clear cut

About Diggers

Written by Dallas Coleman
143 pages / 50000 words
ISBN: 978-1-60370-047-4, 1-60370-047-1
Available file types - html, lit, pdf, prc

When Jacob gets the call that no man wants to hear, he leaves his Wyoming home to go find his mother's killer. A whole digging party in Sardinia is dead, all of the archaeologists but one accounted for. All but Jacob's ex-lover, Caleb. Flying to Sardinia, Jacob sets out to find out what happened. And to find Caleb.

Meanwhile, a package has arrived for Jacob in Wyoming, where his friend Ben lives with his lover Mac. The package brings a whole load of trouble with it, and the Mac and Ben face up to an overwhelming evil.

From Sardinia to Wyoming, from Phoenix to Denver, Diggers follows a very special archaeological evil to its bitter last stand, and none of the men who touch it will ever be the same.



Julia Talbot, best-selling author writes:

Jacob has no idea what he's getting into when he begins work on an archaeological project that seems like a complete hoax. He'd pass it up, in fact, if it wasn't somehow hurting the people he loves. So instead of turning away, Jacob goes looking for his mother's killer. And his ex-lover, Caleb.

Diggers is an amazing horror story with a lot of heat, a good dash of romance, and a fantastic set of characters, including Jacob's friends, Sam and Ben, who get caught up with Jacob in a web of fear and awe, where old myths come alive, and are pissed off about it, to boot.

I love Dallas Coleman's unflinching view of the hard things people have to do in desperate situations. I also love that she can give me chills when her scenes ambush me and make me want to scream or cry or laugh.

Diggers is really the story of four men and a woman. Jacob and Caleb and Ben and Sam, and Jacob's amazing mother, Annie. The way the characters interact takes center stage, but the creepy, fascinating history they explore will leave you wanting more. This one is a wild ride, and I would love to dig up more of it!



He touched the edge of hysteria with the tip of his tongue, moaning low as it burned, flamed, traveled in white-hot pulses along his nerves until it settled in the base of his cock and squeezed like a tiny fist. He heard the low laughter as he fucked the air, hips working like a dog's, desperate to find release, ease, something beyond the endless agony of need that kept him caged.

Not pleasure that held him, the need scraped upon his bones like a dull blade, the slide and tear ringing in his ears. This, this took desire and twisted it in and on itself over and over, thorns catching upon themselves until all that was love and honor became ripped and caught, blood flowing through shattered silk.

The stone against his back formed to him, clung to his skin, to the feathers matted and broken along his spine, the chains buried deep within its only imperfection. Rusted now, and weak, they were more a reminder than a bond. His hands caught and mitted by so much more than iron.

Fingers – or were they claws? They could be claws, curled and sharp, damp with the lingering essence of the thousands that came before him – tickled along his thighs, pushing up and up in the join where leg met hip, his arch unmistakable, the pain too dull to be agony, too sharp to be ignored. Then the agony, as bone mashed against joint, the ligaments screaming as they stretched.

Speranzo shifted, the tug in behind him devastating, and his head tossed, matted clumps of hair falling free like dull brass. The circle of men was eternal, the bloodied fingers, the constant chant, the patience in knowing that another would come until he fell, shattered at their feet, another trophy in the endless war and…

Something sparkled, shimmered in the sea of ebony. Quick and bright like a vision, a promise. Then it came again, and yet again, ringing within him like the tiny silver bells that dotted his mother's cloak, the veil in her long hair.

Everything within him jerked, eyes caught by the single shaft of light, sound made sight. Song made gem. Prayer made flesh. The promise therein. The carved crescent, pale as the moon, hanging in the fold of a robe. Brother.


Grey eyes met his, patient, still, the righteous anger so deep the cave itself rang with the promise of it. Ringed with lashes dark as soot. Jaw carved from granite. Lips still, the line of magic broken. Fideo.

His own.

They had not left him for lost, not deserted him to endless night and eternal pain.

“Bastardi! Falsi! La luce! Avete introdotto la luce nella nerezza e non sono caduto! Volerò ancora!" His voice rang out against stone walls, the rush of air in his lungs enough to light a fire within him brighter than any pain. The power of his sudden will made the constant murmuring cease for a heartbeat, the power there failing, waning, just long enough for him to pull, the sound of his arm tearing loose from its socket ringing inside his head like a thunderclap.

He'd left silence behind, so very long ago.

Speranzo found his feet, shrieking his rage, his pain, his will, as his body trembled, fighting to stand upon things long broken. Once, long ago, the flowers lifted from the snow and oaks bowed to beg a melody, a song. No longer. Pebbles fell from his skin, the song a perverse aria, a hymn to one who would rise again from the depths. His beauty dissolved, his honor brought low; all that remained was rage. The earth itself heaved, terrified that she might hold his poison within her black bosom and leech through to all the hated ones, the men who sought to bind him.

Pale claws reached for him, fingers like grub worms on his skin, which fell away as Fideo's harmony joined with his, sharp and fierce.

"Blasphemer! The alarms, raise the alarms!" Small. Oh, how had he not seen how small they were, ants and scuttling beetles to be brushed aside by the force of his wings.

Fideo's arms opened to him, the dull black robe fluttering to the ground, wings black as pitch buffeting the air. "Speranzo."

His tears were flames, pouring down his cheeks and leaving nothing but screams in their wake. "Yes. You came."

"No matter your foolishness, I would never leave your light to fade." The scent of smoke was rich, sweet, familiar and right upon his tongue.

"They took me in our father's temple." For once he had followed his duty, gone to deliver food and honor to their father, gone to sing of the battles and the births and beg a boon for their lady sister, enslaved beneath the seas.

Fideo nodded. "I found it razed, the stones desecrated, salt sown into the soil."

He turned as a hand reached for him, tearing it from the arm that fed it and tossing it away. "Lost, then."

"Yes." Fideo lifted him up and up, past the earth and the soil, up into the light, holding him when he shrieked and would have turned from it, hiding his wounds, his ugliness. "No. We will not hide; those who hide behind the sun must see what their disinterest has wrought. They will regret us, when we leave."

The rustle of wings surrounded them – hawks and ravens, vultures and seagulls, eagles and geese and tiny sparrows, the voices rising up and up, demanding honor for their fallen lord, their broken love.


One hand, deadly and brutal, cupped his jaw, the touch softer than fallen petals. "I will not fight this war any longer. Together we will remove ourselves. Watch from beyond."

“And if they separate us?”

“They cannot.”

"And all who seek us, brother?"

Eyes of ash stared into him, teeth like boulders bared. Free. Free and borne into the light upon wings of ravens. "All who come will die."

His agreement rang out, the clouds racing to hide the sun lest the furies leave scars in its smooth, shining face.

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