IR– What does it mean to you to be called an author?
DM– It means I have the chance to be able to take you into another world. Allow you to escape life for a little while, allow you to feel things, cry, laugh, heal. It means there is something I will leave behind long after I’m dead.
IR– Can you tell us a bit about the story and its main characters?
DM– The Last Son of Venus is the first in the fast-paced LGBT fantasy romance series of the same name. Featuring Queer male characters, High fantasy creatures, Magic and the True gods of Old. The last son of Venus will take you on a long multi-series Journey to a well-deserved HEA. So come and join Alex and Nikos and see what the Fates have in store. Alex is an anxious 22-year-old who going on his first overseas vacation when his life falls apart. He has lived a sheltered life with few friends and a list of secrets that he desperately wants to know the answers to. Nikos is a Spartan warrior who has lived for over 2 and half thousand years. He is quick to anger and has bloodlust that calls for war. He is a guardian with a Dom streak that will make you obey his every command.
IR– What inspired the idea for your book?
DM– Oh super tough question but I guess it all stems from my own first overseas trip (2010) when I traveled to the UK. Apart from the fantastical element of the story, the first few chapters all happened to me: the airport, the hotel, the room, everything. But after that it all becomes fiction although the story continues to reference parts of my life just in a more abstract way.
IR– Tell us about a favorite character from the book.
DM– Oh that’s hard, All the characters are either parts of myself turned into whole characters or are people I know. Since I haven’t spoken about Jin so far in this interview, maybe it’s best I talk about him. Many moons ago I used to work for ‘Estee Lauder, Tom Ford and Clinique’ as a traveling Makeup Artist. I would do events and personal classes for the clients. While working there I made a lot of great friends, The character Ginney in the book is based on one such superstar. Jin is based on a mix of certain clients I had as well as some of the retail staff. Jin is G-A-Y and an unapologetic Queen. He is the type of character I think only a queer male author could write without it becoming offensive as he is the stereotype to such an absolute extreme. Jin’s role in the story is a powerful one and represents the bravery and power of the Fem Gays, Strength isn’t just for the masc. I don’t want to say too much more than that as it will spoil parts of the story.
IR– If you were friends with a character, what kinds of things would you do?
DM– TBH take over the world.
IR– What was the most surprising thing you learned in writing this book?
DM– As corny as it sounds it was that I could actually do it.
IR– How do you define success as an author?
DM– Writing a book that makes someone’s day easier or makes someone feel heard.
IR– Do you have any “side stories” about any of the characters?
DM– Yasss I do! The Last Son of Venus is the first in an Avengers style book universe with many side book series on their way. King will get his own book next year. I’ve also done a lot of writing on a book called ‘The Gatsby Plot’ which is in the same universe and will be a series as well.
IR– Where did you come up with the names in the story?
DM– I won’t go through them all but here is a quick breakdown. Alex Anderson – is just a play on his real birth name Alexandros. Nikos – is named after a Greek restaurant I would pass every day on the train on the way into the city. Jin – the name is a tribute Mary Calmes’s series
Change of heart which is one of my fav books. King – reference to my mother’s side of the family which has the family name King. Also, King is a great name for an Alpha Wolf.
IR– Can you share a day in your life as an author?
DM– Up earlier before work and write for around an hour, shower and get ready for work. Arrive at work 30 mins early and write for about 15 mins then work till lunch time then eat quickly and fit in 40 mins of writing. Finish work at 11pm or 12am, get home and write for an hour then do it all again the next day.
IR– Have you always wanted to be an author?
DM– Probably. So, I’ve lived a very chaotic life and as a result I have many stories to tell. I’ve seen a lot of and lived through a lot of scary things and as a kid I would create worlds in my head to escape from it all.
IR– How do you avoid or defeat writer’s block?
DM– Writer’s block is a normal result of either not planning your story well enough or not really knowing your characters. I spend a lot of time writing and creating before I sit down to write the chapters. I plot almost everything and have outlines for outlines. I reference A LOT of Greek history in my book so outlines on outlines are needed to do that effectively. Another thing I do to avoid a block is play the sounds of whichever environment I’m writing about i.e Writing about a scene in a construction site? Listen to the sounds of a construction site as you write it. Struggling to write a sex scene? Get super horny before you write, and the words will flow.
IR– Aside from writing or reading, what are your hobbies or interests?
DM– I’m an Illustrator and love to draw especially homo-erotic art. I’m a professional Bespoke wig maker and have made wigs for many tv shows and films. I Sew and co own a costume design and manufacturer company. I love adventuring and hanging out with friends. There is a lot more but let’s leave it at that for now.
IR– What would the title of your autobiography be?
DM– ‘I survived: Tales from a gay kid who had nothing but gained everything.’
IR– Describe yourself in as few words as possible.
DM– Easy I’ll give you one – G-A-Y
IR– If you had your own talk show, what would the topic be?
DM– ‘Sex and Mental health – fitting DM– the stigma’ first guests would be Lady Gaga, Pam Anderson, Rogan Richards and Ricky Martin.
IR– If you knew you could not fail, what would you do?
Author and Publisher: Dion Marc Release Date: January 29, 2022 Genre: MM Dark Urban Fantasy Tropes: Fated Mates, Size difference, Alpha Top Themes: Trust yourself, don’t follow anything blindly, magic, gods, good vs evil Length: 87 000 words/330 paperback and 340 hardcover Heat Rating: 4 flames It’s the first book in a planned series and ends on a cliffhanger.
Alone and in London for the first time, Alex Anderson is being hunted by the darkness as the fates have seen fit to turn his dream holiday into his worst nightmare before he even steps foot out of the airport.
An archaic evil hungers for him and will stop at nothing to possess the twenty-two-year-old and the coveted secrets that have been hidden from Alex his whole life.
All that stands in their way is a two-and-half-thousand-year-old spartan Commander named Nikos and his fellow guardian sidekick Jin; a pink haired descendant of the goddess Hekate.
Nikos will move heaven and hell to protect Alex even if that means protecting him from himself.
When boy meets man sparks fly and an instant bond is felt, a connection that feels as old as the fabric of time. But Alex must first learn to trust Nikos and Jin while fighting his anxieties that have controlled his life if he has any hope of surviving what’s to come.
The Last Son Of Venus is the first in the fast-paced LGBT fantasy romance series of the same name featuring queer male characters, high fantasy creatures, magic and the true gods of old. The Last Son of Venus will take you on a long multi-series journey to a well-deserved HEA. So come and join Alex and Nikos and see what the Fates have in store.
Bitter wind violated my exposed flesh, sending a deep chill to the very core of my bones. Mother had warned me that London was cold, but I thought she meant cold like Melbourne in winter, not winter in Antarctica. If it wasn’t for the fact that my jumpers were all packed down at the very bottom, I would have stopped and added an extra layer of protection. But I was cold and feeling far too lazy to reorder my bag, so I went without. Yes, I was an idiot.
As per the map’s instructions, I turned right onto Gillingham Street. It was becoming really hard to focus on the map because the streets were barely lit. I cursed myself inwardly that I didn’t just buy a portable phone charger, but I would be sure to rectify my error first thing tomorrow. My goodness, this would be a lot smoother if I was using my phone’s Google Maps. Anyway, what was done was done.
For a Saturday, there was very little nightlife, which I thought was odd considering what I knew about Londoners and drinking, although I have to say my knowledge on the subject was like ninety-five percent based on Geordie Shore reruns. But still, there was not a soul on the street.
I could feel my anxiety grow; it wasn’t helped by the fact that some random man told me someone was trying to kill me—though he wasn’t some random man, was he? He knew my name. I felt a shiver run up my arms; I didn’t think I could feel any colder. Maybe I should have stayed and heard him out before running away…again, if I had, maybe he had a portable phone charger.
Looking back down at the map, I estimated I had maybe another six-minute walk ahead, although I wished I had just paid for the stupid cab fare, but I really couldn’t justify the cost for, what, maybe four hundred metres. I walked further every day on my morning run.
The light flickered in the lamppost above. How strange. It flickered again, but this time, it didn’t light back up. I was plunged into darkness as the rest of the streetlights also extinguished.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
My anxiety started to peak, and my instincts told me to get out of there fast. All of a sudden, I felt eyes on me. Shit shit shit. My pace quickened into a slight jog, my bag swinging heavy behind me.
Why did it feel like the approaching darkness was watching me? I looked up to the sky where once a moon sat giving light to the sky, but now it was gone, shrouded by darkness. I started to shake uncontrollably; I couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or my anxiety. Both seemed to be at war for dominance over my body and mind.
A sound emerged through the darkness, muttered voices. I started to run, every fibre of my body telling me to do so. My flight response was fully active, I flew down the street, but the voices seemed to be gaining on me. They were now close enough to hear what it was they were chanting. “Consumptura est lux tenebris.” They repeated it over and over.
I crossed the street in mere seconds, but was stopped from going further by a gate of iron. I turned to go around, but to the left of me, I found that the men were closing in on me. Looking to the right, they were doing the same yet only metres away.
Fuck fuck fuck, my only option was to jump the fence. It wasn’t very tall, so I knew I could make short work of it. I put my hands on the spikes and pushed down, lifting my body. I swung my legs up and jumped down. The hem of my shirt got caught on a spike, lifting my shirt up, trapping my arms. “FUUUUCK!” I yelled, trying to fumble myself free. I was shaking so violently, I could barely unhook it, the process taking minutes rather than seconds.
It came loose just as the men closed in. It was then that I realised my duffle bag’s strap must have also gotten caught on the spike as it lay broken just on the other side of the fence, but I could clearly see the men’s robes of red now. I hadn’t the time to retrieve it. I’d have to let it go and hope I found it later after I had made it to a police officer.
Even the darkness seemed to draw dimmer. How was that possible? Turning, I started to run, pushing past plants and shrubs, pulling my shirt back down as I ran.
Their chant suddenly changed, I could now hear their voices ringing in my head as if they were whispering right into my ears. “Arbores et plantae saxa animari, prohibere eum.” Their chant had changed. It felt as if the trees were drawing closer, which couldn’t be so.
Something grabbed my foot. I let out a scream as I fell to the ground hard. What was that? I looked around, but all I could see was grass. I must have tripped over a root or something, though I couldn’t see one. Getting back on my feet, my left ankle felt swollen, and as I put pressure on it, I let out a loud scream. I hoped against hope that it was just twisted and not broken. I tried to run, but the pain was just too great.
CRASH. The gate lifted from the ground and flew into a tree. The robed men continued to follow me. FUCK.
“HELP! Someone, anyone, help me!” I shouted.
One of the men raised his hand at me, and my voice faltered. I tried to let out a scream, but my voice was gone. What in the name of Ursula the sea witch was this? All I could do was try limping away.
Roots lifted from the ground before my very eyes, spraying moss into the air, leaving the earth a maze of traps, clearly designed to stop my escape. What was I to do? I tried to hop over them, the pain forcing tears to fall from my eyes. But the pain didn’t stop me. I continued to push myself, for my life clearly depended on it.
“Corrumpam vineam eius,” shouted one of the robed men. Instantly, vines fell from the trees and launched themselves at me. I ducked and missed the first one, but the rest found their target, instantly forcing me to the ground, wrapping around me like dangerous pythons.
The roots curled up, pulling me to face the robed men, forcing me to watch as they approached. The men were dressed in robes of red. I could just make out a crucifix scar on one of the men’s outstretched arms. Wrapped around their hands were what looked to be rosary beads, but something looked wrong. It seemed like the beads dug into their hands, drawing out a dark fluid.
The wind changed, and the smell of metallic ooze hit my sinuses, causing my nose to curl. That answered the question of what the fluid was: it was blood. I struggled with everything left in my body, but it was no use, the vines just grew tighter and tighter, almost to the point of breaking bone.
“Help me,” I prayed inwardly. “Someone, please.”
A man in the centre stepped forward chanting with the others, “Accipere auferat divina virtute.” Something jabbed into me sharp like a needle, causing unimaginable pain to flow through me. I screamed and screamed, but no sound escaped me. Whatever it was it felt like it was crawling through my veins.
He continued forward towards me, chanting. Only a few feet away, I could now clearly make out his face that was hidden by a hood. He looked to be in his mid-fifties with a full white beard, long hooked nose, and beady black eyes. He kneeled beside me and raised his outstretched hand over my face. I tried to close my eyes, but they were forced open. The man squeezed his palm into the rosary beads, which I could now see were made of jagged barbed wire that cut into his flesh. As the man squeezed, blood fell like water droplets over my face. On impact with my flesh, it sizzled like acid; it smelled like it too. I was truly dead. My only thought was on my parents, hoping they would be able to get past my death. My vision started to fade to black. This was the end of me. My eyes finally closed. I had no strength anymore. Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad? And with that thought, it all went silent.
The earth reverberated. There was loud running, yelling, and what sounded like sandbags hitting a wall, but I couldn’t open my eyes to see. They felt like they were welded shut.
“You must continue the chant!” shouted a voice that felt like spiders crying in my ears.
The chanting started again. “Accipere auferat—” But was cut off mid-sentence as what sounded like thunder struck the earth. I needed to run, move, get up, break the bonds holding me. My brain told me this, but it was as if I was buried alive.
Something dropped beside me. It radiated warmth. I wanted to lean into it. I tried to but failed. I wanted it closer. “Please come closer,” I begged the universe, and by some grace, it did. I felt a hand on my cheek; it was warm to the touch. Who was this? What was this? Again, I tried to open my eyes but failed. I started to panic again. This couldn’t be the end. My mind started to race. Mentally, I was thrashing back and forth, wishing my body to do the same. This feeling of disconnection was the scariest thing I had ever felt.
“By Zeus, Alex, gods fucking dammit, your lips are blue,” growled a familiar voice. Was it the Adonis? It sounded like him, and for some unexplainable reason, I hoped it was him. I could feel his hands on me. Everywhere he touched, I felt warmth.
“Jin, we’re going to need a recovery charm,” he yelled at an unknown person.
“Babes, I am fucking busy if you didn’t realise, you know, holding off the Priests of Bellum Sacrum,” bit back an unknown, effeminate voice.
“Fuck it all to Hades, you couldn’t have just come with me at the train station.” The Adonis’s voice turned gravelly. But I couldn’t follow him at the train station because he was a stranger. I didn’t know him; therefore, I couldn’t trust him. But was he here now to save me? So maybe that meant I could trust him?
“Fuck it, we’ll have to swap,” called the Adonis back to the person he called Jin, I assumed.
No, don’t leave me! He can not leave me. Don’t take the warmth away. I’m so very cold. As if he could hear me, he assured, “Don’t worry, Alex, I’ll be back.” Then he was gone. The coldness set back in, his warmth only a haunting memory.
Thunder struck the earth again; there were more screams of pain and terror. The smell of metallic ooze grew almost too strong to possibly bear. A thud beside me. Was it the Adonis? It couldn’t be because this person didn’t radiate warmth like he had. Was he friend or foe?
“Queen, don’t even stress, okay, I’m here to help you, boo.” It was that voice again; it was distinctly fem, but like fem male, not a fem female. I assumed it was Jin, but I really wished I could open my eyes and stop all the guesswork.
“Álysoi kaí desmá nýn spázete.” I felt warmth all over my body. Suddenly, I felt weightless like I was flying in the air. The darkness began to fade as a white light came towards me. I tried to meet it halfway.
Light burst into my reality as my eyes flew open, temporarily blinding me as my eyes readjusted. A man who couldn’t be any older than myself stood over me, his hair fairy-floss pink, kept neat and short on the side with a front fringe that covered the tops of his brows.
“Is he awake yet?” yelled the Adonis from somewhere just out of my field of view. “Yes, fuck, give me a second, Miss Bossy Tiger,” snapped the pink-haired man. He turned and spoke to me, trying for a soothing voice, but came off very condescending.
“Hi, Alex, my name is Jin. I’m going to need you to stand up. Can you do that for me, dolls?” But wasn’t I tied to the ground by vines?
“Jin, get him the fuck up now. We need to move!” said the Adonis, running back into view.
“I’m trying,” he responded.
“Then try harder.”
Before I could process what was happening, one of the robed figures instantly appeared behind the Adonis, bloodied dagger outstretched ready to strike, going for the killing blow. “NOOOOOOOO!” I screamed, sending out a blast of energy that felt like it came from my very soul. I couldn’t let the Adonis die.
Gusts of power forced the robed man into the air, flying back with a loud crunching sound into a tree. The dagger burst into smoke. It took me a moment to realise what it was I had done. My body retracted inwardly, instantly forming a ball. What had I just done? I started to rock back and forth, tears falling from my eyes.
THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP
I was a freak, and I may have just killed someone. I needed my mother to tell me it would be okay, but she wasn’t there, so I didn’t know what to do. I needed to know I didn’t just kill someone. “Shhhh, calm down, it will all be okay,” said Jin softly.
But it wasn’t going to be okay; nothing was. It would never be okay again.
“Right, fuck this. Get the fuck up now, idiot, before you get us all killed,” growled the Adonis.
I just looked at him, like was he kidding? Like really, was he kidding? The rudeness. I was going through something. Instantly, my anxiety and grief turned to anger like a light switch. I was standing up, pointing my finger at him. “Who the hell do you think you are? Do not EVER talk to me like that again, do you understand?”
The corners of his mouth turned up slightly; the barest whisper of a smile ghosted his face. “That got you up, now didn’t it?”
About the Author
Scottish Australian author Dion Marc lives and breathes queer art. Whether he is painting, writing, sewing or dancing naked in the moonlight he does it with pride. He is a practising Hellenistic polytheist who believes in healing the world one hug at a time and that drinking tea without a biscuit is a horrendous crime.
Dion has spent over eleven years working full time in film and television as a Makeup Artist, Hairdresser, Wig Maker and Costume Designer. For the last year Dion has been working on the award-winning theatrical shows Hamilton, Moulin Rouge and more recently full-time on Harry Potter and the Cursed Child as a hair and makeup artist.