Charlie Cochrane - Mysteries with a dash of slash, romances with just a pinch of spice

I'm delighted to say that I've had a short story - 'Wolves of the West' - accepted for the Queer Wolf anthology (more details as I get them).
I can't remember the last time I had so much fun writing a story; snippet behind the cut:


The chairman rapped the table with his gavel. “I bring this meeting of the South Kensington Lycanthropes to order.” Anyone observing the handsome, studious faces around the table would have felt there was no apparent disorder to deal with. The only indications that this wasn’t some dry, Oxbridge departmental meeting came from the occasional, anxious glances which the participants cast over to the windows, where a bank of cloud obscured the night sky. And the fact that their clothes were neatly piled behind their chairs, ready to be claimed the next day, should it prove necessary to go home without them.

“Gentlemen, we begin with a paper on the Red wolf, Canis lupus rufus. ”

Rory’s mind began to wander. He’d heard many a paper—scientific, historical, literary—over the years, as they’d waited for the leaden English skies to clear, and this one didn’t enthuse him. Not like the occasion when someone had presented a cogent (in their eyes) case that Esau had indeed been one of their brethren, which would explain the hairiness, a thesis countered by another member who’d sworn blind that Esau had been a Neanderthal. Harsh words and blows had ensued, turning to snarls and bites as the moon had broached the clouds, illuminating the room. Things rarely got that exciting.

Well, Carter reflected, casting a surreptitious glance around the room, we’re hardly an exciting bunch. Most of his associates worked in museums or universities, although one particularly enterprising lad had secured a job behind the meat counter at Harrod’s. That was one way of mixing business and pleasure. None of them were employed in the field where men who shared their other inclination—the non-lupine one—were often to be found. What was the point when, by accident of the lunar calendar, you might be taking the stage as Romeo and find yourself appearing more like Chewbacca?