Canyon, Western Edge of Albuquerque, NM 

The air held energy. It played across Barry Andrews's arms as he turned west off Unser Boulevard and braked to a stop. A metal gate blocked access to New Mexico's Petroglyph National Monument. 

"Tough luck," Martin said from the passenger seat. "Sign says it's open until five." He checked his watch. "Missed it by ten minutes."

Inside the gate, beyond a dirt parking area and a bulletin board covered with maps and information, the trailhead beckoned. Barry drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "The parking lot's closed, but the trail is open." He turned off the Subaru and smiled at Martin. "Nice try though."

Martin shouldered open the passenger door and groaned getting out. "Why do I let you talk me into these things? These rock sketches aren't worth a hike, you know."

"You don't know that. You've lived here all your life and never seen them." Barry glanced at the ridge of black volcanic rock beyond the trailhead, placed a hand on top of the gate, and vaulted over it. "Come on. I really want to do this, and a little exercise will do us both good. You with me?"

Martin shut the car door. "I'm with you, if only to burn off some of your excess energy." He frowned at the gate. "But don't expect any gymnastics from me. I'll be lucky to get over this thing. And by the way, you're buying me dinner after this--Mexican food. None of that good-for-you crap you survive on."

As Martin hoisted a thick leg over the barricade, the western sky released a low growl. "That's not good." He paused straddling the gate. In his yellow t-shirt and brown shorts, he reminded Barry of a 230 pound finch perched uncomfortably on a fence. "Thunderstorm moving in. Bad omen."

"People keep telling me Albuquerque gets rain almost every evening this time of year. 'Monsoon season.' How can a thunderstorm be an omen?"

"This year's different. Bone dry since March, not so much as a storm cloud. Until now. It's an omen, I tell you."

Dark clouds peeked above the western horizon, but even if they broke trend and moved into Albuquerque, it'd be a while before they arrived. "It's an excuse," Barry said. "Let's go."

Martin hauled his other leg over the gate, took another look at the horizon, shrugged, and followed Barry to the trail.

"We won't go far," Barry promised. "No sense pushing it."

"Imagine you talking sense."

A roadrunner darted onto the path ahead and stopped at seeing the hikers. Barry stopped too. Man and bird studied each other a moment before the roadrunner charged on, veering to the north across sandy terrain dotted with low-growing silvery sage brush.

Barry led on. The trail kept about fifty feet south of the base of the flat-topped escarpment that wound its way along the western edge of Albuquerque. After five minutes at a moderate clip, he left the trail and approached a jumble of stones that hosted the petroglyphs. He examined a crude face on a flat surface of one of the stones, wondering if it was an ancient treasure or a more modern imitation made by kids or disrespectful adults.

Martin watched from the trail.

"Don't you even want to look?" Barry called out. "This is historic. More than historic, it's sacred to the Pueblo Indians."

Martin muttered something about new residents and tourist attractions, but he trudged his way forward. Sweat beaded on his forehead and ran down his face.

"We do this regularly," Barry said, "and you'll lose some of that excess baggage you're always moaning about. Of course, that'll take away your excuse for not finding a husband."

"I've decided I want a husband who likes excess baggage, thank you very much. How far have we come?"

"Maybe a quarter mile."

Martin reached Barry and studied the petroglyph. "A quarter mile for this?"

"You have no sense of mystique, do you? You really do hate this."

Martin twisted his face into a smile. "It's not so bad. I'm being a pain because it's embarrassing to be so out of shape. Twenty-five with the stamina of an eighty-year-old. Not good."

Martin's sudden bursts of unveiled honesty often caught Barry by surprise. This one also made him feel guilty for commenting on Martin's weight. Barry squeezed his friend's shoulder. "Does this mean you won't race me back to the Subaru?"

Martin sighed and sat on a boulder. "This means I'm taking a break while you seek sacred enlightenment from these rocks."

Barry studied the escarpment and tried to pinpoint why he felt such a need to climb higher. "You feel anything unusual?" He placed a hand over his chest. "In here."

"Well, let's see. There seems to be a rush of something entering and leaving my lungs as I gasp for oxygen. Air, I think." Martin cocked his head as if listening intently. "And there's a persistent pounding coming from deep inside. Th-thump, th-thump. That what you mean by 'unusual'?"

"Funny," Barry said. "No, it's..." He tried to think of a way to describe the feeling but couldn't.

"Seriously?" Martin asked after a few seconds of silence. His eyebrows pinched together. "Is something wrong? Are you in pain?"

"No. No pain. It's kind of a tugging feeling."

"Maybe you should sit down." Martin scooted over to make room.

Barry waved off the concern. "To tell you the truth, I'm not sure it's even physical. It's like-- You know how sometimes you can tell someone's looking at you, that feeling on the back of your neck? It's kind of like that. In a way." He thought some more and shook his head. "But not really."

"Thanks for clearing that up." Martin seemed to be studying him, his eyebrows still pinched.

"Really," Barry said, "I'm fine. I'm going to explore a little. Then we'll head back." He turned and followed the pull before Martin could argue.

Twenty feet up the escarpment Barry found a petroglyph of a spiral that resembled a target. Someone else must have thought so too. Bullet marks blemished the surface. Higher up the hill of stones, two carvings caught his attention. He scrambled up for a closer look. One depicted a lizard. The other was harder to make out, something triangular with two lines sticking out below. Maybe a shield that hid all of a warrior except his legs and feet. A jagged line adorned the shield. Barry squatted and traced what he assumed was a lightning bolt with his finger, feeling where the stone had been pecked away so many years ago.

The day's heat, stored in the stone, flowed into Barry's finger. He placed his palm over the warrior's shield, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the sensation.

Thunder cracked, startling his eyes open. The day had gone dark. Barry stood, disoriented. How could clouds move in so quickly? He smelled moisture in the cool west wind. Rain was imminent. The trailhead and his Subaru were out of sight around a curve, but Barry could run a quarter mile easily, even in the loose soil. Martin couldn't.

A cold drop of rain struck the back of Barry's neck. He watched a spattering of drops evaporate quickly from the lizard and shielded warrior. Light flashed behind him. Thunder exploded a second later. Wind dashed sand against his bare legs, neck, and face.

"I'm taking shelter here," Martin yelled over the wind. He disappeared behind a rock, presumably into a crevasse that would block the rain. "It's big enough for two," he called out a moment later.

Barry surveyed the area, hoping he'd be able to recognize enough of the stone arrangement to find the petroglyphs again. Shadows jumped around him. More lightning. He braced for thunder, even closer this time. Shadows jumped again, casting long fingers across the stones, dancing nimbly over ancient etchings. Barry waited for the crash of thunder. 

A shadow engulfed him, blotting out the smaller, dancing ones. The air sent a signal Barry recognized without understanding why--movement. Something coming at him. Something big, traveling fast, pushing its way through the air. The image of a plummeting boulder filled Barry's mind. He needed cover. Now.

A gap between three boulders looked too tight to accept his body, but it'd have to do. No time to even look up and see what approached, he reached out to steady his descent, placing his left hand on the warrior.

The air crackled.

Energy shot through Barry's body.

Struck
Excerpt from Chapter 29

Amitole Pueblo

Barry sat with his eyes closed. One strong hand supported his left hand, another pressed down on his palm. The smells of earth and smoke had been foreign to him when he and Walter climbed down into the kiva, but now the aroma stimulated a comforting sensation that danced inside Barry to the distant sound of drums.

He opened his eyes when Walter removed the hand covering Barry's and examined where lightning had entered Barry's body. The drumbeats in Barry's mind stopped.

"Close your eyes," Walter's soft, low voice instructed. "Relax your mind." He covered Barry's hand with his own again.

Barry tried to do as told, but his mind wouldn't return to the stillness he'd briefly experienced. He tried visualizing limitless space, then a blank sheet of paper, but his attention returned to a series of concerns that looped through his mind, questions about himself, Walter, Carlos, and Martin--even the thin woman with the rosary beads. Those damn black veils had covered her. He'd established a link, maybe helped her peace of mind, but he hadn't done anything for her physically. The veils had still clung to her. She'd still die soon.

Barry opened his eyes and found Walter watching him.

The older man smiled. "It takes practice."

"I guess so. I did feel something, though, for a while. A sense of belonging, I think."

Walter nodded. Then he closed his eyes, apparently drifting to the place where Barry couldn't yet gain entrance. Smoke tickled Barry's throat, but he resisted the urge to cough. He waited as quietly as he could, careful even that his breathing made no noise.

Light from the small fire flickered across Walter's face, deepening shadows and lines, highlighting cheekbones, forehead, and his straight, wide nose. His coarse, gray hair looked yellow in the light as he sat motionless, expressionless. His face might have been molded from clay and straw, like the adobe bricks used to build the pueblo. It might have been as old too.

 Barry tried again to clear his mind, but this time his mother's face waited behind his eyelids. Her expression of love, a look that seemed to have permanently imbedded itself in her features, swelled Barry's heart. Every detail was perfect--the laugh lines by her eyes, the tiny scar on her forehead, the way her left eye squinted more than her right when she smiled.

But she's gone.

The realization pierced him as it always did when he forgot for just a moment that he would never speak with her again, hear her voice, or feel her fingers smooth his hair.

The image of her in his mind shifted. Her face paled, and it looked like the skin beneath her eyes had been smeared with soot. She'd looked this way in the Emergency Room. Barry had ridden in the ambulance with her after finding her sprawled on the kitchen floor. Heart attack. She never made it out of the ER. This was his mother's face the last time he saw her alive.

She moved her lips, and their final conversation rolled through Barry's mind.

"I never told you all I should." She reached the hand unencumbered by IV's toward Barry. "I thought there'd be more time."

"There will be," Barry whispered, taking her hand. "Just rest now."

His mother closed her eyes and swallowed. When she looked at him again, he noticed the red rims of her eyelids, how faded her irises had become. He glanced at the nurse standing on the far side of the bed, meaning to ask her to help. The nurse smiled in that way that wasn't really a smile. It felt as if she were willing him strength. And knowledge. She nodded and looked down at Barry's dying mother.

"You're to be a great warrior, Barry." Her voice was strong, but then she coughed. Her next words were spoken softly. "You don't accept it yet, but it's true. I wish I could tell you more. I thought I'd learn what to say to make you--" Again she coughed. The machines beside her blipped and beeped, changing rhythms. The nurse shuffled forward a step but then seemed to rethink herself and stood back.

"Another will help you, Barry. Teach you. Be open. Accept who you are." Her eyes begged. "It's import--"

The next coughing fit did bring the nurse bedside. Barry watched as she held his mother's wrist, checking her pulse. Her eyes remained closed, even after she quieted and the nurse again stepped back. "You were chosen for a reason," she murmured, her voice barely audible. Her hand grew heavy in Barry's.

The fire popped, bringing Barry back to the moment where his hand rested sandwiched between Walter's. Walter extended his hands toward Barry, as if offering his hand back, and released him. "There's a reason the doctor couldn't find where the lightning exited your body," he said. "The energy's still inside you."

Barry nodded, unsurprised.

"The energy was placed in you specifically, for a purpose," Walter continued. "You're changing it as it changes you, but..."

Barry had learned to respect Walter's silences. He waited while the elder stared into the fire.

When Walter turned to Barry again, his dark eyes reflected the flames. "It wants out."

Visit my Horror with Heart Homepage

Buy Struck at Amazon

Visit Struck's page here on the wiki