Alinar Author Blog

Tuesday Teaser - In The Dark With You by Alexandra Marell - Historical Romance

2012-01-31T06:00:00.010Z

Today's Tuesday Teaser comes from Alexandra Marell's historical Romance, In The Dark With You.

Behind rumours and legends there are often ordinary people just wanting to be loved.

Damien Lucius is the boy no one ever sees. Having spent all his life behind the walls of the Lucius mansion he's become the stuff of legends. The villagers say vampires live there and Damien is only too happy to encourage the tales as it earns him a prestige he could never hope to have. Now, aged 21, the years of loneliness and despair are taking their toll, but Fate, it seems has a job for Damien.

On his first time out of the mansion he meets Alicia Stanton on the cliff road, hurting and scared and when she accepts his offer of a place of safety their futures are forever entwined.

Excerpt

Alicia lay still for a good few minutes until Flora was out of earshot. When she was sure, she sat up, smoothed back her hair and swung her legs over the side of the bed. The corridor looked deserted when she peered carefully round the heavy door. She stopped to pull on her slippers then ran to Damien’s room, knocked softly on the door and waited.

No answer came. She knocked again and listened. No sound at all. Alicia glanced up and down the corridor.

The house was huge. Damien could be anywhere. Carefully she turned the doorknob and opened the door, just a crack, to see if he was perhaps inside and hadn’t heard her. The room was empty, and still as they’d left it this morning. Curiosity got the best of her. There was something that she wanted to see now that she’d determined the room to be unoccupied - what looked like a journal left open on Damien’s writing desk. She had a vague recollection of him writing at the desk last night, and couldn't resist having a peek. Would it hurt to take a quick look at a few pages? Perhaps it would give her more insight into his character?

Damien may not have had much interaction with the outside world, but he didn’t appear a simpleton, by any means. In fact she suspected he was quite a complex person. Since she'd met him he had been in turn a knight in shining armour, shy and inexperienced, and a petulant and defiant little boy.

She ran her finger over the beautiful, copper-plate script. Her writing wasn’t nearly as polished as this, and she smiled sadly at the sentiments he expressed. He’s wrong, she thought. I will try to ease his loneliness. Then she turned back a few pages and her brow furrowed at his most recent entries. He’d wanted to die? That might account for his burned skin. Oh dear, she shouldn’t be reading this - these things were indeed private. She quickly set the page back to its original position and slipped out of the room, disturbed by what she'd read, and fervently wishing now that she’d avoided the temptation. These were things Damien needed to tell her himself, when he was ready to do so.

In her haste to get back to The King’s Room she turned the wrong way and found herself at the end of the corridor in a part of the house she’d not yet seen. A door, slightly ajar, concealed a wooden staircase that looked as if it might lead to attic rooms. The expression curiosity never came to good went through her mind as she pushed the door wide. No, she thought, this was not like reading the journal. What harm would come from peeking into a few bedrooms? The view from the second floor would be magnificent.

As she climbed, she heard the strangest of sounds. She stopped and tilted her head to listen better. Gasping and moaning - it seemed to be coming from one of the bedrooms above. A chill ran down her spine. A ghost? A house this old must have at least one. She peered cautiously around the last turn of the stairs and was faced with yet another corridor. Nearer now, it started to sound more like someone in pain than a spirit. Alex, perhaps? Was this where he slept?

Would it be proper to go and enquire after him? She had after all tended to him this morning, and it did sound as if he were in agony. She stood outside the door, a hand poised to knock. Perhaps she should, he’d taken a terrible beating, part of which she was responsible for. When she rapped lightly on the door, to her surprise the sound stopped. She held her breath, and had the distinct feeling that the person on the other side of the door was doing the same. And then she thought that Alex had collapsed, or something worse, and perhaps she ought to go in and see, so she cautiously opened the door and peered in.

Damien was the last person she expected to see. He was half-lying on the bed, and sat up abruptly when he saw her, his eyes wide and startled. An open book lay in his lap and for a moment they stared at each other blankly.

Alicia shook herself out of her daze, pleased to have found him, but thinking it most strange that he’d come up here to read. Why was he not in the library? Arranging her features, she stepped into the room, wondering why he was looking so surprised to see her.

“What are you doing up here?” she asked looking around. The room was sparsely furnished, as if it might have been servant's quarters at one time.

He still hadn't answered her. In fact he seemed frozen in place, the book still clutched against his lap.

“Is everything all right, Damien?” Not surprised, she thought. He looks shocked. But, why? What on earth had he been doing that warranted hiding up here?

genre: fantasy romance
length: 70,500 words
Released: February 2009
Rating: Sultry
Price: $2.99

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Tuesday Teaser - Fangs & Lullabies by Kallysten - Paranormal Romance book

2012-01-24T05:14:00.000Z

Today's teaser comes from Kallysten's Fangs & Lullabies, the first part of the Lullabies series which will be continued in June with Demons & Lullabies.

A child’s birth. His first teeth and first steps. School friends and bullies, recess, school plays and science projects. A girl, a crush and a broken heart. These childhood experiences are shared by countless little boys from different horizons.

And yet… Jacob is anything but average. For as long as he has been able to understand, a secret has shaped his life, kept even from his closest friends: his father, Andrew, is a vampire. And so is his other father, Nicholas.

In a strange era when demons are beginning to appear all over the world and threaten humans and vampires alike, the three of them form quite an extraordinary family. And yet, at the same time, they could hardly be more normal.

Two fathers raising a son neither of them ever thought he would have. A Sire and Childe resuming their relationship after years of estrangement. Through snapshots covering Jacob’s life from birth to adulthood, discover this unusual family, and how, in the end, all it takes is love.

Genre: Paranormal M/M Romance
Length: 110,000 words
Released: February 2011
Rating: Sultry
Price: $5.99 eBook / $12.99 Paperback

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Excerpt
(Six Years Old)

Jacob’s tummy was all twisted and unhappy.

His daddy and Nicholas were arguing again.

When Jacob came home from school, his daddy was in his office with the door closed. Auntie Julie said it was better to leave him alone, but then Jacob’s daddy opened the door and gave Auntie Julie a very frowny look. He picked up Jacob, took him inside the office, and closed the door again. Very loudly.

Usually, Jacob liked being in his daddy’s office. Jacob had a small desk of his own against the wall, and he could make drawings there or do his homework.

But today, Jacob didn’t like it at all. It smelled funny in the office. Jacob’s daddy smelled funny, like pepper and like the locked weapons’ cabinet that Jacob wasn’t supposed to touch. It made Jacob want to rub his nose until he smelled something nice again. It made him sad, too, because he knew what this unpleasant scent meant. And it made his tummy hurt.

Leaving his backpack on his small desk, Jacob went to his daddy and hugged his side.

“Don’t be mad.”

Jacob’s daddy lifted Jacob into his lap and gave him a smile. “I’m not mad. Why do you think I’m mad?”

His daddy was lying, and it wasn’t nice to lie. Not nice at all. Jacob crossed his arms, just like his daddy did when he was mad and made a frowny face, too. “You smell mad. You’re mad at Nicholas again, aren’t you?”

The smile on Jacob’s daddy’s face went away, and he pulled Jacob close for a hug. “Sometimes grownups are mad at each other,” he said against the top of Jacob’s hair. “And sometimes I’m mad at Nicholas. It’s got nothing to do with you. I still love you lots and lots. And Nicholas loves you, too.”

With one hand flat against his daddy’s shirt, Jacob pushed away. He knew that they loved him. He just wished they would love each other, too.

“Why don’t you love Nicholas?” he asked, looking straight up at his daddy’s face.

His daddy blinked a lot. “Wh… what?”

“Why don’t you love Nicholas?” Jacob repeated. “You fight with him all the time. And you argue. And you smell mad, and you’re all cranky, and I don’t want you to get a dirvoce.”

Jacob’s eyes were stinging when he finished, and he sniffled a little. His daddy hugged him again.

“Hey… don’t cry, baby.”

“I’m not crying and I’m not a baby!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Jacob’s daddy ran his hand over Jacob’s hair and smiled a little. “You grow up so fast, sometimes I forget you’re not a baby. Who told you about divorces?”

Jacob sniffled again, but only because he had a cold, not because he was crying or anything. “My friend Bobby. He said his mommy and his daddy argued a lot, and then his daddy bought a dirvoce, and now his daddy lives in another house. And I don’t want you to live in another house.”

Flinging his arms around his daddy’s neck, Jacob pressed his face against his daddy’s shoulder so he wouldn’t think that Jacob was crying. Because he wasn’t crying. Not at all. It was just his eyes that were acting funny because his tummy was all twisted.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jacob’s daddy said very softly. His arms were tight around Jacob, and he was rocking a little like he had forgotten again that Jacob wasn’t a baby. “And Nicholas isn’t going anywhere, either, I promise.”

But Jacob didn’t know if he could believe his daddy, because he had lied before about not being mad, and maybe he was lying again now just so Jacob wouldn’t cry. Even if Jacob wasn’t crying at all.

“Jacob, look at me. Look at me.”

Jacob sniffed very hard and rubbed his face against his daddy’s neck before pulling back and looking at him.

“We’re not getting a divorce," Jacob’s daddy said with a very serious face. “Not now, not ever. I promise you.”

Jacob thought about it for a little while. His daddy wasn’t doing the forced smile anymore, and he didn’t smell mad, either, so maybe he was telling the truth.

“Can Nicholas promise, too?” Jacob asked in a very small voice.

Jacob’s daddy nodded and stood, carrying Jacob with him. “Let’s go ask him, and you’ll see he’ll promise, too.”

He carried Jacob out of the office, but then Jacob wiggled a little to be let down. He wasn’t a baby after all. Still, he took his daddy’s hand and held on to it very tightly. Jacob saw that Auntie Julie looked curious, or maybe sad, but she didn’t say anything, and Jacob’s daddy didn’t stop to talk to her anyway. They went straight upstairs to the television room, and sure enough Nicholas was there, watching some show on the television. Jacob just needed to take one sniff to know that Nicholas was just as mad as his daddy had been when Jacob first came home.

Jacob’s daddy went to the television and turned it off. Jacob looked at Nicholas then, and saw that Nicholas was even more upset than before. Nicholas’ eyes were all golden and glowing, and that was very bad. Jacob’s eyes started stinging again.

“What the—”

“Jacob wants you to promise something,” Jacob’s daddy talked over Nicholas. “Can you pay attention for two minutes, or is that too much to ask, too?”

Nicholas’ lips were very thin and pressed very tightly together. He didn’t answer, but he turned his eyes toward Jacob, and they were green again. His smile, however, was the same fake smile that Jacob’s daddy had shown Jacob down in the office.

Jacob swallowed hard and asked, “Are you and Daddy going to buy a dirvoce?”

For a long moment, Nicholas didn’t say anything. His eyebrows were frowning more and more, and in the end he looked at Jacob’s daddy and said in a very quiet but very mean voice, “Did you put that in his head? ‘Cause that’s the lowest blow you’ve ever—”

“I didn’t,” Jacob’s daddy said, and his voice was quiet, too, but it sounded like he was trying not to be mad. His hand was tight again around Jacob’s hand. “Something else he learned at school. He came home and decided that since I was mad, it had to mean we’re getting a divorce and one of us is moving out. Tell him we’re not so he’ll stop worrying about nothing.”

When Nicholas looked at Jacob again, he wasn’t frowning anymore. He held out his hand toward Jacob. Jacob stepped forward, tugging on his daddy’s hand so he would come closer with him, and took Nicholas’ hand with his other hand.

“Are you going to buy a dirvoce?” Jacob asked again, sniffling a little.

Nicholas squeezed Jacob’s fingers gently. “No, we’re not going to divorce,” he said with a little sigh. “I love you very much, and I’m not going to leave. Ever. All right?”

“Promise?” Jacob asked; his bottom lip was trembling a little bit.

Nicholas didn’t answer right away. Again, he looked up at Jacob’s daddy beforehand, but this time Nicholas wasn’t frowning anymore. He sighed again and leaned in close to press his forehead against Jacob’s. “I promise,” Nicholas said slowly, “that Daddy and me are not going to divorce. Even if we argue again.”

“And you promise you’re not gonna move to another house?” Jacob insisted.

“I promise I’m not going to move to another house,” Nicholas repeated after Jacob.

“Promise you’ll always always love me very much?”

“I promise I’ll always love you very, very much.”

“And you’ll always love Daddy very much, too?”

Nicholas’ mouth opened, but it closed again without saying a word. His hand tightened on Jacob’s, almost too tight for a second, and Nicholas blinked a whole lot and frowned again, like before when he had thought about his reply, but this time he wasn’t looking at Jacob’s daddy at all. This time, Nicholas’ eyes stayed on Jacob the entire time, almost like Nicholas was afraid to look at Jacob’s daddy. Nicholas even smelled a little bit afraid, and Jacob didn’t like that smell any better than the mad smell.

Jacob’s daddy lowered himself, putting a knee down before he said very quietly in Jacob’s ear, “Jacob, that’s not—”

“And I’ll always love Daddy, too,” Nicholas finally repeated. His voice was a little bit funny and croaky, too. Nicholas opened his arms, and Jacob stepped closer to hug his neck and get a hug in return. He didn’t let go of his daddy’s hand, though, and pulled him closer too.

...

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Tuesday Teaser -Tian's Guardian by Candy Nicks - Fantasy Romance book

2012-01-10T06:00:00.000Z

Today's Tuesday Teaser comes from Candy Nicks Tian's Guardian, book 3 in the Moon Child Series.

Tian is the Goddess's little secret. A Lupine hidden from the world, she knows nothing of the ways of men other than the terrible tales her mother told of the father she has never met. A wolf/human shifter, Tian wants only to continue to live a life of freedom in the mountain hut she calls home.

When her mother dies the magic that protected and cloaked Tian from the world dies too, leaving her vulnerable and alone. With no connection left to humanity, Tian decides to become the wolf and live out her life on the mountains she loves. But the Goddess has other plans for her. Plans that involve sending Sol, her most trusted Guardian, to claim Tian as his own.

When Sol hears about Tian, he is more than peeved to find that he wasn't told of the Goddess's little secret, hidden in the mountains for so many years. He rides with all speed to claim her and offer his protection, but Tian has other ideas. She doesn't need protecting and certainly not by a man. With winter taking hold and threats looming on the horizon, Sol must find a way to win Tian's trust and convince her that that she is as much woman as wolf. And that not all men are evil.

Will he succeed before the threat closing in on them becomes real?

genre: fantasy romance
length: 70,500 words
Released: February 2009
Rating: Sultry
Price: $2.99

BUY THE EBOOK FROM:
» Buy at AlinarPublishing.com
» Buy at Kindle Amazon.co.uk
» Buy at Kindle amazon.com
» Buy at Smashwords

Excerpt

Walking away from her past and the last links to those she had loved took a greater determination than she possessed. While the wolf fretted and chastised, the woman recalled the pale-haired man entering her home. Violating her sanctuary. Sol moved with the confidence of a conqueror. Of one who knew he matched up favourably to the best life had to offer.

She sat on the high ridge, hugging her knees, trying to forget Sol standing in all his glory under the thundering water. Soapy hands gliding over firm flesh. Slicked-down hair clinging to broad shoulders and muscular arms. Her first sight of a naked man had stolen the breath from her lungs and stirred up disturbing feelings that left her dazed and confused. How did he feel when he touched himself? How would those capable hands feel on her own body?

Let go, the wolf urged.

“I’m trying. I thought it would be easier.”

Then try harder, the wolf said, exasperated now and eager to start the ritual of wintering. We need to hunt. Grow fat. Can smell the snow. It’s coming.

“I know.” Was Sol asleep in her bed? Would he come looking for her?

He’s a warrior. Yes, he will come. Tian, we must leave.

“Did the magic stone lie? It showed me a future I could never have imagined. Do you think we can trust him?”

He’s come to take you away. To a cage without bars, but to a cage all the same.

Curiosity nagged at her. A disquieting confusion of wanting to put distance between her and Sol and, at the same time, wanting to creep down the mountain and learn more about the men her mother had so vehemently warned her against. Part of her acknowledged the physical attraction. That was beyond her control. The tingling low in her belly and the flush of heat that had crept over her skin as she’d watched him pleasure himself was nature’s way of making sure human-kind lived on into a new generation. No different from a wolf taking a mate to ensure the survival of the pack.

Damnation! Why did he have to be so physically attractive? If the Goddess had sent a dwarf with one eye and rotting teeth, this would have been much easier.

Despite her best intentions, she crept nearer to the hut. No light shone from the window. She sniffed and caught Sol’s unique scent, mingled with that of the horses; the more discernable for being new and unfamiliar.

No matter how well he hid, she would be able to track him. Sol matched her only in strength. He did not possess the instincts of the wolf.

She shivered and pulled the coat around her naked body, oddly nervous as she peeked through the window hung with thick squares of glass bartered for at one of the trading fairs. Half expecting to see her mother standing by the stone sink, singing as she cleaned vegetables, Tian’s wolf-eyes picked out every detail of the familiar room.

No ghosts. Only flesh and blood, lying flat out on her mother’s bed, one arm dangling from the side, feet hanging from the end. His bare chest rose and fell in deep, even breaths and his unbound hair formed a tangled halo around his head.

Like the sun in high summer, she thought, fingering her own midnight-black locks. It lent him an air of innocence that belied the well-muscled arm hugging the patchwork quilt to his body. A sword arm, no doubt.

Beside the bed lay his blade and the object she’d guessed might be a powered weapon. Next to them lay his boots, huge to match his frame. His image wavered and blurred.

“Please,” she whispered to the wolf. “Give me sight. I need to see.”

Why? This is dangerous.

“I’ll be careful.”

Now you have seen him, you wish to mate with him?

“No. No, of course not. I’m merely curious. I’ve never been this close to a man.”

They’re evil, Tian.

She shook her head. “No, not him. He…intrigues me.”

The wolf snorted. Pheromones. Nothing more. He wants to mate with you too. Can smell it.

“I know.” Tian smiled and then checked herself. The physical attraction was undeniable. Why else was she staring wide-eyed and breathless through a darkened window at the sleeping man? No need to deny that when he’d pleasured himself, she’d imagined those hands on her own body, bringing her to the same shuddering climax.

The wolf is right, she thought and ducked down out of view. This is dangerous and reckless. Flushed cheeks, trembling hands. A liquid longing deep inside. Sol’s body spoke to hers with an eloquence that didn’t need words and hers was answering with an age-old song.

Too distracting. It muddled her mind when she needed her instincts clear and sharp. She wanted to go inside. Touch him. Let him touch her. She-

Run, Tian run.

What? Too late, she picked up Sol’s scent. Heard the pad of bare feet on the wooden deck boards. Before she could scramble upright, a strong hand closed around her wrist and held her in place. A man’s voice, low and urgent filtered through the fog of her confusion.

“Tian, I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Sol. The Goddess sent me. Stay, I need to talk with you.”

She, who could hear the flap of a bird’s wing on the high thermals, hadn’t heard him coming? The crystal stone – he must be using its magic to cloak himself. Panic-stricken, she glanced at the restraint made by his curled fingers. He’d trapped a strand of his own hair between her skin and his.

Change, Tian.

I can’t, he’ll see me naked.

“Don’t change, please. Stay human. We need to talk.”

“Let me go.” Whipping back her arm, she sent Sol sprawling onto the wooden boards and fled, running with all her might for the shelter of the trees. Behind her, she heard a curse followed by the determined thump and squelch of Sol’s footfall on the slippery clay. Without breaking stride, she shed the coat and morphed into her wolf, pouring all of its energy into a sprint that sent it hurtling through the trees with dizzying speed. The man had no hope of gaining. The wolf broke through the wood and stood, quivering, on the edge of a shallow ravine.

Another curse, Sol’s harsh rasping breath. The footsteps slowed and then halted. The man’s heart beat with the same frantic tattoo as its own.

My coat, Tian said from deep inside the wolf. I need my coat.

Leave it, the wolf warned. Didn’t I say he wanted to keep you?

He frightened me. Up close, he was so...big.

But we are stronger. Let us go, he’s coming.

Perhaps I should talk to him. Tell him why I cannot return with him.

He will take our freedom, Tian. Do you not hear the determination in his voice? Don’t trust him.

“Tian, please talk to me.” The man edged closer. “I’ve come a long way to find you, Tian. Sent by the

Goddess. At least hear me out.” Sol stopped, pushed the hair out of his eyes and raised his hands away from his body to show he carried no weapons. From one finger hung her coat.
The wolf assessed the chances of clearing the ravine from a standing start. Its back paws groped for the edge sending a shower of stones skittering down the stone walls. Too risky. The ravine’s smooth sides would trap it as much as Sol meant to. Curling back its lips, it bared its teeth and growled, low it its throat.

“You don’t scare me,” Sol said, keeping his voice low. “I have no weapons, see. Tian, you’re no longer safe.

I’m here to offer you my protection.”

The wolf lifted its head. Its eyes flashed a warning.

Sol placed one foot carefully in front of the other, stepping into a patch of broken moonlight that striped his chest and hair with silver. “I respect your strength, wolf. Tian needs me. Let her speak.”

No, Tian. Hold me forward. I can take him.

Don’t hurt him, Wolf. He means us no harm.

“Tian, I know your mother taught you the Universal language. Push back the wolf and listen to me. That’s all I ask. If you don’t wish to go back with me - that’s your choice. Please, I’ve come a long way. A long way...” He offered the coat. “Take it.”

Tian didn’t miss the sag of Sol’s shoulders. The weary resignation in his tone. His appeal weakened her when she needed to hold firm. Though he represented a threat, a part of her longed for the things Sol offered so openly. A mate. Friendship. A life with others of her kind.

The revelation startled her as much as the sudden feel of wind ghosting over skin instead of fur. Sol’s eyes widened, first in appreciation, then in concern as she fought to keep her wolf forward and attempted to cover her naked body with her hands and hair.
“
Tian, the wolf knows we need to talk. That’s why it changed. Remain human.”

“Stay away from me!”

“You know I’m right,” Sol crooned, his voice low and seductive. “I’m handing you the coat. It’s cold. Let’s return to the hut.”

“I have nothing to say to you. You’re trying to confuse me so I’ll go back with you. Wolf, where are you?”

The precious balance, the control she needed to synchronise with the creature inside, was all awry.
Inside her, the wolf spiralled stubbornly away, taking with it the ability to see. Sol’s image, the trees and wet mulch under her feet merged into a blur of shadow and moonlight. Momentarily disorientated, she stepped back, her foot hovering over the chasm. Sol’s cry of alarm startled her even more. She tumbled over the edge arms flailing wildly, grappling for balance.

“Change, Tian!”

Sols’ voice, so near it whispered against her skin. Firm fingers grasped her wrist as she went into freefall and the blurred world see-sawed away from her. First the weight of his body bore her down, then it was below, supporting her. The wolf burst through, every drop of energy poured into self preservation, and sprang. With a sharp scrape of claw against stone it found purchase and leapt from the abyss.

A woman again, Tian lay panting on the edge of the ravine, the skin of her thigh scraped raw by the rough scratch of stone against flesh. The sound of her own heart pumping fit to burst, hammering in her ears.

What of Sol? He’d leapt to save her. Where was he? She sat up and squinted her eyes, trying to determine which of the moving shapes were man and which were merely tree branches blown by the wind. The air reeked with the scent of panic and fear, both his and hers.

“Sol?” She called out, hoping the wolf hadn’t hurt him. It had all happened so fast. She remembered hovering on the air, then something solid beneath her. A springboard for the wolf made with Sol’s body?

Oh no. What have we done?

Her heart slowed and the ringing in her ears died down to be replaced by the familiar sounds of the night. The swish of birds on the wing, the leaves whispering in the breeze. Of Sol, no sound.

He’s gone, Tian. We go now. Quickly.

“Have I killed him?” The quaver in her voice surprised her. After years of believing she would kill without remorse, the thought that she might have taken a life, sickened her.

“Goddess,” she whispered. “Is he dead? Guide me. I don’t know what to do.”

Search your heart, child. I sent Sol to help you find yourself. He will do that.

“He lives?” Drained to the core, she flopped backwards onto the damp earth. She hadn’t taken a human life. Thank the heavens.

His life is in your hands, child. Only when we are tested to the limit, do we see our true worth. I would have you find yours.

Go, Tian, the wolf said. He cannot follow. Leave him for the crows to pick clean. By spring, he will be nothing more than a memory.

“Goddess?”

Nothing more.

Should she grab this opportunity and become the wolf? A human life held only uncertainty. Better a simple life on the mountain than a life spent navigating the tangled paths humans insisted on walking.

Tian reached for the discarded coat, calm now and in possession of the wolf’s sight. In the dark depths of the ravine, wedged into the V of the crevasse, she made out the unmoving shape of a man. Waiting for her to decide whether he would live or die.

So this is what it meant to be human? The wolf would gladly leave him to rot. She could not. To wilfully allow such a brave soul to die alone and in pain was an unforgivable sin. He’d offered his life for hers. She could do no less than offer it back to him.

“I’m sorry, Wolf. I cannot leave him to die. You must understand.”

If you save him, he will keep you. Take you away from all this. The wolf let out a sigh of resignation. Choose wisely, Tian. What you start, you must finish.
She nodded. “I know. And I need you with me. I cannot do this without you.”

Begging the Goddess’s pardon - I do not approve of this. I will not help.

“I will compromise. We will save him then I promise we will leave on your terms.”

Tian studied Sol’s still form with the sharp clarity of her wolf’s eyes. A bright splash of crimson stained his pale hair. One arm bent back at an unnatural angle. With her wolf senses, she made out the slow thud of Sol’s heart and a steady pulse of blood pumping from the wound. The walls of the ravine were polished smooth by millennia of ice and woefully bereft of footholds. Perhaps if she found a rope?

“Lend me your strength, Wolf. He’s too heavy for a mere woman.”

Do it, the wolf replied without hesitation. Send him home to his family and then we live as wolf. It’s a good plan.

“Yes, a good plan,”she said, absently. “A good plan.”

BUY THE EBOOK FROM:
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Tuesday Teaser - I'll Be Home for Christmas - Kallysten

2012-01-03T08:00:00.006Z

This week's Tuesday teaser is a Holiday story by Kallysten.

With Christmas only hours away, Anders does some last minute shopping, preparing a surprise for his lover Selena and decorating a tree for her.

Elsewhere, in another time, this all would have been a matter of course, but it is unusual in Newhaven, a city that has been besieged by demons for longer than any human fighter can recall. The situation is even more atypical because Selena is not at the hospital, helping wounded soldiers with her magic like she usually does. Instead, she has accompanied a group of fighters outside the city, where they hope to close the breach between dimensions that allows the demons to come in, and to stop the invasion once and for all. All Anders can do for now is wait, and hope that Selena will return to him safe and sound.

When she does come back, magic is bursting out of her and she accomplishes true miracles. To Anders, though, the only thing that matters is that, like she promised, she is home for Christmas.

genre: paranormal/fantasy romance
length: 12,500 words
Released: Nov. 2010
Rating: Sultry
Price: .99cents

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Excerpt

“Ready to go home?” he asked her when they were finally alone.

She turned her wide hazel eyes up at him. Even with little more than a half moon above them to light up her face, she was still radiant.

“Going home sounds perfect,” she said and gave him a quick hug.

He kept his arm around her waist as he guided her back to the Guard compound and up to their apartment. The entire way he could feel sparks coursing everywhere they touched each other. Her magic seemed to want to leap out of her and he wondered how many more people she could have healed, how much more magic she could do before it drained out of her. Or would it?

When he pushed open the door to their apartment and let her walk in first, she only took two steps before she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You got us a tree!”

He wove his arms around her waist from behind and pressed a kiss to the back of her head.

“I did. Is that the kind you wanted?”

She nodded and rested her arms over his, squeezing his wrists gently. “It’s just like the ones we had when I was a kid. And you even found a garland! And a star!”

She turned in his embrace and gave him a wide smile. “Thank you. It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.” She caressed her lips against his mouth in a chaste kiss. But when she pulled back her smile had dimmed a little. “I just wish…” Her voice dropped to a murmur. “I have no gift for you.”

“No gift?” Anders shook his head incredulously and pressed a finger to the tip of her nose, like she always did to him when she thought he was being silly. “You closed the rip, you healed my arm and you’re home like you promised. That’s quite enough for me.”

She pouted playfully, batting his hand away from her face. “I was just joking when I said a closed rip would be your gift,” she protested. “I thought we’d be back earlier than that and I bartered with this woman at the market. She was supposed to make…”

This time his finger pressed across her lips, silencing her. Part of him was curious to know what she had wanted to get him but it didn’t matter at that moment.

“You’re here,” he murmured. “You’re safe. That’s the best possible present.”

He cupped her face in his hand then slid his fingers to the back of her hair. Her eyes fluttered closed as he started drawing her closer. Her mouth parted and her tongue darted out for just a second, moistening her lips before Anders kissed her.

As soon as they touched, it felt like he was kissing fire again, as when she had first used her magic and healed him. He could feel sparks running through him again, electricity raising the hair on his arms, and could only wonder what her magic would do now.

He knew as soon as he ended the kiss and opened his eyes again. Her pupils were wide, a thin rim of hazel framing shiny black in which a whole different universe was reflected back at him.

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Tuesday Teaser - That First Christmas - Lily Graison

2011-12-27T08:00:00.008Z

This week's Tuesday teaser is another Holiday story. THAT FIRST CHRISTMAS is a Contemporary Romance by Lily Graison.

Meredith Gunter has always been Daddy's little girl. Spoiled all her life, she's never had to ask for anything and expects to get exactly what she wants. When she wrecks her car on the way home from college for Christmas break, she finds herself stranded on the mountain in the middle of a snowstorm, in a one-room cabin with a man she can't help but want.

Travis Gregory has lived alone on the mountain for the last four years. He has little contact with the outside world and prefers it that way. When he spots a girl on the side of the road, his conscience won't let him abandon her. The redhead captivates him instantly.

Worlds collide when Travis and Meredith try to co-exist in his one room cabin. Can they fight their growing attraction when the nights get longer and the storm isolates them from the rest of the world? Can two people, from such different worlds, ever truly be happy together?

genre: contemporary romance
length: 30,000 words
Released: Dec. 2008
Rating: Sultry
Price: $2.99

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» Buy at Amazon Kindle UK
» Buy at Amazon Kindle DE
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» Buy at Sony Reader Store
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» Buy at Smashwords
» Buy at Kobo
Also Available at the Apple iBook Store

Excerpt

It was almost dark when Travis stopped in front of the cabin door. He’d been avoiding it, and Meredith, all evening but knew he couldn’t hide out in his workshop all night. He needed to eat for one thing and Meredith would freeze to death if he didn’t get a decent fire going.

He sighed, laying his forehead against the cold wood of the door, and closed his eyes. No matter how long he’d been away or what he’d done, he could still see her, naked as the day she was born, and his body ached with the need to touch her. He didn’t know how many times he’d walked out of the workshop with full intentions of walking into the cabin, grabbing, and kissing her completely stupid. He’d made it as far as the front door only once, though.

His body had hummed with barely contained lust. The urge to cover her body with his and thrust into that soft flesh made his bones ache. It had been too long. He knew that now. He’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted Meredith but he wasn’t at all sure it was just his abstinence that was causing it. She’d gotten under his skin in less than a day. Her carefree attitude and quirky ways were endearing. She was like a breath of fresh air that he’d been denied. She made him feel…alive. Something he hadn’t felt in some time.

But she’s so young, he thought. And her father is Willis Gunter. He grimaced at the thought. Of all the girls to stumble onto his mountain. What were the odds? It had to be a cruel twist of fate. Or a complete set up. Had the old man found a way to repay him at last? Did he send his beautiful daughter up to tempt him, to dangle her sweet ass in front of him, and then snatch her away?

“That’s ridiculous,” he said to himself. “You’re thinking too much.”

Shaking away the thoughts and not being able to put off the enviable any longer, he opened the door and went inside. He was stunned at what he saw.

“It’s not too much, is it?”

He looked around the room, at the tree, and then, at her. She was standing by the fireplace, nibbling on her bottom lip with an uncertain look on her face.

He glanced back at the tree and smiled. “It looks perfect,” he said, said. And it was. She smiled at him then and it nearly staggered him.

She clapped her hands excitedly and immediately walked to the tree. “I only used your oldest magazines for the ornaments so don’t get your boxers in a twist,” she said. “Do we need more?”

He shook his head, amazed. “No,” he said, crossing the room and looking at the ornaments she’d made. Origami angels, birds and flowers graced the branches; the pages from the magazines she’d used were bright and colorful. She’d made dozens of them, scattering them around the room and over the fireplace mantel. He picked one from the tree, looking at the intricate flower, and smiled.

“Where did you learn to make these?”

“One of my nannies taught me how,” she said. “After my mother died, daddy needed someone to look after me. We went through several nannies before we found Margaret. She was the only nanny who didn’t just tell me to go to my room and entertain myself. I think she actually liked me.”

“Your other nannies didn’t?”

She shrugged. “They seemed to…at first. I think they just liked my father’s money, though. My nannies were paid well.”

He made a sound deep in his throat, acknowledging her, and placed the paper flower back on the tree.

She turned then, walking to the sofa and picked up a larger paper ornament. It was a star. “I can’t reach the top,” she said. “Will you put it up?”

He nodded his head, watching her walk back across the room toward him. The look on her face made his pulse quicken and he swallowed heavily when she stopped in front of him. Only a breath separated them. She was so close he could smell the shampoo she’d washed her hair with. The scent of him on her skin from his clothes. He looked down at her, noticing for the first time what she was wearing. A pair of his boxers and a t-shit pulled tight against her body, molding around her curves. It was obvious she was sans bra. Her nipples were button tight and poking into the fabric.

The sight of her in his clothes draped so snug against her soft flesh made his cock twitch.

Her chest rose with every breath she took and his gaze traveled the length of her before settling on her face. Her lips glistened, the firelight casting a flicker of shimmers across them. He wanted nothing more than to taste them. To see if they felt as lush as they looked. When her tongue darted out, licking the full bottom lip, he closed his eyes.

She was killing him.

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Tuesday Teaser - The Heart Wants by Alexandra Marell - Paranormal (Ghost) Romance

2011-12-20T08:00:00.006Z

Welcome to Tuesday Teasers! Every Tuesday here on the Alinar blog, we'll be featuring a new book available at Alinar Publishing. Since it's December, we'll be focusing on Holiday reads.

Today we have a Holiday read by Alexandra Marell.

Every Christmas Eve, the ghost of Catarina Bellamonte takes human form and waits for her lover to return.

It’s been sixty-two long years and Catarina’s ghost is still waiting for Philipp, the German soldier she fell in love with during World War Two. The white light calls her with promises of peace, but she refuses to heed the call when there’s a chance that her lover still might come. Didn’t they promise they would take this walk together rather than be parted?

Philipp Munch makes one last nostalgic visit to the old Italian villa and remembers Catarina, the woman he loved and lost so many years ago. As he enters the house his only thought is to say a proper goodbye and lay the ghosts of the past to rest. But it’s Christmas Eve, the one day of the year that Catarina becomes a living, breathing human again. He’s just about to find out that she kept her promise, and waited for him after all.

genre: paranormal romance
length: 11,000 words
Released: Dec. 2008
Rating: Sensual
Price: .49cents

BUY THE EBOOK FROM:

>> Buy at Alinar Publishing
>> Buy at Amazon.com
>> Buy at Amazon.co.uk
>> Buy at Smashwords

Excerpt

EVERY Christmas Eve, at the stroke of midnight, the ghost of Catarina Bellamonte shimmers into being, takes human form and waits for her lover to return.

But after sixty-two long years little hope remains. She no longer hears the muffled staccato of distant machine-gun fire. The windows no longer rattle to the heavy drone of bombers overhead. And her German soldier has long returned to the Fatherland. Or died in battle – she never found out why he didn’t come for her.

Deep in the pine forest, hidden in the undergrowth, her soft leather suitcase gives in to the elements and crumbles away. And nearby is a grave, not shallow, but deep – they hid her well. No markers or traces remain. Those who knew are gone, like her, and their secrets with them. Honour was satisfied and Catarina paid her dues. For loving the enemy, and for bringing disgrace on her noble family, there could only be one price.

But what did they know of love and of the heart? A poet once said the heart wants what the heart wants, and that was so true. She could no more have stopped herself falling in love with Philipp than stop breathing.

The mirror reflects the face of a twenty-year-old woman, frozen in the bloom of youth, who remembers when the villa rang with laughter and life. Looking around, she takes in the cobwebbed and dusty walnut furniture. The familiar black and white of the marble floor tiles, littered now with dried leaves that crackle and scrape as the breeze catches them. Weak winter sun filters into the room through the fogged-up windows, throwing patches of orange light onto the moth-eaten quilt that covers her bed. Catarina rises from her stool and crosses the room. With her sleeve, she rubs a clean patch on the glass and looks out. The light is fading, the sun melting into the earth as the day winds down and she feels herself fading with it.

* * * *

If he listens hard enough he still hears the sound of laughter and music, floating on the sharp night air from the elegant ballroom. Philipp Munch buttons up his thick tweed coat – he feels the cold badly these days– and stands at the rusting iron gates of the old villa. The years roll away and he can still remember the first time he saw her. The first and last time he fell in love. His heart clenches and, even as hot tears threaten, he finds himself smiling at the small bunch of alpine flowers clutched in his fist. Every detail is still there...

Satin skirts sweep the ground, glasses clink and the sea of faces parts to reveal the most beautiful woman Philipp has ever seen, smiling and walking towards him. He stands there, mesmerised and captive, as she floats by in a rustle of silk and a flurry of dark curls. She smells of flowers. He turns and, like a sleepwalker, follows her retreating form until she stops and talks to a young man who touches her elbow with his hand and tries to steer her away from the crowd. She resists, shakes her head and laughs. The man laughs too and sweeps up her hand to kiss her palm. His lips linger there while the woman watches him with heavy-lidded eyes, her mouth curved into a smile. The man whispers something, and her smile fades.

“Who is she?” Philipp asks the waiter, who stops for a moment to hand him a long-stemmed glass of champagne.

“Catarina Bellamonte. The only daughter of the count. The man is her fiancé, Santino Allessio, son of the richest man in the province.”

Philipp frowns and watches the battle of wills. The fiancé is short and sickly-looking. Clearly not good enough for her. And no match for her, either. The man’s arm is around her waist now, while Catarina strains away from him, and, in a moment of sheer madness, Philipp finds himself walking towards them with only one thought in mind – to dance with this enchanting woman. He's in full uniform, something which gains him both reluctant respect and outright contempt. Italians aren’t a people who hide their feelings– one minute smiling benevolently, the next just as likely to slit his throat in a dark alleyway. When he reaches the spot where Catarina was standing, she is gone.

A quick glance across the room tells him that the Generalmajor won’t be needing the services of his driver any time soon. His commanding officer waves him away with a drunken smile and returns his attention to the champagne and the tall blonde hanging, laughing, on his arm. So Philipp makes his way to the double-doors, Catarina’s only means of escape. He finds her standing in the shadows at the edge of the stone patio. Arms wrapped around her body, she is staring into the night. Somewhere in the village below a church bell chimes and, to its slow, steady rhythm, he walks towards her.

“Buon Natale, soldier.” There’s laughter in her voice. She doesn’t turn around.

Phillip's courage falters and he stops, just out of her sight, only now remembering the language barrier between them. “Buon Natale, Signorina Bellamonte.” The words trip on his tongue, still sounding awkward and strange to the ears of a young man who had never travelled much farther than the next town before the war. He fingers his glass, takes a deep breath and steps forward.

“Or should I say Fröhliche Weihnachten?” Catarina says. She turns and steps into the pool of light spilling through the glass ballroom doors. “We speak German here too.” Her gaze flickers once over his uniform then comes back to rest on his face.

He shrugs, as if to say “What can I do? I’m as trapped as you are.” She smiles briefly and looks away.

Behind them, in the ballroom, Philipp hears the sound of people talking and, laughing. Exchanging festive greetings. Before him the ornate, formal gardens drop away in a series of terraces, which merge eventually with a stand of pine trees. The trees’ dark shadows form a boundary, beyond which he can see the shimmering lights of several small villages. Moonlight bathes the slope of an alpine meadow and catches the sharp peaks of snow-covered mountains. He feels very far from home.

He takes another step to stand beside her, and sets down his glass on the edge of the stone balustrade. Together they listen to the bells, now ringing in a joyful riot of noise and celebration. Catarina laughs again, a slightly hysterical sound which makes him turn towards her in question. In one smooth movement she tears a ring from her finger and throws it high into the air and into the garden below. Catching the moonlight, it tumbles into the flower bed below like a tiny falling star.

“It’s over?” he asks. Third finger, left hand– he saw that much – and Philipp can’t keep the laughter out of his voice either, nor the sheer relief that he has no right to feel.

What have you done to me? he thinks and shakes his head. Five minutes ago I didn’t even know you existed. Now you’re all I can see.

“They can’t make me marry him,” Catarina says, tilting her chin defiantly back at the house. “I’ll kill myself first. Throw myself into a ravine. Then they’ll be sorry.”

“Don’t do that,” he says quietly. He wonders what colour her eyes are.

“Easy for you to say. What, are you here to sweep me off my feet? Take me away from all this? Wave a magic wand and make Santino disappear?” Her hand moves suddenly and closes over the pistol holstered at his hip. Dangerously close to a part of him that has been responding to her since the moment she walked into his sight.

He recoils. Instinctively, his hand covers hers and holds it still. She’s so close now that when she speaks her breath warms his face. Her eyes catch the light. They are a deep green.

“Would you kill him for me?”

It’s a question, urgently whispered. A plea, a command and a challenge. Philipp is trapped. Catarina deftly unclips the leather strap holding the pistol in place and half-slides it from the holster.

He's never considered himself a passionate man. Nor one prone to outbursts. He’s not here for the glory of the Fatherland. He’s here because they told him to be. Philipp has always done as he’s told.

“Well?” Catarina tilts her head and holds her breath. Her hand under his flexes and he responds by sliding the gun back into the holster. Disappointment flashes in her eyes, so briefly he almost misses it – he’s too busy concentrating on the feel of her hand, trapped beneath his.

She presses her lips into a thin line and nods twice. “I’m sorry,” she says, sane again. “You must think I’m a madwoman. Did they send you to fetch me?”

“No, no…” he manages to stammer out. Her hand slides away, leaving his still on the pistol, gripping it tightly. In the heat of battle the enemy is unknown, faceless and remote. Killing is easy then. But to kill a man in cold blood – could he ever do that?

“What then?” Catarina returns her gaze to the garden, hands on the balustrade, arms rigid as she leans forward. “What could a lowly sergeant want with the daughter of a count?”

No, he may not be a passionate man, but he is a proud one and rises to the bait, consequences be damned. Clicking his heels together he makes a formal bow and holds out his hand. “My name is Philipp, Sergeant Philipp Munch. Would you give me the honour of this dance, Miss Catarina?”

Behind him the orchestra strikes up a waltz especially for them.

* * * *

Light as air, Catarina floats between worlds, feeling, always, the pull of the white light with its promise of peace and completion. But how can she go when Philipp might still come? They promised to take this walk together rather than be parted. That hope refuses to die.

The shadows lengthen and the distant mountains darken in the purple dusk. Catarina clings to the earthly plane and prays harder than ever before.

“Please don’t make me do this alone,” she whispers. “Philipp, where are you?”

* * * *

Philipp takes a key from his coat and, with a trembling hand, pushes it into the padlock. It hasn't been opened in twenty-two years, yet the key turns surprisingly easily. The chains rattle to the ground, but the gate is rusted onto its hinges and refuses to move. He pushes harder, puts his shoulder against it and digs at the dusty ground with his heel. Bit by bit the gate opens until there's a gap big enough for him to squeeze through. He retrieves the flowers and starts walking the long gravelled driveway, stopping halfway along to place a hand over a heart that beats far too fast these days. It used to do this for her. There were times when he swore she would give him a heart attack there and then – she was so beautiful. Especially when they made love...

* * * *

He waits for more than hour, refusing to believe she won’t come and just as unable to believe that she will. As he’s reaching for the ignition key of the Audi staff limousine, feeling thoroughly ashamed of his foolishness, she’s there, standing by the small side-gate. The silk shawl wrapped around her shoulders flaps in the light breeze.

Philipp’s hand freezes on the steering wheel and his courage leaves him in a rush. What does he say to her? One dance and I’ve fallen hopelessly in love with you? Foolish indeed. He wants to run away. Instead he starts the engine, eases the car from its hiding place behind the trees and steers it back onto the main road. When he looks up, Catarina lifts a hand and waves. In one smooth movement he applies the brake. She opens the door and slides into the passenger seat.

“You came…” he says, and bites the corners of his mouth to stop the stupid grin that’s threatening to break out all over his face. For a few minutes he just drives, with no thought of taking her anywhere but away from here and marriage to Santino.

“Where to?” he asks eventually.

“Up there.” Catarina points to the top of the highest mountain. “Take me up there…”

Buy the eBook From

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>> Buy at Amazon.co.uk
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Five Eves - a collection of holidays flash fiction

2011-12-19T17:35:00.001Z

In November, my readers took part in a poll and told me which of my characters they would enjoy seeing featured in an anthology of short Holidays stories. Here they are now, offered as a token of my appreciation for your support.

Whether they celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah or the beginning of a New Year, these five couples have something in common: love.

You can find them on my website in several formats or on the Alinar website as well.

With my best wishes for a joyous Holidays Season and a wonderful New Year.
♥

Kallysten

12 Days of Christmas Winners

2011-12-13T06:09:00.005Z

Our event has come to a close and we had a blast! On behalf of the Alinar Publishing authors, I'd like to thank everyone who came over to the blog every day and participated.

There were 50 eBooks given away and the winners of those contest are:

Day 1 - Cassandra Loskot

Day 2 - Deanne

Day 3 - Denise Golden *Prize Claimed

Day 4 - Marie Hitchin *Prize Claimed

Day 5 - Carol *Prize Claimed

Day 6 - Tammi Hagberg

Day 7 - Maria Pena *Prize Claimed

Day 8 - Ode T. *Prize Claimed

Day 9 - Madame D

Day 10- Eva Silkka *Prize Claimed

Day 11- Melody Prater *Prize Claimed

Day 12- Tricia Schneider

Winners, to collect your books, please email Lily Graison at lily.graison@gmail.com and put ALINAR CONTEST WINNER in the subject line. You have until Friday, Dec. 16th (midnight) to respond or your prize will be given to an alternate winner!

Be sure to continue to visit the blog, or FOLLOW us through NetworkedBlogs (box is on the left side widget bar). We'll have posts on a weekly basis and the occasional contest, so stay tuned!

Have a Merry Christmas,
Alinar Publishing

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...Holiday Memories From the Alinar Authors

2011-12-12T06:00:00.050Z

Our 12 Days of Christmas event is drawing to an end. We've had a wonderful few days and we're going to go out with a bang!

Today, the Alinar authors are going to share one of their favorite Holiday memories with you and, as always, there will be a contest at the end with one lucky reader taking home a bountiful crop of eBooks!

So without further ado, I'll turn it over to the Alinar Authors.

Lily Graison

One of my most prized memories is from when I was a youngster. Christmas was always magical and Santa was this mystical being that left wonderful things under a sparkly lit tree. We didn’t have a lot of money back then so we didn’t have store-bought trees.

Every year, my daddy would grab his axe and trudge my sister and I out into the woods. We’d spend countless amounts of time looking at every cedar tree there was, hunting for one that was straight, wasn’t too big, and was full and didn’t stink too much. LOL When our treasure was found, we’d stand by while daddy chopped it down for us.

Back then, I remember it snowing more than it does now so most of the time, we were bundled up while the snow fell. Being in the woods in the winter, while it’s snowing, is a bit magical in itself. Its quiet and those snowflakes make the tiniest tinkle of sound as they come down and settle on the branches. I remember standing there as snow skimmed my face while I watched my daddy chop down, what I know now, was the ugliest tree in history. LOL

My sister and I were always the ones to haul the tree out of the woods. We’d grab the trunk and pull while daddy picked up the end so it wouldn’t be heavy. The occasional squirrel would come along for a ride and most jumped ship before we made it back to the house.

It wasn’t until I was a teen that we got our first artificial tree. I didn’t mind because by then, trudging through the woods just wouldn’t do, but I actually miss that special time with my daddy. He’s getting on in age now and I can’t imagine him wielding an axe, let alone chopping a tree down. My tree this year is a big artificial monster that doesn’t smell of fresh cedar. There’s no loose needles falling to the floor. There are store bought ornaments and the stringy tinsel is a thing of the past. Old Christmas memories are now treasured and I really wish we had given my own children a memory like that to hold on to. Sadly, in today’s society, everything we need is conveniently available in the store. Homemade ornaments, popcorn garlands strung with cranberries, are now made of plastic and easily used year after year. I miss those old ornaments and believe it or not, my mother still has a few. She puts them on her artificial tree every year and its fun to look at them and remember a time less hectic. When Christmas was more than presents and shopping. When being with your loved ones were the only things that mattered.

Lily

Kallysten

My favorite Christmas memory was when I surprised my then-boyfriend, now-husband by traveling to the United States to spend the Holidays with him.

We hadn’t seen each other since that summer and it felt like a very, very long time, even with daily emails and internet chats and weekly phone calls. Keeping the secret once I bought my plane ticket was one of the hardest things I ever did.

I eventually told him two days before I was supposed to arrive. I asked him what he was doing that day, and when he replied “Nothing special” I said, “Good, because I’m going to need a ride from the airport.” I only wish I could have seen his face during the few seconds of silence that followed.

I was there two days later. We decorated our first Christmas tree together – and crafted our first ornaments, a custom we’ve followed every year since.

I don’t remember what Santa brought ether of us that year, but being together was truly special.

A few months later, he proposed. And a year after that, we got married. This year will be our 14th Christmas together, and they're each more beautiful than the last.

Candy Nicks / Alexandra Marell

The two Santas

I used to be a teacher and in my first year in the job I worked in an infant school (kids aged 5-7) teaching a class of six year olds. The school had a tradition of Santa making an impromptu visit after the Christmas party and this particular year for reasons I never found out, the teacher in charge decided to ask one of the dads to be Santa. He readily agreed and turned up on the day in costume. All well and good so far. But, no one had told the elderly caretaker (janitor) he wasn’t needed as Santa that year and yes, he duly turned up in a Santa suit, too. Cue panic from the teachers and a frantic note going round saying there were two Santas on the loose in the school and the kids were not to see both in the same place. Dad Santa knew of Janitor Santa, but Janitor Santa would have been terribly offended to see a usurper doing his job so it was also imperative the two Santa’s didn’t meet. The funniest moment was when Dad Santa arrived in my classroom and I spotted Janitor Santa ho-ho ing his way towards us across the playground and Dad-Santa, in response to my frantic sign language, had to pretend he needed to dash out to feed the reindeer and would be back in a few. Luckily, the kids only saw a man in a beard wearing a red outfit, size and shape didn’t come into it when the other Santa rolled in.

Confused? Thank goodness all Santa’s look alike and kids of that age are so ready to believe.

Thanks to everyone who's visited the blog for our event. Was lovely to see you! Have a great holiday season, if you celebrate it.

Candy / Alexandra.

We hope everyone has had as much fun as we have during our 12 Days of Christmas event! The Alinar authors are offering up a massive 10 eBooks to ONE lucky winner! To enter, just leave a blog comment, telling us YOUR favorite holiday memory. Make sure to click the I DID THIS button on the form or your entry won't count!

Be sure to come back tomorrow when we'll list all the winners and tell you how to collect those wonderful books you've all won. In the meantime, head over to Alinar Publishing and see all the books our authors have written. Maybe you'll find a few to ask Santa for!

Up for grabs today: Kallysten's: 3 Christmas Books Bundle, The Missing Star, Christmas Magic and I'll Be Home for Christmas, Lily Graison's: The Wicked Series, 4 book bundle,Candy Nicks: Can I Keep You and 2 Book Bundle of The Moon Child Series

Yesterday's winner was drawn by Rafflecopter.
The Winner is....entry #2..Melody Prater!

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...An Blog Post from Lily Graison

2011-12-11T05:00:00.034Z

Have you ever wondered where our current Christmas traditions came from? Santa Claus in particular? I did and my curiosity threw me into research mood. I thought I'd share what I found with everyone today. Everyone needs a bit of useless knowledge and believe me, when you tell others this bit, they'll look at you in amazement....or like my sister looked at me yesterday when I told her. Like I was completely insane! LOL

Without further ado...the origins of the Big Guy!

The sending and receiving of Christmas cards was a practice that started in 1840, nineteen years after the invention of the modern day Santa Claus in the US.

Early Dutch settlers of New York considered St. Nicolas their patron saint and practiced a yearly ritual of hanging stocking to receive gifts on St. Nicolas eve, which was in early December, the 5th, to be exact.

William Gilley, a New York City printer, published an anonymous poem referring to “Santeclaus,” taken from the Dutch word, “Sinterklass” for St. Nicolas, in a children’s book in 1821. The poem was the first mention of a sleigh being pulled by a single reindeer. On December 23, 1823, another anonymous poem, later found to be written by Clement Clarke Moore, was published in a Troy, NY newspaper. The poem, “A Visit from St. Nicolas” would later be called, “The Night Before Christmas” and told the story of Santa Claus visiting on Christmas Eve. The introduction of jolly old St. Nick to the world was made over one hundred years ago but his legend is still around today.

Thomas Nast, an American cartoonist, is credited for the first US depiction of Santa Claus. He was hired by Harper’s Weekly in 1862. For Christmas, he was assigned to draw the magazine’s cover and legend has it that Abraham Lincoln requested a depiction of Santa Claus visiting Union troops. The cover, released Jan. 3, 1863 was an instant hit and gave us the first glimpse of a Holiday icon.

Every child believes in the existence of Santa Claus, the magic he holds and the desire to be on his “Nice” list. The traditional giving and receiving of gifts depicted in those poems have followed us through the years and it’s easy to lose sight of what the Holiday really is. A religious celebration dating back to the birth of Christ.

Santa has been a part of us all and I remember when I learned he wasn't real. I don't recall how old I was, but I remember how disappointed I felt when I heard the ruckus in the living room and crawled out of bed to have a peek at Santa....only to see my parents carrying wrapped gifts from their bedroom and putting them under the tree. I think I grew up a little then. When the magic of Christmas, and Santa Claus is gone, you have no choice but to do so.

In the hustle and bustle of shopping, and preparation of “Santa Claus” visiting, remember to take time to enjoy what you already have. The real reason Christmas is so magical. Surrounded by family and loved ones, sharing laughs and heartfelt endearments that will create memories to last a lifetime.

From my home to yours... Merry Christmas!

~*~

We're almost to the end of our 12 Days of Christmas event. We have another fantastic giveaway today that includes 7 books. Just comment on this blog post, or say Hi, and fill out the Rafflecopter form to enter.

Books up for grabs today: Kallysten's: Blurred Nights and Blurred Bloodlines, Lily Graison's: That First Christmas and Blame It On the Mistletoe, Candy Nicks: 3 Book Bundle of The Moon Child Series

Yesterday's winner was drawn by Rafflecopter.
The Winner is....entry #18..Eva Silkka!

On the Tenth Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...An Blog Post from Candy Nicks/Alexandra Marell

2011-12-10T05:00:00.002Z

For my blog post today I’m bringing you a Christmas quiz. Just a bit of fun, the answers are at the bottom of the post.

1. How many of Santa’s Reindeer can you name?

2. On the tenth day of Christmas my true love sent to me...?

3. The three wise men’s names are...?

4. Who was Roman emperor at the time of Jesus’ birth?

5. Where was mommy seen kissing Santa Clause?

6. Name one ingredient in a traditional British mince pie.

7. Whose angel was Clarence in the 1946 film, It’s A Wonderful Life?

8. When is St. Stephen’s day?

9. Which country did St. Nicholas come from?

10. From which country does the poinsettia plant originate?

11. How many ghosts visited Scrooge in Dicken’s a Christmas Carol?

12. In what film do we hear the song, I’m Walking in the Air?

13. What is new year’s eve in Scotland called?

14. What is the name of the toy action figure hunted down by Arnold Schwarzenegger's desperate dad in the family comedy Jingle all the Way?

15. Finish this line and name the Christmas carol. While mortals sleep the angels keep…?

16. What is Wassail?

17. Who wrote the fairy tale, The Fir Tree?

18. For the tradition of ‘First Footing’ what should be the sex and hair colour of the first footer?

19. Viscum Album is the latin name for which common Christmas decoration?

20. On what date does La Befana (Italian Mrs Christmas) deliver her presents?

Answers

1. Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, Blitzen, Rudolph
2. 10 lords a leaping
3. Melchior Caspar and Balthazar
4. Caesar Augustus
5. Under the mistletoe
6. Pastry, dried fruit, suet, sometimes brandy
7. George Bailey's
8. 26th December
9. Turkey
10. Mexico
11. Four – Christmas past, present and future and Jacob Marley his business partner.
12. The snowman
13. Hogmanay
14. Turbo-Man
15. Their watch of wondering love - from O Little Town of Bethlehem
16. A hot spicy drink, often alcoholic
17. Hans Christian Andersen
18. Dark haired male
19. Mistletoe
20. Epiphany eve, or 5th January

~*~

Did anyone get all the answers right? If so, let us know in the comments when you enter today's contest. As always, just comment to this post to enter. To gain extra entries do the other tasks in the Rafflecopter form.

We have 5 books up for grabs today: Kallysten's: Winner's choice of 3 Vision of Destiny Books, Lily Graison's: Wicked: Sweet Temptation, Candy Nicks: Can I Keep You

Yesterday's winner was drawn by Rafflecopter.
The Winner is....entry #35..Madame D!

On the Ninth Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...A Blog Post from Kallysten

2011-12-09T05:00:00.002Z

The prize I’m offering in today’s contest is a bundle of my BDSM series featuring Mistress Red and her submissive, the vampire Ray.

Carte Blanche, the novel that started the series, was inspired by a real-life dominant who goes by the name Mistress Phoenix. I met her years ago on a social website, although at the time I didn’t know about her lifestyle. As time passed, she sometimes let hints slip, until she finally ‘came out’ and made some long posts to explain what she does and why, as well as invited questions from the rest of us.

I’ve got to admit I was fascinated. I’m much too scared of pain to ever be on the receiving end of the equation, but I wondered, once or twice, or maybe a lot more often than that, what it would be like to be in her (very high, very pointy, leather) ~~shoes~~ boots.

Some time after that, I attended a writing convention during which Mistress Phoenix gave a talk about the BDSM lifestyle and what writers get right or wrong about it. She had brought a box of toys. She had also brought in one of her subs – on a leash, of course. At that point, I just had to write a BDSM story.

I knew from the start that my Dominant needed to be the heroine. With all the inspiration Mistress Phoenix had given me, it would have felt wrong to have a male dominant. Something else that seemed obvious to me was that being submissive would not mean my hero was weak. Ray has a need and desire to submit and receive pain, but these are simply parts of him, along with his courage, his passion for drawing, his stubbornness, and everything else that makes him who he is.

I realized, after I had finished writing Carte Blanche, that BDSM stories with a female Dominant are not very frequent, just like Mistress Phoenix had told us during that panel that the same is true in ‘real life.’ For a while I fretted about whether anyone would be interested in reading such a story, but it never was an option for me to change the characters, especially after Mistress Phoenix, who was the first reader, gave it a thumb up.

When the story was released, I received a few emails from readers who said they had never read a BDSM story before, or that they had never read one with a female Dominant, but who had nonetheless enjoyed Carte Blanche. These were the best compliments I could have received, and they encouraged me to write short sequels to the novel.

To take part in today's contest, just comment to this post and tell us if BDSM is a genre you enjoy reading, or if Carte Blanche will be your first peek into that world if you're the winner.

~*~

We have an extra special contest today! The prizes are getting bigger. 7 eBooks are going to ONE lucky winner! Let's see what's up for grabs today: Kallysten's: 3 Book Bundle, Carte Blanche, Sunshine and Rules & Rewards, Lily Graison's: 2 Book Bundle of The Night Breed Series, The Calling and The Gathering, Candy Nicks: 2 Book Bundle of The Interview Series, The Interview and The Offer

Day 8 winner was - entry #3, Ode T.

On the Eight Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...An Author Interview with Lily Graison

2011-12-08T06:00:00.004Z

Welcome to Day 8 of our event! Today we'll be interviewing author Lily Graison, who has been with Alinar since 2007. Be sure to read to the bottom of the post for today's Contest.

LILY GRAISON resides in North Carolina, a stones throw away from the Blue Ridge Mountains and a few hours from the Outer Banks. First published in 2005, her debut novel won a Reviewers Choice Award. The author of 11 books, Lily writes in the Contemporary Romance genre, as well as Paranormal Romance and Historical Western Romance.

When not writing, Lily can be found at her sewing machine creating 1800’s Period Dresses or curled up in a chair with a book in her hand.

Welcome Lily. Thank you for joining us today. Can you Tell us a bit about yourself. Who are you and where are you from?

Sure I can. I’m married to my High School sweetheart and we’ll be celebrating our 25th wedding anniversary come January. I‘m a mother of two grown children and I have 2 grandbabies, both boys, one of which is a special needs child. I’ve lived in North Carolina my entire life and hope to retire to the coast someday. I write full time from my home office which is in a constant state of organized chaos.

Can you tell us about your latest release?

I jumped from my comfort zone with my latest release. I’ve written Contemporary’s and Paranormals and now, I’ve released my first Historical Western Romance, a novella featuring one of four brothers who will star in my new Willow Creek Series set in the Montana Territory, circa 1800’s. This first story features the local Lawman, Morgan Avery, and a heroine who is on the run from a man she can’t seem to escape. When she needs protection, who better to turn to then the lawman? Only problem is, she doesn’t tell him she’s in trouble and by the time he finds out, it may be too late to help her.

Sounds interesting. How many books are in the new series?

At this time, I have a total of five planned. The first four books in the series are all novella’s, featuring the Avery men. The series will eventually grow as more characters arrive on the scene. A full-length novel is in the works that revolves around a character mentioned in book 1 of the series. It’s planned for release in late 2012, after the first four novella’s are released, with more stories coming later on.

Can you tell us about the type of stories you like to write?

I've always liked the dynamic of opposites attracting. Most of my books feature heroes and heroines who are as opposite as night and day. It makes their meetings more explosive, especially if ones morals are less than acceptable to the other. Of course, love always conquers all and I’ve never written a story without a Happily Ever After. Regardless of how different my main characters are, they always seem to adapt and love the other in spite of their shortcomings.

Do you outline? If not, what is your writing process?

I don’t outline. I’m a panster. For those who don’t know what that is…it means, simply, that I write by the seat of my pants. I don’t plot before sitting down to write. Usually an idea comes to me, characters start filling my head and an opening scene unfolds enough for me to ‘see’ where the story starts. I then sit down, write the opening scene and let the characters drive me forward. When I reach a point I don’t know what happens next, I have to stop, think about it, let the book ‘play in my head’ like a movie reel and go from there. Sometimes the scenes flash easily, others, not so much. Plotting seems so much easier but like a reader, I don’t like being spoiled to the ending of a book. I’m along for the adventure with my characters. When something fantastic happens to them, I’m right there with them, living in that moment. It’s the way I’ve always written and I don’t see that changing anytime soon. It’s the way I work. It’s the way my muse, Benny, speaks to me. It’s the way it will always be.

Now that we know what and how you write, what do you do for fun? Any hobbies you’d like to share?

My husband and I are part of a local historical group. We’ve been in it a few years now and dressing the part is half the fun. Since those elaborate 1800’s ladies dresses are so expensive, I started creating my own soon after we joined the group. The dresses I make are very time consuming but being able to wear them is amazing. Think Gone With the Wind and you’ll get an idea of what sort of dresses I create. We strive to be as historically correct as possible when dressed, which means I can have anywhere up to 9 layers of clothing on, most of which is under the hoop skirt. Corsets are uncomfortable and crotchless pantalets (historically correct) are a bit breezy. I step lightly when in those dresses. My worst fear is falling and anyone watching seeing my most prized jewel. LOL If you’d like to see some of my creations, you can find them on the Hobby Page on my website.

~*~

Thank you, Lily, for the insight into your writing and life. As always, we have another contest today, which features one of Lily's Holiday books, as well as two books from Candy Nicks and Kallysten. To enter this contest, just comment below to Lily's post or to just say Hi.

Up for grabs today: Kallysten's: Living Out of The Box, Lily Graison's: That First Christmas, Candy Nicks: Choice of 1 Moon Child Series Book

The Winner of yesterday's contest was... entry #22 Maria Pena!

On the Seventh Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...An Blog Post from Candy Nicks/Alexandra Marell

2011-12-07T04:00:00.004Z

Although I’ve lived in the UK since I was a year old, I was actually born in Italy. So, for this post, I’m bringing you a romantic love story that led to the invention of a cake/bread that's eaten in every Italian home over the festive period. There are various versions of the story, but this is my favourite.

Once there lived a handsome young nobleman from Milan called Ughetto Atellani who fell in love with a beautiful baker’s daughter called Adalgisa. He would fly his falcons near to the baker’s shop to watch her at work. Eventually, unable to watch her work so hard for so little, he disguised himself and offered to work for the baker for free. Unimpressed by the coarse fare and wanting to impress her, he sold his falcons to buy fine flour and eggs, dried and candied fruits and invented a wonderful butter-bread which soon became famous and made the baker very successful. Ughetto removed his disguise and asked for and won Adalgina’s hand in marriage. The wedding was said to have been arranged by the Duke of Milan, Ludovico Sforza, and attended by Leonardo Da Vinci himself.

The cake-bread was eaten at the wedding and became known as Pan-de-Ton, which means bread of luxury in the local dialect. Today we call it panettone and you’ll see them either boxed, or wrapped in cellophane and be-ribboned, in delis and supermarkets at Christmas time. They’re often given as gifts on visiting during the festive season in Italy.

Here’s a picture of what they look like...

If you want to have a go at making one there are quite a few recipes to be found online, but the commercially-made ones are quite delicious. Go for a good-quality one if you want to try them and if you fancy giving one as a gift, they come in various wrappings and fancy tins. A good Italian deli will have a great selection this time of the year. I love it. I love Stollen, too, but that’s another blog post.

Do you have a favourite traditional Christmas food?

* ~ *

I loved that story! And the cake looks Delicious. To enter today's contest, just answer Candy/alexandra's question...or just say Hi. For extra entries, Like/friend Candy on Facebook and Twitter.

Up for grabs today: Kallysten's: CheckMate, Lily Graison's: A Touch of Heaven, Candy Nicks: Can I Keep You

The Winner of yesterday's contest was... entry#9 Tammi Hagberg!

On the Sixth Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...A peek into the future with Kallysten

2011-12-06T04:00:00.002Z

I have a lot of stories planned for the coming year. I can only hope my muse cooperates!

First, I'm going to finish editing Blurred Memories. This story has been a long time coming, but I think - I hope! - that the wait will have been worth it.

Another story that is well on its way is Demons & Lullabies. It's not a sequel in the usual sense of the word. Like Fangs &Lullabies, it will span eighteen years, from Jacob's birth to near adulthood, with some scenes set in each year of his life. The difference is that this time a lot of the scenes will focus on the fight against the demons and Jacob's growing desire to be a part of it.

I also plan to add two stories to The Edge series. The first one, Before The Edge, will tell the story of how Brett and Lisa first met and became business and life partners. This one will be a short story. The second one, Beyond The Edge, will be novel-length, and will feature not only the trio from The Edge, but also Virginia and Anando from the Out of the Box series. They will all be faced with unexpected events and difficult choices, but their reward if they choose well will be strengthened bonds... and an enlarged family...

I won't only add to existing series in the coming year however. I will also start what I expect will be a ten-story series set in the Demons Age universe. Some will be short stories, others novellas or maybe even novels, but all will feature a very particular tattoo artist and the customers who come to his shop. If all goes well, I'll write the first five in 2012.

One last story I want to tell you about will be one of my first releases of the year. It is being edited right now, although I am still looking for the perfect title for it. So far, I've been calling it 'the BDSM threesome ', which is a pretty accurate description of what the story is about! I thought I would share a little bit of it today. As I said, the story is still being edited, so please forgive any strange spelling or grammar.

* * *

The one good thing that could be said when Alan slid the key into the lock was that the battle against the demons had ended, at least for now. The night, on the other hand, was far from over.

Alan didn’t bother closing the door behind him, however much he wanted to bang it shut. Not only would the display of anger have been unbecoming and childish, but Jeremy would be there soon. If he knew what was good for him, he would be there very soon and on his knees as soon as he closed the door.

Still gritting his teeth, Alan stepped to the right of the large multi-purpose front room. On the left, a sofa, armchair and two well-stacked bookcases formed a comfortable reading nook. The other side of the room was just as neat, but utilitarian in nature. Alan unbuckled his scabbard and set it down on what had once been a dining room table. It had found a new purpose when Alan and Jeremy had moved into this apartment, and this was now where they cleaned their weapons. A small basket at the center of the table held sharpening stones, pieces of fabric cut into strips and a small bottle of oil.

Alan had already wiped the demon blood off his sword on the battlefield, but he still pulled it free from the scabbard and examined the blade. He would need to sharpen it soon. Demon armor dulled even the best steel too fast.

As he started rubbing oil against the length with a rag, he could hear soft steps entering the apartment, and the door closing behind him. Still furious, he didn’t turn to look at Jeremy—not until he noticed the thundering heartbeat that was the only sound in the room. Even then, he finished rubbing his sword, slid it back into the scabbard and set it down on the table before he finally turned around.

Alan’s gaze immediately focused on Jeremy, ignoring the human intruder for now. His jaw clenched. The medics had seen to Jeremy before the troops had returned to town and the bandage peeked through the ripped fabric of his t-shirt, stark white under green stained with dark red. The smell of antiseptic was unpleasant enough that Alan wanted to rub at his nose, but he controlled the urge and merely crossed his arms.

Earlier that night, Jeremy had smelled like blood; demon blood, which was normal, but also his own, and that was much less common, at least on the battlefield. Jeremy was an excellent fighter. Alan had seen to that, with hours upon hours of training over the past twenty years. Even before he had sired Jeremy, he had started sparring with him. He had needed to know how well Jeremy could learn, needed to be sure his new Childe wouldn’t get himself killed with some idiotic move on the battlefield.

It was one such idiotic move that had caused Jeremy to be hurt tonight. The blow itself couldn’t have ended Jeremy’s life. Only wood through the heart or a beheading would have been fatal. Just the same, sheer fury had flowed through Alan like blood when he had seen his Childe run through by a demon sword. Only he was allowed to make Jeremy bleed. Only he was allowed to hurt him. He could forgive wounds received through no fault of Jeremy’s; he would not forgive those received through stupidity.

“Do I need to say the words?” Alan asked in his coldest voice, the one that echoed like thunder against the ice of a frozen pond.

At Jeremy’s side, the human started, but Alan still didn’t look at him. His full attention remained on Jeremy, waiting for obedience. Jeremy’s eyes dropped a mere second before he folded down to his knees. His scabbard stuck at an odd angle at his side, but he knew better than try to get more comfortable now, and he crossed his wrists behind him.

Satisfied, at least for now, Alan finally turned his focus to the human. Tall and lanky, dark of hair and tanned, he seemed to be in his mid twenties. His haircut would have branded him as a soldier even without his military fatigues or the sword hanging from his hip. His dark eyes shifted back and forth between Jeremy and Alan, apparently unsure whether he ought to kneel as well. Interesting, but irrelevant at that moment when Alan didn’t know who the man was, or why he was there.

“Who are you?” he asked, and the young man snapped to attention.

“My name is Evan? I’m a soldier, rank two in the second battalion?”

A sliver of amusement pierced through Alan’s anger and he raised an eyebrow at Evan. “Are you telling me or asking me?”

A deep blush darkened Evan’s face. He looked down at Jeremy again, as though hoping for his help, but Jeremy’s gaze didn’t lift from the floor—and a good thing it didn’t, too, or Alan would have added that to the list of transgressions for which he needed to be punished.

“I’m Evan, Sir,” the young man tried again, with just enough self assurance that the words did not sound like a question anymore.

Alan offered him a nod, as much for the better answer as for the ‘Sir’ that had punctuated it. He had always liked polite boys. “Why are you in my home, Evan? I do not recall inviting you here.”

Again, Evan glanced down. Jeremy must have felt his gaze because he shifted minutely, although he still didn’t look up or say a word.

“Well?” Alan said, his impatience edging the word with glittering shards of glass.

Evan flinched. He licked his lips nervously, drawing Alan’s attention to his mouth. He did have a very pretty mouth, full, almost like a girl’s.

“I’m sorry, I…” He swallowed hard. “Jeremy said you were mad at him for getting hurt. He… he said you’d punish him for it.”

Alan threw a surprised look at Jeremy. Why would his Childe share something like that with a human? Neither of them cared about what anyone might think of their relationship, Sire and Childe as well as Dom and submissive, but they didn’t go out of their way to advertise it either. Unless…

Alan sniffed the air lightly, searching beyond the offensive antiseptic smell until he found what he was looking for. Evan’s scent was different from when Alan had smelled it on Jeremy’s skin before that night; every time, it had been tinted with lust and sex. Now, behind the sweat and tiredness of the battle, it was fear that dominated.

“I still don’t see what his punishment has to do with you,” Alan said mildly. If either of them thought Alan would be any more lenient with an audience, they were deeply mistaken.

“It was… my fault?”

Evan’s voice was back to that uncertainty that irked Alan so much. He didn’t ask trick questions. Some masters laid traps to catch their subs at fault and have a reason to punish them, but those games were beneath Alan. His Childe knew the rules, knew what Alan would accept and what he would not tolerate, and when Jeremy chose to break them, it was with the full knowledge of what the consequences were.

Evan might not know all that, but really, what was there for him to be uncertain about?

“Your fault?” Alan repeated, more harshly than he meant to. “How is it your fault that my idiotic Childe threw himself under a demon’s sword?”

They both flinched at that, and more than ever Evan looked like he wanted to kneel at Jeremy’s side. Now however Alan could somewhat understand why: he knew what club Jeremy frequented on his nights off the battlefield, and that had to be where he had met Evan. Alan had no issue with that. After all, Jeremy had asked for his permission properly, and Alan had granted it. But he had never imagined Jeremy would bring home one of his… pets.

“I’m still waiting for an answer,” Alan said sternly when, after a few seconds, Evan still hadn’t replied.

Evan shuddered as though a whip had cracked above his head. “I’m sorry Sir. I meant… I was fighting that demon. And I was in trouble. Jeremy helped me and that’s how…” He gulped. “That’s how he got hurt.”

Frowning, Alan tried to think back of the battle. He hadn’t been as close to Jeremy as he usually stood on the battlefield. Close enough to see him get hurt, yes, but not to take in much more than that flash of steel turning red with his Childe’s blood. Had Evan been there? Alan could not recall; he had been too focused on helping Jeremy. But he had no reason to believe Evan was lying.

Just the same, it changed nothing.

“It doesn’t matter why he got himself hurt,” Alan said with a brief shake of his head. “The punishment is the same, whatever the reason. He broke my rules, and I think you might understand that transgressions require consequences.”

The entire time, Jeremy never protested, never tried to justify himself, which let Alan know that Jeremy, at least, understood that it was useless to plead now. Evan, however, still wasn’t giving up. Stammering as he may be, his eyes remained locked with Alan’s as he replied.

“I… I do understand, Sir. And I’m… I’m not asking you to forget the punishment. I just…” He gulped audibly. When he started again, his heart was still beating as furiously, but his voice was smoother, calmer. “I would like to request you punish me instead of him, Sir.”

...

I hope you enjoyed this little peek into what's to come. To participate in today's contest, please comment and tell me which of these stories sounds most interesting to you... or whether there's anything else you'd like to see me write.

Contest:

Just comment to this post to enter. (Be sure you click the "I DID THIS" button on the RaffleCopter form after making your blog comment!)

We have 3 books up for grabs again today. ONE winner will snag all three. We'll draw one winner and announce it tomorrow and deliver the prize at the end of the event. Up for grabs: Kallysten's: Her Last Words, Lily Graison's: Wicked: Leather and Lace, Candy Nicks: Choice of 1 Interview book

Contest ends at Midnight...EST time

Yesterday's winner was chosen by Rafflecopter.
AND THE WINNER IS...Entry #4 Carol

On the Fifth Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...Christmas Themed Flash Fiction

2011-12-05T08:00:00.191Z

Welcome to Day 5 of our 12 Days of Christmas Event. The Alinar Author's have a special treat for you today. A FlashFiction post that's more fiction than flash.

Today, all three authors are posting excerpts from unfinished Christmas stories. Feel free to let them know what you think, and who knows, maybe they'll finally finish them! They're very long in length, all 3 stories totaling nearly 12,000 words, so grab a comfy chair and enjoy the lengthy read!

Untitled M/M novella by Kallysten - chapter 1

The front door slammed shut behind Paul. He barely paid it any mind, already mentally running through the list of things he needed to do. He glanced at his watch after shrugging out of his jacket and grimaced. He didn’t even have half an hour to get everything ready.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

He pulled his shoes off without bothering to undo the laces. Snow splattered on the entrance mat and already started to melt. The stupid snow was why he was so late. Christmas Day lunch at his parents’ never ended later than three in the afternoon, which was usually when his nephews, hyped up on sugar, became too much for his mom to handle and she started packing leftovers for everyone as a sign that it was time to leave. But a fresh layer of snow had fallen while they ate and opened presents, and Paul’s father had asked with the familiar wave of his fingers that accompanied any mention of magic, “Can you do your little trick before you leave? Shoveling kills my back.”

It was a stretch of the truth and Paul knew it: his father’s trusted snow-blower worked just fine. But ‘doing his little trick’ took little time and not much effort; in a few minutes, he had used his magic to blow the snow off the sidewalk and driveway and into neat piles in the edges of the yard. His nephews ooh’ed and aah’ed, his sister rolled her eyes and muttered “Show off” where only he would hear, his brother-in-law looked, as always, impressed — and his mother was already knocking on the neighbors’ doors, asking if they wanted a bit of help with the snow. Before he knew it, Paul had been roped into clearing the entire block on both sides of the street. When he was done, his sister’s family was long gone and his mother asked him if he was staying for dinner. Joshua was supposed to arrive at Paul’s apartment less than an hour later.

At least, his mother had given him leftovers, so he didn’t have to worry about the food. That still left him with a lot to do before Joshua knocked on his door. First and most importantly: the bedroom. He changed the rumpled sheets and remade the bed with freshly-laundered bedding, even adding an extra flannel blanket; Joshua always complained that his feet got cold. Then again, Paul knew better than to hope that a simple added cover would finally be enough for Joshua to spend the night. No, he would leave by three or four in the morning, like he always did. And Paul wouldn’t plead for him to stay; not this time.

He promised himself he wouldn’t plead before each of Joshua’s visits, but somehow he always ended up asking. Or trying to entice Joshua to stay a bit longer with means that might not have been entirely fair. Joshua sometimes caved in, but Paul had yet to awaken, come morning, with his best friend, co-worker and sometimes-lover in his bed.

Once the bed was made and the pillows fluffed and inviting, Paul threw the clothes strewn around the room into a basket, and shoved that into the closet for now. One last check into the bedside drawer — no, he hadn’t run out of condoms — and he hurried into the bathroom.

It would have to be the fastest shower he had ever taken. His cock tried to show interest at the mere thought of Joshua’s impending arrival, but Paul took care of that with a blast of cold water. He wanted to give Joshua his gift first, and a hard on might make things a little awkward — at least in the beginning. Depending on how things went after they drank the potion, things very well might go that way before the night was over.

And suddenly, another blast of icy water was much needed.

Before Paul could switch back to hot water, the doorbell rang.

“Damn.”

He rinsed off the last of the soap in cold water, cursing the entire time, and finally stepped out of the shower. The bell rang again, twice this time; patience had never been Joshua’s strong point.

“Coming!” he called out as he jammed his glasses back onto his nose then grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist.

He left a trail of wet footprints and water drops on the wooden floors through the living room and all the way to the front door. He opened it just as Joshua rang the bell again.

“Finally. You took your ti—” Joshua stopped mid-word. For a second, his mouth hung open, then his lips curled into an appreciative grin as his gaze roamed over Paul. “Or maybe you were just trying to jumpstart things?”

Paul rolled his eyes at him, but he could feel his cheeks heating up with a blush. “Like you need incentives to jumpstart anything. Come in, I’m freezing.”

A brief look of apology crossed Joshua’s features. He came in and closed the door behind him, gesturing vaguely to the bedroom door as he started getting out of his winter coat.

“Go get dressed before you catch your death. Then we’ll warm up.” He raised his hand as he finished, showing the bottle he was holding, a ribbon wrapped around the neck and obscuring the label. “Merry Christmas!”

Paul chuckled on his way to his room. “You know where the glasses are. Be right back.”

Was he imagining Joshua’s eyes on his ass, following his every step? He glanced back before entering his room, one quick look; Joshua’s gaze shot up to meet his. His lazy smile sent another flash of heat through Paul.

“Behave,” he demanded.

Joshua’s laugh still rang like a deep bell after Paul had closed the door.

For expediency’s sake — and because his underwear drawer was woefully empty — he slid into a pair of jeans commando, tugged on a t-shirt that clung to him where he wasn’t quite dry, and was out of the bedroom again in no time, rubbing the towel over his hair. The empty living room startled him for a second before he followed the noises coming from the kitchen. He stopped on the threshold and leaned against the doorjamb to watch the most unlikely of spectacles: Joshua was cooking.

Granted, cooking in this instance meant throwing the leftovers Paul had brought home in the microwave, but it was still a sight uncommon enough to deserve some notice.

“And here I thought the use of a microwave oven was beyond you,” Paul teased after Joshua had found the ‘start’ button after a good five seconds of looking for it.

Joshua threw an eye roll at him. “Funny. That your mom’s cooking? Damn but I missed her potato casserole.”

Paul nodded and felt his smile waver. Joshua had had his fair share of meals at Paul’s house when they were teens, and even later when Joshua had been on leave from the Academy on weekends. He had never asked why the invitations had suddenly dried up, and Paul didn’t know how to explain that it was his fault. His mother had no issue with Paul being in love with Joshua; she did however disapprove of what Paul had let slip their relationship was like: adult time, but no emotional connection where Joshua was concerned. She said often enough that Paul deserved better than ‘booty calls’ — she had said it again not an hour earlier, much to Paul’s embarrassment. She just couldn’t understand that Paul would take whatever he was offered until Joshua was ready for more. At least, this time she hadn’t asked the question that had kept Paul awake on too many nights. What if he never is?

“Had a nice time at your folks’?” Joshua asked while he continued his domestic act and set plates next to the two glasses he had already set on the dinner table.

Paul pushed away from the door and opened the closest drawer to grab forks and knives. “I did. Sofia was there with the husband and kids. And after lunch I was made to clear the snow from the entire street. Lots of fun.”

Joshua was chuckling as he uncorked the we bottle he had brought. “I told you, years ago. You should have kept the magic to yourself rather than tell everyone.”

The memory was bittersweet. Joshua had been the first person Paul had told when he had first realized what was happening to him. They had been a little over fourteen at the time. Joshua had been adamant that if Paul told his parents, bad things would happen. Only later had Paul understood; Joshua had come to a different kind of realization weeks earlier, and his parents had not been thrilled about his newfound preferences and identity, far from it. It was around that time that Joshua had started having dinner with Paul’s family a few nights a week.

The microwave pinged, pulling Paul from his memories. He pulled one dish out, cursing under his breath when he realized it was too hot and needed the oven mitts. He put one on both hands and took the dishes to the table.

“Very sexy,” Joshua smirked at him. “But I think I liked the towel look better.”

“Smartass,” Paul snorted. He dropped the mitts on the counter and grabbed serving utensils. When he turned back to the table, a piece of turkey was on Joshua’s plate and he was licking his fingers. Raising his eyes to the ceiling, Paul refrained from commenting and sat across from him.

“Try the wine,” Joshua suggested, picking his own glass as he did. “See if you like it.”

He didn’t bring the glass to his lips before Paul had. Smooth velvet slid down Paul’s throat; Joshua had always been very good at procuring good alcohol, even before they had been old enough to drink.

“Very nice,” Paul said with a nod. “Thanks.”

Joshua grinned at him and they started eating.

“So what did you do today?” Paul asked as he helped himself to a piece of turkey and demonstrated the proper use of a serving fork.

Joshua shrugged. “The usual. Went to the gym, grabbed lunch at the diner down my street. And then I watched some TV until it was time to come here.”

Shaking his head, Paul swallowed a piece of potato and repeated, “You went to the gym and had lunch at the diner. On Christmas Day.”

“They were open,” Joshua pointed out, gesturing at Paul with his fork. “And I was hardly the only one there.”

Paul didn’t know where to even begin, so he let it go. Besides, arguing about Joshua’s routine never led to anything good.

“Any plans for later?” he asked instead, tongue in cheek.

Joshua took a sip of wine and was grinning when he set his glass down again. “I’m glad you asked. I called Karen to check if anything’s up.”

Groaning, Paul sat back in his chair and took his glasses off to polish them with a paper napkin. Karen was their boss, and she cared about Christmas about as much as Joshua did. Hanukkah, on the other hand, was a different matter.

“Don’t tell me she gave you an assignment,” Paul muttered, glowering over the table at the indistinct blur that Joshua was to his non-bespectacled eyes.

Joshua chuckled. “As a matter of fact, she did not,” he said with a grin in his voice. “She was on a case, but she said she could take care of it. So I guess I’m free tonight. Did you have anything in mind? Or was the towel show just teasing?”

It was with a measure of relief that Paul pushed his glasses back onto his nose. He offered Joshua a shrug as unconcerned as he could manage. “I don’t know. I guess we could play a board game or watch a movie or something.”

Joshua’s laugh always did strange things to Paul’s belly. Strange, pleasant things.

“A board game, really.” He emptied his glass before refilling it, and Paul’s as well. “We must have been ten the last time we played a board game. You’re sure you can’t think of anything else?”

Paul affected to mull this over for a little while. “I guess I could give you your present,” he finally said. His voice shook a little at the prospect, but Joshua didn’t seem to notice. Indeed, he grinned as he raised his glass in a toast.

“Now we’re talking. Let me guess. It comes wrapped in a towel?”

Paul barked out a quick laugh. “Will you let it go already with that towel? I should have left you outside while I got dressed. Maybe the blonde next door would have opened her door.”

“I don’t care much for blondes,” Joshua said with a lazy smile, his eyes flicking up to Paul’s hair. “And what can I say, you made quite an impression in that towel. You’ve been working out, huh?”

Paul didn’t know whether to be pleased or embarrassed that Joshua had noticed. He hid his blush behind another sip of wine.

“Did you start going to a gym?” Joshua pushed on. “We could go together.”

If Paul was totally honest with himself, the off chance that Joshua might suggest this very thing was why he had started to exercise. He had called himself pathetic over it, along with a slew of other less than complimentary adjectives, but he had long ago accepted that he was hung up over Joshua and made his peace with that. Now if Joshua could only realize that Paul wanted them to be more than bedmates and friends…

“That’d be cool,” he started, but Joshua was already laughing. “What?” Paul asked, confused.

“I’m just trying to imagine you getting up early to go exercise,” Joshua said with a too wide grin. “Early for you has to be ten or eleven, huh?”

The jibe stung even more for the fact that it was one of Joshua’s often repeated reasons for not spending the night. He was an early riser; Paul wasn’t, not unless he had a good reason to get out of bed early. A reason like exercising, going to work—or being with Joshua.

“Sometimes you sound like we’re still twelve,” Paul said, and while he tried to sound teasing, the words felt vaguely accusing. “You do realize I’m not that kid anymore, right?”

Joshua’s grin remained just as wide. “If you were a kid, I wouldn’t be sleeping with you. Who do you think I am?”

Rolling his eyes, Paul threw his bunched up napkin at Joshua’s face. “Idiot.”

Quick as always, Joshua caught the napkin and flung it back. “What else is new? Now. My gift. I’m waiting.” He leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head, raising an expectant eyebrow at Paul.

This was the moment, wasn’t it? Paul swallowed the lump of nervousness that was suddenly blocking his throat. He had thought of getting another present for Joshua—a normal present—because he had known there would come a time when he’d start getting cold feet. He hadn’t bought anything in the end so he wouldn’t have a way out. He had waited too long for this; he wasn’t going to chicken out now.

“Your gift,” he said as he stood, fumbling a little. “Right. Just a second.”

He could feel Joshua’s eyes on him as he hurried out of the kitchen and to the second bedroom, the one that the realtor had suggested would make a fine office and that Paul had turned into a magic lab. The smell in there was comforting, fragrant dried herbs mixed with the metallic tones of various powders ground to fine dust, and Paul’s nervousness abated a little. Everything would go just fine, he told himself as he picked up the glass jar from his work table. He had planned everything perfectly, and there was no reason for anything to glitch in any way.

He returned to the kitchen, holding the corked jar with both hands, and was surprised to find that Joshua had cleared the table and was putting the dishes away in the dishwasher. Like the sight of Joshua warming up the food earlier, it seemed oddly domestic, and Paul caught himself imagining what it would be like to live with Joshua, cook with him, do chores together — wake up by his side.

When Joshua looked up, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “I see great minds think alike. You got me wine, too?”

Shaking his head, Paul went back to the table, inviting Joshua to come along with a gesture. Soon, they were sitting across each other again, the jar between them on the table.

“It’s not wine,” Paul said quietly. “It’s a potion. A spell.”

Joshua’s expression turned almost eager, and he reached for the jar, lifting it off the table and toward the light above them. Paul’s gaze followed the gesture. The jar was clear glass, and the liquid inside it seemed to gleam in iridescent colors as it shifted in its container.

“What does it do?” Joshua asked as he set it down again.

“It’ll give you what I can’t give you any other way,” Paul said, the words he had prepared coming out easily now that he had started. “Remember when you asked if I could help you learn magic?”

A frown fluttered over Joshua’s brow. “When I asked… But that was years ago. And you said you couldn’t.”

“I still can’t,” Paul answered the unvoiced question. “You don’t have any magic of your own, and I can’t give you that. But I can show you what it’s like, just for a little while.” He pointed at the jar. “If we drink this together, we’ll switch bodies. And you’ll have my magic.”

Joshua’s frown deepened even more. “Switch… what?”

Paul couldn’t suppress a grin at the awe in Joshua’s voice as he started to understand.

“You’ll be in my body,” Paul explained. “And I’ll be in yours. Just for a few hours. And you’ll be able to do magic.”

“Really? But… I don’t know spells or anything.”

The eagerness, even hope reflected in Joshua’s eyes sent a thrill of sheer joy zinging through Paul. He had put a lot of work into that potion, first researching through every book he owned and a few borrowed from a friend who owned a magic bookstore, then hunting down the ingredients and working out the kinks of mixing them together so that they would do what he wanted them to. He had singed his eyebrows a few times, and set off the fire alarm in his apartment twice. His first attempt — tested with his bookstore friend — had fizzled out to nothing more than a pounding headache for both of them. The second attempt had worked, and for two minutes Paul had stared at himself, while his friend, in Paul’s body, stared back. They had each tried to do magic and had both commented on how it felt different. After comparing notes, they had realized that the strengths of each had remained with the body. The research had hinted it might happen, and that was exactly what Paul had hoped for. After all, if his magic followed his spirit, there wasn’t much point to switching bodies.

“I’ll tell you how,” Paul assured Joshua. “My body, muscle memory, the pathways in my brain will still know magic. We’ll keep things simple and it’ll be easy.”

The hope flared even brighter in Joshua’s eyes as he leaned forward, picked up the jar again, and held it as if it were precious. He rolled the bottle back and forth between his fingers, watching the liquid inside intently. Paul watched Joshua as closely, and tried to guess everything that was going on through his mind. Was he imagining already what spells he would soon get to perform?

“That seems like a really complicated bit of magic,” Joshua said, setting the bottle down again to look at Paul, his eyes piercing. “Where did you learn to do it?”

Paul shrugged, feeling self-conscious. “Oh. You know. Old books. There’s plenty of spells and potions waiting to be discovered again.”

Joshua raised a single eyebrow, a move that never failed to make Paul think of Spock, and endless hours spent watching Star Trek together when they had been kids until they’d been able to quote the series at each other.

“Old books,” Joshua repeated, his words tinted with incredulity. “Why do I have this feeling it’s not as easy as you make it sound?”

Another shrug, and this time Paul ducked his head, as though it would be enough to hide. “So, maybe it took a bit of work,” he admitted.

When he glanced at Joshua again, Paul was sure more questions were on the tip of his friend’s tongue. But after observing Paul for a moment longer with piercing eyes, Joshua simply nodded.

“Sounds very cool,” he said. “How long will it last?”

“About six hours.”

“You’d really do that for me?” Joshua asked very low. He leaned forward over the table, his gaze pinning Paul in place. “Give away your body? Your magic?” He paused and gave a slow shake of his head. “Why?”

The truth shone in a corner of Paul’s mind. It would have been nice to let it out, share that light and warmth, and finally tell Joshua about the depth of his feelings. But the fear, so familiar by now, that Joshua would regard this information as a reason to break off their relationship — or whatever he wanted to call it this week — stilled Paul’ tongue.

“You always wanted to do magic,” he said instead. “I can’t give you magic for good, but I can let you feel what it’s like.”

Sitting back in his chair, Joshua shook his head, the awe shining anew in his eyes. “And all I got you was a bottle of wine.”

Paul laughed quietly. “You can always get me something better next year.” Sobering up, he lifted the potion bottle, angling it so the liquid inside caught the light and shone. “So, do you want to do this, then?”

Joshua didn’t hesitate for a second before saying yes.

~*~

A Mommy For Christmas by Lily Graison

unedited first draft - 4,606 words

Chapter 1

Melissa Stone sniffed back salty tears and stared at the ground, glancing up through her lashes. “Why don’t you love me anymore?”

Alex stopped and spun on his heel. “Missy, that isn’t fair. You know I love you.”

“Then why are you leaving me again?”

“Because I have to work.” He sighed and crossed the driveway, stopping in front of her. He bent his knees, stooping to be eye level with his daughter. “What is this all about?” he asked, wiping the tears from her face. “You’ve known for weeks about his trip. Why now?”

“Because its Christmas.”

He smiled. “Christmas is six weeks away, Missy.”

“And you won’t be here then either.”

“And I told you, I will do all I can to get back in time.”

Missy sniffed again and blinked, more tears rolling down her cheeks. “If mommy was here would you stay?”

Alex’s face went stark white and he looked away, staring off into the distance before clearing his throat. “She’s not here, Missy, and I’m sorry I can’t bring her back.” He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her and kissed her on the head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Now be a good girl and don’t give Margaret any trouble.” He stood, gave a pointed look to Missy’s nanny, Margaret, and walked back to the waiting car. He gave them one last look before smiling and getting inside.

Missy watched the car pull down the drive and sighed before wiping her face dry and looking at Margaret. “It didn’t work.”

Margaret grinned. “I told you it wouldn’t, pumpkin. Your father is a busy man.”

“But the tears always work!”

“Apparently your rein of terror has come to an end.” Margaret laughed and laid her hand on Melissa’s shoulder. “Come on inside. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

Missy looked toward the road one last time before following Margaret inside. The house already seemed darker. Without her father there, it always did, which was beginning to be an every day occurrence. The older she got, the less she saw of him. Before long, she’d never see him at all. She knew his job was important but so was she. She was his only child. She should be the most important thing in his life, not his stupid job.

Dragging her feet behind Margaret, she followed her to the kitchen and climbed up in the stool at the island bar. She sighed again and laid her head in her hand. What was she going to do now? She didn’t want to spend another holiday without her father. He was never there. Her birthday was spent alone while he conducted business seven states away. The Fourth of July picnic was just her and the house servants frolicking by the pond. Valentines day, Easter, Thanksgiving… all of them spent alone. She had everything she’d ever wanted, except for her daddy. He spoiled her rotten and she knew it, but the one thing she needed, for him to be there for her, she knew no amount of fake tears would ever buy. If her mommy was still there, she was almost positive her daddy would be too.

“Stop fretting. You’ll cause wrinkles.”

Missy sat up straight when Margaret sat a mug of hot chocolate in front of her. “Tell me about her again.”

“Oh, pumpkin,” Margaret said, sadly. “You’re already melancholy enough as it is.”

“I know but maybe if I could be more like her, he would stay.” This time, when the tears came, they were real. She sniffed them back and looked up. “He never worked like this when she was still here. You said so yourself.”

“It was different then.”

“Why?” she asked. “He still worked then. The only thing different was that my mommy was here… and I wasn’t.”

“Don’t ever talk like that,” Margaret scolded. “Your daddy loves you. Don’t ever forget that.”

“But he’d love me more if mommy was still here.”

“He’d love you just the same,” Margaret said. “Having a mommy here wouldn’t make any difference to how he felt about you.”

She put her hands around the mug and stared at the marshmallows. Missy was almost positive if her mother were still there, her daddy would be too. She may be young but she wasn’t that naive. She knew why her daddy wasn’t ever in town on her birthday. That was the day her mommy left. If she hadn’t died, then his heart wouldn’t have either. What she really needed was someone who would be there for her.

An idea floated into her mind and she gasped softly to herself before looking up at looked up at Margaret. “Maybe instead of trying to get daddy to stay home with me I should just try to find a new mommy. Then it wouldn’t matter so much when he left.” She saw Margaret stiffen and ducked her head. “Do you think he’d stay longer if I had a mommy?”

“Missy...” Margaret sighed.

“Even if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be alone anymore. I’d have a mommy to love me!”

“You’re already loved,” Margaret said. “We all love you.”

“But he pays you to stay here,” Missy said, sliding from her chair. “If I had a real mommy, she’d stay because she loved me.” And because she loved daddy. Missy nodded her head, convinced she was right. If she had a new mommy, someone who her daddy loved too, then he’d stay. She smiled and felt happy for the first time in weeks. “That’s what I’ll do, Margaret! I’ll get me a new mommy and daddy will stay!” She turned and ran toward the kitchen door, Margaret’s yell following her out. “You can’t just buy a new mother, Missy!”

“Sure I can!” she said, stopping at the door and looking back over her shoulder. “My daddy is rich. I can buy anything I want!”

* * * *

Rachael stared down at the peanut butter and jelly sandwich in her hand and sighed before taking a bite. Eating PB&J sandwiches for lunch was getting old. She’d had them for six days straight now. Of course, being able to afford anything other than that wasn’t her fault. She blamed that on the over-priced rent on the tiny hovel she was forced to live in and the meager wages she earned at the Pic-N-Save. Both were demeaning but what choice did she have? It was either that or let Mark and his family know how low she’d stooped and that would never happen.

An icy blast of wind blew through the park and she shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her slight frame. Her nose was nearly frozen and her hands were red from the brisk chill in the air. Sitting here in the frigid winter temperatures was insane but sharing a break room with the other employees at the corner market she worked was out of the question. Having to talk to them at all was life altering. Sharing a meal with them would be mental suicide. There was only so much a girl could take, after all, and she had enough daily disasters as it was.

The park was unusually packed for such a cold day and Rachael watched family’s go about their business. Why she still tortured herself by coming here caused a daily internal debate. She only prolonged her grief but watching happy families gave her hope. Not everyone married a heartless pig. Just her.

She sighed and took another bite of her sandwich, grimacing as she chewed. If it weren’t for her stubborn pride, her life wouldn’t be so miserable. At least she was willing to admit that to herself now. Denial was a beautiful thing, especially when everything was rosy on your side of the pond.

A squeal to her left caught her attention and she turned her head, watching a little girl stomp her foot and take off walking down the footpath. An older woman followed, an amused look on her face. The girl was dressed impeccably in a thick burgundy coat, complete with fur trimmed hat and hand muffler. Her white stockings and black shoes let you know in a glance this little girl took pride in how she looked. Rachael smiled while watching her. She stopped by a woman a few benches down from where she sat. The exchange looked pleasant until the little girl huffed once again and took off, leaving the older woman with her to follow. Once again, the little girl stopped at another bench, talked to the woman sitting there before moving on.

For ten minutes straight Rachael watched the antics of the little girl until it became apparent her park bench was next. Whatever this little girl was doing wasn’t going as she’d wanted. Her cheeks were red but Rachael couldn’t tell if it was from the wind or frustration. She was clearly agitated but the woman following her still looked amused.

When the girl turned and locked eyes with her, Rachael sat up straight in her seat and watched her cross the distance between them. When she stopped in front of her, Rachael glanced up at the woman standing a few feet away before returning her attention back to the little girl.

“Hello. My name is Melissa Stone but everyone calls me Missy. Are you married?”

Rachael stared at her, letting the bold question roll through her head before remembering her manners. She smiled and gave a brief glance to the lady waiting behind the little girl. “Um, no. I’m not married.”

“Great!” Melissa said. “What is your name?”

“Rachael Wallace.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Rachael,” she said, pulling her hand from the confines of her hand warmer and holding it out to her. “You can call me Missy.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Missy.” She reached for her tiny hand, shaking it before smiling.

“Do you have any children?” Missy asked.

“Uh, no.”

“Do you want any?”

Rachael glanced back up at the lady waiting patiently on the footpath. “That’s my nanny, Margaret,” Missy said, glancing over her shoulder. “She wouldn’t let me come to the park alone.”

“Well, that’s very wise of her.”

“If you say so,” Missy said. “Now, can you answer my question, please.”

Rachael glanced from Margaret to Missy. She wasn’t sure what this twenty questions game was but just like Margaret, she was amused. It sure beat store brand peanut butter on stale bread. “I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I forgot what the question was.”

“Do you want children?”

“Oh,” Rachael said. “Yes. Someday I’d very much like to have children.”

Missy turned her head and threw a beatific smile to Margaret. She giggled before turning back to face her. “Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have plans for Christmas?”

Rachael felt a small stab of pain but smiled to ward it off. “Not really. Do you?”

“Yes,” Missy said. “I’ll be spending it with my mommy and daddy.”

“That’s wonderful,” Rachael said, smiling. “I’m sure it will be a great Christmas.”

“Oh, it will be the best!” Missy said, smiling. “Do you have a job?”

“Yes.”

“Does it pay good?”

Rachael couldn’t help but laugh. Missy was a tiny general directing an army of questions in an all out assault of… something. What the girl wanted was still a mystery but for the first time in weeks, Rachael’s lunch hour wasn’t spend in self-loathing. She liked this little girls’ straight-forwardness. Smiling, she pointed to the space beside her on the bench. “Would you like to sit down, Missy?”

Missy’s eyes glowed as she smiled and hurriedly sat down, her feet swinging under the bench. “Thank you,” she said, grinning as she glanced over at Margaret who still stood by the path. “Can you answer my question please?”

“Does my job pay well?” she asked. At Missy’s firm nod, she smiled. “Not really but it keeps me fed.” She noticed Missy glance down at the half eaten PB&J sandwich still in her hand before glancing at Margaret. “How much money do you make?”

“Missy,” Margaret said. “That isn’t polite. Stick to the list, please.”

“But she’s the only one who has made it this far.”

“That’s beside the point. I only allowed this based on the questions we agreed on.”

Missy sighed and nodded her head. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t supposed to ask that one.”

“That’s all right,” Rachael said. “I didn’t mind.”

“See, Margaret, she didn’t mind.”

Margaret just smiled when Rachael glanced over at her. The older woman was tall and thin with wispy brown hair. It was streaked with gray but she didn’t look old enough to have that much gray in her hair. Her face still held a youthful glow. Kind, brown smiling eyes and high cheekbones graced her square face. She stood with her shoulders back, her spine straight and carried an air of authority Rachael didn’t see much of in women. Whoever these people were, they didn’t shop at Pic-n-Save. Their clothes alone told her that much.

“Do you like to bake cookies?”

Rachael turned her attention back to Missy when she spoke and gave the little girl a smile. Her cheeks were rosy red and large blue eyes shined under a fringe of red bangs. Her legs were still swinging under the bench and even though Rachael had no idea what this game was about, she liked this kid. She was headstrong and obviously used to getting her way. She envied her for that alone. “Yes,” she finally answered. “I do like to bake cookies. Especially Christmas cookies. Decorating them is the best part.”

“I think so too!” Missy said, grinning. “What about decorating the Christmas tree? Do you like that?”

Rachael grinned. “Who doesn’t? It’s the best part about Christmas.”

“Shopping?”

“I love to shop.” If I had any money to do it with, she added silently to herself. “Do you?”

“Yes. I always buy presents for everybody I know. Even the people I don’t really like. My daddy says it’s the right thing to do.”

“He sounds like a smart man.”

“He’s the smartest!” Missy beamed. “And he’s handsome and rich but he works too much.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. His working too much, I mean.”

“That’s all right,” Missy said. “I’m going to fix that and I think you’re perfect.”

Missy jumped down from the bench and ran to Margaret, making the woman bend down so Missy could whisper something to her. Rachael watched them silently, looking toward the street when she heard the church bells on 10th Street ring. She glanced down at her watch, her eyes widening when she saw the time. She had exactly two minutes to walk five blocks! She was going to be late for work.

Standing, she tossed her uneaten lunch away and turned back to her unusual lunch date. “Missy,” she said, trying to get her attention. “It’s been nice meeting you but I have to go.” She waited until the little girl turned back to her before closing the distance between them. She bent down and extended her hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you and I thank you for the company. Maybe we’ll run in to each other again soon.”

“You can’t leave yet,” Missy said, her eyes wide. “I’m not finished with the interview.”

“Interview?” Rachael said, straightening her spine. She smiled and glanced at Margaret. “I really do have to go,” she said, turning her attention back to Missy. “I’m sorry. Maybe we can meet another day?” When Missy said nothing, just stood there staring at her with large blue eyes, Rachael gave Margaret a nod of her head before taking a step back. “I’m here everyday at this time. You can come and talk to me anytime you want.”

Weeks from now she’d know without a doubt how Missy Stone had everyone she knew wrapped around her finger. When Rachael stared down into her chubby little face and saw her eyes fill with tears, her heart nearly broke. She couldn’t do anything but stand there, frozen in place as big, fat tears spilled down the girls cheeks. Harsh sobs came moments later and she looked frantically at Margaret, who had chosen that exact moment to find her fingernails more important than the crying child in front of her. She didn’t know what to do. Bending at the knees, she stooped down to eye level with Missy and tried to soothe her. “Missy, please don’t cry. I would stay all day and talk with you if I could but I have to get back to work.”

Missy looked up and sniffed back tears. “You don’t have to go back. You can work for me.”

Rachael raised an eyebrow at her before smiling. “I’m sure that would be the best job in the world but…”

“I want to hire you to be my mommy,” Missy said, drying her face and standing to her full height, which was just over four foot. “Just until Christmas is over unless you want to stay longer. I’m sure my daddy won’t mind. He’s never home.”

Rachael blinked. Hire her to be her mommy?

“Margaret, I want Rachael,” Missy said. “Make her stay.”

Rachael glanced up at Margaret and the woman smiled before motioning with a flick of her wrist to the park bench she’d sat on earlier. Rachael stood and followed her.

“Ms. Wallace, wasn’t it?” Margaret said.

“Yes.”

Margaret glanced at Missy before clearing her throat. “Missy is determined to have a mother for Christmas and we’ve spent the last five days ‘interviewing’ potential mothers for her. It is a real job, I can assure you, and you’re the only person in the many she’s talked to that has met all her requirements.”

Rachael listened to Margaret talk while looking at Missy. The girl was staring at her with a smile that said she was pleased with herself. Had she really been interviewing her for a position as her mother? What in the world were these people playing at? Who hired a mother? And where was Missy’s real mother?

Her attention was drawn back to Margaret and noticed the woman had stopped talking. She didn’t have a clue what she’d even said and stared at her for long minutes before shaking her head. “What is this about again?”

Margaret smiled but Rachael could tell it was forced. “A mother,” she said. “For Christmas. The job entails spending the next five weeks with Missy, doing all the things she thinks a mother and daughter do together. She has a full itinerary already written out and it’s exhausting.” Margaret laughed and shook her head. “I can promise you it will be an adventure.”

Rachael couldn’t think of a thing to say so didn’t. She stared from Margaret to Missy and took a step backwards before stopping at the look on Missy’s face. The tears were gathering in her eyes again and Rachael’s breath caught in her throat.

“Here is the phone number to the house and Missy’s itinerary,” Margaret said, handing over a business card and a sheet of paper. “Look them over and give her a call if you are willing to accept the job.”

Rachael unfolded the paper, reading the list of activities Missy had written down. The entire page was covered in small crayon colored drawings and each item was written in different colored ink. She looked back up at Margaret and shook her head. “Is this a joke?”

“No,” Margaret said. She lowered her voice and leaned toward her. “I know it sounds ridiculous but I can assure you you’ll be perfectly safe. The Stone estate sits on one hundred acres just outside the city. Feel free to check out Mr. Stone if you feel it necessary. We will require a background check from you, of course. Even though Missy insists on doing this we have to make precautions to see to her safety as well.”

These people must be insane, Rachael thought, as she stared at Margaret. Who in the world would hire a mother?

“I know it’s an odd request,” Margaret said. “But Missy is used to getting her way. Lord help us all when she doesn’t.”

“And her father is allowing her to do this?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know. Mr. Stone is out of the country until after the New Year. Which is why Missy wants a mother for Christmas.”

“So he has no idea his daughter is hiring a complete stranger to come into his home and play mommy until he gets back?”

“Exactly,” Margaret said. “Please, just tell her you will think about it and will call with your answer. Even if she thinks you’ll take the job it will give us a few days rest.”

Rachael looked back at Missy and forced a smile on her face when the little girl grinned up at her. “Where is her mother?” she asked.

“She died in childbirth. I’m the closest thing to a mother she’s ever had.”

“It doesn’t bother you she’s dong this?” Rachael asked, looking back up at Margaret.

“No. I love Missy as if she was my own but I can’t be there for her like a real mother can. I’m an employee of Mr. Stone’s and nothing more. Missy misses her father. He works non-stop and rarely spends more than a week home at a time. Missy is a delightful child but she’s lonely. She just wants someone who is there for her and her alone.”

Rachael sighed and glanced down at the paper in her hand before crossing the footpath and stopping next to Missy. She smiled at her and showed her the papers in her hand. “I appreciate the job offer, Missy. I’m honored you would pick me. I’ll look over everything and give you an answer very soon.”

“Do you promise?” Missy asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes. I promise but right now I really do have to go.”

“Okay! I wrote the phone number to our house on the back of daddy’s card. Ask for me when you call. I’ll be waiting!”

Rachael stood stunned when Missy threw her arms around her waist and hugged her before stepping back, yelling a quick, “Bye!” and racing toward Margaret.

Watching them walk back down the footpath, Rachael could hear Missy’s excited chatter and Margaret’s admit demands to not get her hopes up. Glancing down at the business card and itinerary in her hand, she laughed and shook her head. “What in the world just happened?” Tucking the card and letter into her pocket she turned and ran from the park. Not only was she now late for work, she had to find a way to break a little girls heart and not feel like a complete horses’ ass while doing it.

Chapter Two

Rachael had never been this far from the city. The wide open spaces and clean, fresh air made her heart lighter and caused the fear clawing at her throat to stop choking her. At precisely seven a.m. the car Missy said would be there to pick her up was. Along with a sharply dressed chauffer. To say her neighbors were impressed was an understatement. They’d come out of their apartments, gawked at the car parked near the curb and whispered as her bags were carried down the steps. She’d ducked her head and tried not to meet their gaze.

Ten days ago, she was a twenty-four year old divorcee who found a crummy job as a cashier at the local Pic-n-Save and lived in an overpriced, one room apartment. Now, she was surrogate mother to Melissa Stone, daughter of Alexander Stone, one of the countries richest men. How quickly fate steps in to change ones life.

After her initial meeting with Missy in the park, she’d quickly forgotten about her. Once she returned to work, late, her boss had let her know how replaceable she was and how much her tardiness was going to cost her. The cut in pay was devastating. She could barely afford rent and food as it was. When her shift was over, she’d walked fifteen blocks back home, dragged herself up the stairs to her apartment and behind the closed door, she cried. Since the day she met Mark Wallace, her ex-husband, on her nineteenth birthday, her life had been nothing but one disappointment after the other.

The minute she’d stopped wallowing in self-pity, Rachael remembered Missy, with her shining eyes and charming personality. She dug through her coat pockets, found the business card and itinerary and for the first time, actually looked at what was offered to her. The next morning, she’d dressed and headed straight for the public library. An entire day spent researching Alexander Stone on the internet and she was mesmerized. He was the youngest millionaire on the east coast, rich, just like Missy had said, and every bit as handsome. She’d spent half an hour just looking at pictures of him. Tall, dark and handsome were an understatement. Alexander Stone looked as if he’d stepped out of the pages of some men’s magazine. His dark hair was thick and wavy, his eyes a deep blue. His tailored suits left very little to the imagination. The man had a body that was hard and toned in all the right places. She was glad he wasn’t going to be there. The pictures of him alone made her heart skip a beat; she could only imagine what standing in the same room with him would do.

The car slowed and turned off the main highway onto a tree-lined road with acres of rolling hills on either side. The grass was brilliant green and the tress tall and majestic. She stared in awe, gaping at the scenery. A pond glistened in the distance, the sun shining down and making the surface glisten like glass. White picket fencing ran as far as the eye could see and horses grazed in the meadow. When the house came into view, Rachael barely contained a gasp. Cream colored stone, three stories tall jutted up over the hill like a medieval castle. The architecture reminded her of Victorian mansions and the manicured grounds surrounding it drew a soft whistle past her lips.

When the car came to a complete stop, Rachael could only stare. This is where Missy Stone lives? she thought, dumbfounded. The chauffer opened her door and she climbed out of the car, staring up at the house. The windows were spotless with soft gauzy curtains behind the glass. The front door opened moments later and Missy Stone ran down the steps with a smile beaming on her face.

“You made it!” she squealed.

“Yes,” Rachael said, smiling. “Finally.”

Missy wrapped her in a hug, holding on to her for long minutes before stepping away and grabbing her hand. “Come on. I’ll show you my room.”

Rachael followed her inside and smiled at Margaret who stood by the door.

“Ms. Wallace,” Margaret said. “Welcome. You’re things will be put in your room for you.”

Missy huffed and tugged on Margaret’s sleeve. “You’re supposed to say, Welcome home,” she whispered.

“Yes. Please forgive me. Welcome home, Ma’am.”

Rachael watched Missy’s face light up and she smiled before saying, “Thank you, Margaret.”

“Come on, Rachael,” Missy said. “I want to show you my room! Then we’ll go outside and see the horses. Do you like horses?”

“I’m not sure,” Rachael said. “I’ve never been around horses.”

Missy tugged on her hand, leading her toward the over-sized, circular staircase that led to the second floor. “Oh, you’ll love the horses.”

“I’m sure I will.”

~*~

A Single Wing

By Candy Nicks / Alexandra Marell

(unedited first draft, currently at 5,290 words)

Chapter 1

She’d failed. Again.

Ariella Lucida of the Tenth Celestial Array stared at the paper in disbelief. Two thousand years of study and tending and guarding, and still she’d failed?

“Sir, how can this be?” She managed to tear her eyes away from the marking schedule to the man seated at the crystal desk before her.

“I don’t understand. Sir, there must be a mistake.”

The man’s eyes raised, just a fraction. Ariella immediately felt a blush crawl across her cheeks. Dress down Friday and Raphael insisted on wearing the full regalia. Wings, halo, robes so white they hurt the eyes. Trust her luck to be saddled with a supervisor who was such a stickler for protocol. She would bet her wings no one in Uriel’s group had failed.

“Three did, actually.” Raphael motioned her to sit, his expression softening at the feeling of panic rising in her breast. “And no, there’s no mistake. I myself recommended you fail.”

“But why?” She sat, carefully, hoping he wouldn’t notice the red pumps under her robes. He would, of course. He noticed everything.

“My dear.” Raphael removed his glasses and placed them on the blotter in the centre of his immaculately tidy desk. “I know this has come as a shock to you. But you must know that I have only your best interest in mind. And that of the Order, of course.” Leaning back, he regarded her thoughtfully. “We’ve had complaints from above, I’m afraid. Too many students ascending without the skills required to fly solo. Have you any idea how many interventions we’ve had to stage in the past hundred years alone?”

She could only guess. There was nothing more embarrassing for a guardian angel in training than to have their supervisor descend to save an elusive soul, or to limit damage in any way they could. A frown flickered across Raphael’s face as he noticed the splash of red peeking out from the hem of her robe. She waited for him to finish talking. You did not interrupt Raphael in full flow.

“Tell me, Ariella. Why did you choose healing as your speciality? In two thousand years you’ve shown a startling lack of aptitude for soul-rescue. You’ve failed the moral ambiguity question more times than I care to count. In two thousand years only one of your protégé’ have made it past Peter and that was due to a clerical error by Purgatory.”

“So Kurt didn’t make it?”

“We’re revising his case. Rogue though he undoubtedly was, it doesn’t seem fair to penalise the man with the fires of hell for all eternity just because he drew the short guardian angel straw, now does it?”

Ariella offered up a silent prayer of thanks for the intercession. Kurt, with his wicked eyes and rock-hard abs and that sexy weakness for sharp suits, gambling and fast cars probably deserved his stint in purgatory. She’d done her best to get him a reprieve, but it obviously hadn’t been enough.” She risked a covert glance at her red shoes and remembered a sultry night in Vegas. She could argue all she liked about having acquired them in the line of duty, but that would cut no ice with the exam board.

“So this is the end?” Outside in the corridor she heard the sound of whooping, cheers and backs being slapped. The swish of trainer wings, which would be exchanged for the real thing at the presentation ceremony later that century. She would have to sneak out the side door to avoid the platitudes and the pitying glances. And even worse the expressions of genuine concern. Those more than anything, told her she didn’t have what it took to fly. What use a guardian angel without wings?

“Cheer up, Ariella. It’s not all bad news.”

“It’s not?”

Raphael slipped on his glasses and studied the paper on his desk. “While you failed miserably in three of the papers, you did remarkably well in the fourth. Let me see. Ahh, reconciliation. It appears that you’re very good at getting people to like each other. So good, in fact, that we’re giving you another chance. You’ve earned a single wing, my dear. Now it’s up to you to prove yourself worthy of a second.”

A single wing? What use was that other than for flying in circles?

“I know what you’re thinking, my dear. It’s only a symbolic wing. Wings-proper always come in twos. It will be a tough one, of course. Re-sits are by nature demanding. Would you like to see?”

She couldn’t help leaning forward, just a little. To fly. To soar with the angelic hosts. An ambition that had sustained her through two thousand years of duty as guardian angel in training. Two thousand years of humans who simply would not be saved. She refused to shoulder all the blame for her lack of recruitment to the higher plane.

“Yes, Sir. I would like to see.”

Raphael’s hand cut smoothly through the air between them, expertly tapping into the time-line to produce the image of her next assignment. The ripples gradually stilled as the image took shape. Men and women, scurrying through snow-laden streets. On a corner, a man in a cap and dark coat rattled a tin while snow settled like a white blanket across his shoulders. The sound of lusty carollers filled the office.

“Oh, no!” Ariella nearly toppled her chair in her haste to rise. “Not Christmas. I didn’t fail that badly. Don’t do this to me.”

“Decorum, Ariella, decorum. Christmas 1875 was traumatic for you, granted. But no-one blames you for the elephant incident. In fact, don’t quote me, but I hear Queen Victoria was, eventually, quite amused.”

Ariella eyed the window. Celstially-speaking Raphael’s office was on the equivalent of the fifteenth floor. The drop wouldn’t kill her, neither would the humiliation, sadly. Christmas and wings? When did that ever happen, except in schmaltzy films that in no way represented the dedication, intellect and sheer hard work involved in earning angelic promotion.

“Christmas isn’t a good time for me, Sir.”

“Which is why you need to do this. You do want to ascend?”

“More than anything, Sir.” The passion, the deep longing in her voice was impossible to hide. “I could do so much more if I had my wings. Help so many more people.”

Raphael rubbed his eyes and sighed. “I’ll come straight out with it, Ariella. What we’re concerned about here is your motive. Wings are more than a mere fashion accessory. Is there not an element of vanity involved here?”

“No, Sir. Definitely not, Sir. I… I just want to move onwards and upwards. I’ve tried so hard…”

“I know, my dear. Here.” He plucked a tissue, deftly from the ether. “Dedication and obedience. Two things I would like you to work on. And focus, my dear. Focus.”

Obedience? When he put it like that, she had no choice. Inclining her head, she bowed to the inevitable. If earning her wings meant enduring another ghastly Christmas on earth, then she’d do it. And without complaint. Well, maybe only about the weather. She was looking at England, or if she was really unlucky, Scotland. A few years past the second millennium. A small village, from what she could gather. Slowly, the scene absorbed her. From far away, she heard Raphael’s last, urgent instructions. The shimmer of the glass and crystal office faded to be replaced by the glitter and twinkle of fairy lights festooning trees and porches and the windows of every house in the village, but one.

Raphael had allowed her the red pumps. More as a punishment than a concession as her feet were already freezing in the inappropriate footwear. At least he’d given her a heavy coat, even if it was so last season. The scene sharpened into focus and she was standing in front of a dark oak door. A door that belonged to the dark old house. A wave of nausea had her gripping at the door jamb. The transition from celestial to human body, like being on some mad, roller-coaster ride, always made her want to throw up. Steadying her breathing, she counted to ten while her mind absorbed the sketchy back-story to her new project. Judging by the lack of Christmas spirit, it wasn’t hard to guess.

Pretty standard fare, actually. The words flashed through her mind. Divorcee. Check. Child in wheelchair. Variation on a theme. Not bothering with Christmas this year, because… Hmm, the reason eluded her. Raphael was making her work for this one.

Under the door, a shaft of light appeared. So they were expecting her. Hastily, she sifted fingers through her hair, only mildly surprised to find Raphael had given her a crop this time. She only had a few seconds to wonder what colour it was before the door swung open to reveal a large, silhouetted figure who regarded her for a few moments before barking out a name.

“Miss Markham?”

“I suppose I must be.”

She caught the frown, the look that said he couldn’t decide whether her answer was strange or insubordinate. “I’m sorry.” She gazed longingly past him into the square hall with doors leading to rooms warmed with roaring fires. To a kitchen with a wood-powered range as well as a sleek, state of the art stove. Two years ago the house had featured in the Christmas edition of Homes and Gardens. A large Christmas tree, almost the height of the imposing hall, had been the centrepiece.

“I’m a little cold, and it’s been a long journey, and…” She closed her eyes in an effort to sort the rush of information filling her mind. Often what she got was totally random. Trivia rather than the meat of the matter. She would know what this man ate for breakfast, his favourite colour, but she would not know why he denied his only child a Christmas. Finding out what had gone wrong with his life, deciding how to set things right. That was the task.

Cheesy as it may sound, she was here to give this small, lost family a Christmas to remember.

“I think I may be late?” She could no longer feel her toes and small, white specks were settling on the dark material of her coat. She’d take a hurricane over snow any day. But then, Raphael already knew that.

“I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, actually. You are Miss Markham?” he asked again.

“Yes, I am Miss Markham. Do you think I could come inside?” She shrugged apologetically. “I appear to have worn the wrong shoes for this weather.”

“That you have.” He raised an eyebrow. “Mr Choo would not be pleased.”

When he stepped aside she almost knocked him down in her rush to get past him and into the warm. Already she’d read the silent plea in his eyes. Seen the look of hope that had flared so briefly a mere mortal would have missed it.

In the time it took him to close the door the look had turned to one of challenge.

“It seems, Miss Markham that this year my son has chosen to give Christmas a miss. You came highly recommended so I’m hoping you’ll be able to talk some sense into him. On that, and a few other matters. We’ll start with some ID, shall we?” He extended a flat palm. “Then I’ll show you to your suite. You’re looking rather worse for wear, if you don’t mind my saying so. You are up to this?”

“I hope so, Mr…” Oh lord in the heavenly hosts, what in the blazes was his name?

He waited an uncomfortable five seconds before supplying, Jensen.

“Of Jensen Enterprises?” Another chunk of information downloaded to her mind. Jensen Enterprises. Medium-sized electronics manufacturer. Location, Silicon Glen, the area on the Scottish Borders named for its concentration of electronic industries. So, logically she was somewhere in Border country. Whether on the English or Scottish side, she had yet to discover.

“The very same. Do you have the ID?”

“Yes, of course.” She hadn’t noticed the bag hanging over one shoulder. Or the suitcase that had appeared at her feet. A quick rummage produced a driver’s licence which she handed over and which Mr Jensen scrutinised much longer than was necessary. Couldn’t he see the picture matched the woman standing in front of him?

“It’s just that you look nothing like the photograph sent by the agency. I was expecting a long-haired blonde, and here I have a brunette with a pixie-cut.” He handed back the license. “So you’ll excuse me for being cautious?”

Dammit, he’d seen her true image by the sound of things. How had that happened? She managed a gracious smile. “I cut my hair last week. And you needn’t worry, Mr Jensen. I’m not about to run off with the silver.”

“I’m very pleased to hear that, Miss Markham. It’s more than I can say for the last nanny we had here. Would you care to step this way?”

Dry humour. She loved that in a man. She loved lots of things in mortal men. Even before her elevation to the Guardian Academy, she’d studied them from afar, peeking with her fellow Ethereals through the veil to admire a well-turned calf, or a chest so hard it could deflect rocks. She almost smiled at that memory.

Following Mr Jensen up the sweeping mahogany stair-case, she lowered her gaze to avoid the vision of his tight butt encased in the fabric so beloved of the North-American cowboys. As a species, men were far too fascinating. The kind of study she would never tire of. Far too distracting, as well.

Focus! Raphael’s voice echoed in her head. Never mind how many Porches and Ferraris Mr Jensen had tucked away in that converted coach-house in the courtyard. Or that Mr Jensen, with his black hair and sad dark eyes, and his ability to identify hair-cuts and shoes had an instant allure that called to the woman of the species. This mission was the real deal. The trainer wheels were off and she must focus as if her wings depended on it.

Which they did.

From somewhere in the house a chime sounded. Eight bells, reminding her that she lived on mortal time, now. Time that would fly far too quickly. As the eighth chime died away, only she heard the faint tinkle of a ninth drifting through the veil from some other time-line.

Every angel knew that sound.

One day it would ring for her. One day very soon.

The nanny-suite took up most of the second floor. Rooms which would once have housed the servants had now been tastefully updated with a mixture of period furniture and modern conveniences to give the live-in nanny an en-suite bedroom, a separate sitting room and a small kitchen area.

She touched the car keys resting on the kitchen counter and remembered her stint as a nanny in a house very similar to this one. That Georgian residence had been brand new back then. And the case cut and dried, until the Bishop decided to murder his wife and attempt to run away with the local brothel-madam. A nightmare of a case, tempered only by the visits of the young master when he was down from Cambridge University.

Did she deserve her wings when she had yet to master her own weaknesses?

She dropped her coat onto the bed and crossed the room to the mahogany desk which held paper and pen as well as a laptop computer. While it booted up she pulled back the curtain to peek from the window. The room overlooked a landscape of lawns and trees, avenues and topiaries rapidly disappearing under a shroud of snow. Did Mr Jensen realise how fortunate he was to live like this? Were his recent troubles due to some karmic debt? She typed his name in the search box and waited for the result. The world-wide-web would deliver some of his earthly past. For the rest she'd consult the Akashic record office for a bit of past-life research. Hopefully they'd overlook that scroll she’d borrowed last millennium and never returned.

Most importantly of all, she would resist any attraction or entanglements. Keep her focus razor sharp and be out of here by Christmas-eve. And this time next century, she’d have acquired every angel’s must-have accessory.

Failure was not an option. Not this time.

* * * *

She’d arrived toting a very small suit-case. He hoped that wasn’t a bad sign. Rory desperately needed some stability in his life. Wasn’t the lad’s fault if his own parents appeared incapable of supplying him with that.

James Jensen shook his head and asked himself for the millionth time where it had all gone wrong. The divorce had been amicable. The love had gone and they’d both acknowledged that. Rory understood, or so they’d believed. He must realise he was still their number one priority. Nothing mattered more than his happiness.

“Goodnight, dad.”

“Sleep well, son.”

“I will.”

He didn’t push. That was the counsellor’s job. His, it seemed, was to stand by helpless while his son slid ever so gradually into a world of his own.

No, there was nothing gradual about this. There had been a trigger. But he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was the boy had overheard that night. He’d gone, overnight, from a boy who’d coped with his disability with the forbearance of a saint, to a virtual whirlwind of resentment for everyone and everything.

Rory lay still, eyes firmly closed. Dismissing him with a resoluteness belying the small frame barely filling the racing-car bed. Much as he wanted to ruffle his son’s hair and ask him about his Christmas wish-list he bowed to the boy’s command and stepped softly from the room. Now wasn’t the time for an argument.

Footsteps and the sound of singing from the room above reminded him he was no longer between nannies and for that he said a silent prayer. He stood for a moment listening to the ethereal thread of sound that wound its way under the door and down the stairs. She had the voice of an angel.

How the agency had found her at such short notice, he had no idea, but she had the right experience, her references were impeccable and, God-willing, she was here to save Christmas.

Chapter 2

The frost-angels had been busy in the night.

Ariella paused for a moment to admire the delicate tracery of snow and ice hanging from bare branches, threaded through cobwebs, strew across the gravel paths. Every now and then shadows of previous occupants flickered into view, some reliving their pasts in an endless cycle until they got it right. Others, merely echoes imprinted in time.

Ariella narrowed her eyes and tuned them out. Interesting as it was to peek into the story of a house such as this, she didn’t have time for such indulgences. Barely two weeks she’d discovered from the date-counter on the laptop. Raphael hadn’t promised her an easy ride, but to effect a reconciliation in so short a time? That was asking a lot.

Glancing in the mirror, she grimaced as she remembered Raphael had seen fit to give her the plainest of faces, which given her past record of guardianship and handsome rogues was probably a good thing. Plain was a relative term when applied to angels, of course. Impossible for them to be anything other than beautiful. Even the fallen ones.

No matter, she would be her old self, only with wings, before she knew it.

After a quick pause to run fingers through her hair, she made her way down the stairs to the ground floor and the large kitchen set at the back of the house. Always a bonus when she landed a family who could afford to feed her. She found the cook sitting at the kitchen table tucking into breakfast. He waved her in and pointed to the bench opposite.

“You must be the new nanny?”

Oh no. The cook was not only a man, but a man with the face and body of a seraphim.

“Marc,” he said with a cheery smile. “Sit you down and I’ll rustle you up some breakfast.” He pushed back his chair. “Are you a hearty eater, or a picker?”

“Umm…hearty.” The smell of fried bacon made her feel suddenly ravenous and his amused scrutiny told her she was staring. Shaking off the alarming feeling of déjà-vu, she slid onto the bench and folded her hands demurely.

“You were expecting Mrs Grace, I suppose? She’s gone to her sister’s for the week. I’ve stepped in to help Jim out until she gets back. Catering student. Here, get this down you.”

Scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage. She leaned over the plate to savour the smell of pure decadence. Marc laughed softly.

Folding his arms, he propped himself against the sink. “Jim’s waiting for you in the study, when you’ve finished here. He’s a good sort of bloke. Bit dry at times, but loves his son, no doubt about that. Kid’s making him work for it, though. You think you can handle this?”

“Of course.” The response was automatic, but she noted the sub-text in the question. She knew probing when she heard it. “Good bacon,” she said, resisting the urge to give back in kind.

“Yes, You kind of forget how good it smells, don’t you?”

“What did you say?”

“That smell, you never forget it.”

“Oh no.” The fork dropped onto the plate. She had seen him before. Most definitely. “What are you doing here? This is a solo assignment. I’ll never pass with you here to distract me.”

“Relax, I’m only here for the week. Thought I’d give a helping hand.”

“No,” Ariella pushed back her chair. Marc was glowing, now. Encased in a shimmering, golden aura. The air between them whispered with the swish of feathers.

Lord in the highest heavens, he was beautiful. Dazzling. But she’d learned her lesson back in the summer of 1567. Guardians in training did not date archangels. Not without consequences.

“I remember the last time you “helped” me, she said making quote marks with her fingers. I failed Discretion with the lowest ever recorded score. “Did Raphael send you?”

“Not exactly. Look Arie, no strings. I just want to see you get your wings. It’s not cheating if I’m here of my own accord.”

“And you want nothing in return?”

“I am altruism personified.”

The chair slid towards the table, throwing her forward with a jolt. The fork flew into her hand.

“Eat your breakfast,” Marc ordered. “It’s going cold.”

“Don’t help me. The last thing I want right now is a cheating scandal. Just tell me one thing. Where’s the current family guardian?”

Marc shrugged. “Probably watching nervously from the other side. You know how it is when a student takes over the reins.”

Something about his demeanour gave her pause. His attention was too studied, scrutinising her every move in minute detail. Didn’t take her long to realise why.

“This family is under your protection?”

“They’re mine, yes.” He spoke quietly, deadly serious now. “I thought they deserved an intervention so I asked Raphael and…

“You got me.”

No need for an answer. The weight of responsibility hung heavy between them, laden with the love Marc felt for his mortal family. Removing the last doubts that this assignment could end in anything but success.

No pressure then.

I know how much you have invested here. I won’t let you down.”

“Don’t let them down.” Marc glanced briefly towards the kitchen door. “I don’t care what Raphael says. You mess this up I’m back in and taking over.”

“I would expect no less.” No angel of the light would elevate personal ambition above the welfare of those they watched over. If some were lost to the forces of darkness, it was not for want of trying.

Breakfast could wait. She had work to do.

* * * *

Marc was a variable she hadn’t bargained for. Marciel Luridious had friends in high places. One twitch of his magnificent wings could have her spiralling back to level two and guardian angel grade-school.

Don’t give him the chance.

The study door was open, giving her a peek of blue-grey walls and elegant antique furniture. Over-designed and rather too feminine for a man of Mr Jensen’s stature.

She waited for Mr Jensen to notice her, not wanting to disturb his reverie at the window. He raised a hand, then dropped it as if he’d been about to wave to someone in the garden below, but changed his mind. Before turning, he smoothed out the folds in the curtain, rearranging them so each was exactly the same width apart.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Jensen?”

“Oh, Miss Markham, yes do come in.” He indicated a wingback chair that had once graced the home of a Duke. “May I call you Ariella? Despite the surroundings, we try not to be too formal around here.”

“Please do. The house is beautiful.”

“Bit of a museum…” he gave a rueful smile. “My ex-wife used it as a showcase for her talents. I’ve done nothing with it since…” He expelled a long breath and clapped his hands. “You must call me James, or Jim as most people do. Only my mother dares call me Jamie. I’m sorry if I was rather abrupt last night. You arrived rather out of the blue.”

“I’m prone to that. Is Rory about? I’d like to meet him.”

Her feelers were already tingling, reaching out to the aura of the man propped casually on the edge of the cherry-finish Queen-Ann writing desk. How many times had he been here? Three, four incarnations? Not an old soul, then, which would account for the slightly bewildered vibe flickering beneath the surface. It took at least five lives to find one’s feet on this mortal plane. Ten to know in which direction to point them. No wonder the poor man had family problems.

A desirable man, and not just because of his wealth and dark, celtic looks. A woman could spend a lifetime discovering what lay beneath the charming façade he carried before him? So few mortals were equipped to scratch more than the surface of human emotion. They missed so much.

His ex-wife had missed so much.

“He’s in the garden. Having a mope by the look of things. I’ve had him seen by the best people in the business and still we can’t get through. Perhaps you'll have better luck?”

Points to him for getting straight to the heart of the matter. Time was an issue for all of them here.

“Is he expecting me?”

James tilted his head and gave her a look that sent her temperature soaring. “He’s expecting a new nanny. I’m not sure though, that he’s expecting you.”

“Sometimes the unexpected is exactly what we need.”

“Indeed.”

Was she glowing? She hoped not. It would be days before she’d properly learned the nuances of this new mortal skin. The sudden rush of heat had been nothing more than a steering error. The human body was such a fickle vessel, often doing completely the opposite to what it had been told. Controlling it while suppressing her angel form would take all her concentration.

“Are you all right?” James slid from the desk and reached for the jacket slung over the armchair. “I’m sorry if it’s too hot in here. Rory likes it cosy. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

“Not as hot as some places I could name.” She stood, mentally running through a list of important points to note in her nightly report. This time she would be strict with herself and not leave the paperwork until the last moment. No categorising James according to gender stereotype. He was a living, breathing mortal not a hero in a romantic novel. She’d already noticed the scar on the back of his hand. A burn-mark perhaps? That would have a story attached to it. Details like that always looked good on the final presentation paper.

James held open the door and motioned her through. “You can’t imagine how pleased I am to see you here, just before Christmas. Rory’s mother was going to be here, but she’s out of the country on business. And then Mrs Grace got the call about her sister and of course, I couldn’t say no to her. I was starting to panic and then the agency found you.”

James Jensen did not look like a man who panicked. Except perhaps when it came to his son. The wall between them was almost physical in its intensity and both had been instrumental in its building. The mother she would reserve judgement on. Leaving her child in favour of a business deal put her firmly on the side of wrong, but if Ariella had learned one thing in her two thousand years of guardianship it was to avoid jumping to hasty conclusions.

James led her through the spacious hall towards a door that opened into a formal sitting room. Jacket slung casually over his shoulder, he gave the appearance of being relaxed and not at all anxious about meeting with his son. Nothing showed of the turmoil that had built in the short walk across the hall. His aura had been a little ragged, but now it was spiking and rippling in a most uncomfortable manner.

“He’s through there.”

A row of tall French-doors let in weak winter light giving her a view of the raised patio bordered by a weathered stone balustrade. From outside, she heard the rhythmic sound of something being thrown against the wall of the house.

Rory barely glanced at them as they stepped through the doors into the crisp morning air. The ball continued to thwack against the wall, each time making a new dirty mark against the pristine paint. A small act of defiance his father chose to ignore.

“Rory, this is Ariella, the new nanny. Will you say hello to her?”

“Hello.”

“Perhaps with a little more enthusiasm?”

Ariella raised a hand. “No, it’s fine,” she whispered and stepped towards the wheelchair. “Hello Rory. Nice to meet you.”

A well-practised whatever shrug informed her the feeling was not mutual.

“Rory!” His father’s arm shot out, snatching the ball in mid-flight. The air between father and son crackled. “We’ll start as we mean to go on, shall we?”

It was both command and plea. Rory held his father’s gaze for a full ten seconds before uttering a quiet, “Nice to meet you, too. I suppose.”

She could see why Marc loved his family so much he’d stayed on after his promotion to archangel. And why he was so concerned at the thought of a rookie wading in to upset the delicate karmic balance. In contrast to his father, Rory was a very old soul, indeed and very near to his ascendancy. Two, maybe three lives left to go. Every angel dreamed of being part of a mortal’s transfer to the first level of the higher plane.

On the edge of the main lawn, she caught sight of Marc sweeping snow from the long drive, apparently indifferent to the small drama taking place on the terrace. A slight shimmering, the only indication of concern.

Hardly a rookie. She had plenty of experience. She just hadn’t quite managed to get it right, yet.

Until this time, she vowed.

Thanks for reading. I started this too late to finish for the current season. Maybe next year... Candy/Alex

~*~

Goodness! That was a very nice start to three very interesting stories, ladies. Thank you for giving us such a delicious sneak-peek at your work!

Be sure to come back tomorrow to see what we have in store but before you go, here's today's giveaways.

Contest Rules:

Since you're all probably exhausted from all that reading, we'll make the contest quick and easy today. Just comment to this post to enter. (Be sure you click the "I DID THIS" button on the RaffleCopter form after making your blog comment!)

We have 3 books up for grabs again today. ONE winner will snag all three. We'll draw one winner and announce it tomorrow and deliver the prize at the end of the event. Up for grabs: Kallysten's: Out of The Box, Lily Graison's: Wicked: Jade Butterfly, Candy Nicks': Choice of 1 Moon Child Series Book

Yesterday's winner was chosen by Rafflecopter.
AND THE WINNER IS...Entry #3 Marie Hitchin

On the Fourth Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...A Blog Post from Kallysten

2011-12-04T08:00:00.064Z

Today, I posted on my site the tenth and last chapter of Losing His Wings, a free story I released in monthly installments for the past year or so. If you haven’t given it a try yet, be sure to do so soon… It’ll disappear by the end of the year so that I can prepare to put it for sale in January.

I’ve been writing stories I give away for free for years, and there are several of them available on the Alinar site and on my own website. Others are now for sale, like one of my first ones, Aria & Will which is one of the prizes for today's contest.

Some stories are short, one shot peeks into the lives of characters from my books, like Five Eves, a collection of five very short stories I will release in two weeks as a holidays present to my readers. I enjoy writing these because as a reader I always wonder… what happens after ‘the end’? As a writer, answering that question with glimpses into the future of my characters is always fun and satisfying. I can only hope it’s enjoyable for my readers as well to see what the characters they like best are up to.

Other stories, like Losing His Wings, feature new characters and are more intricate. These are a lot of fun for me to write as well, although for different reasons. Usually, I’m a ‘plotter’, which means that I know when I start writing a story where I’m going with it, and where I’m likely to be when it’s time to write ‘the end’. When I write my monthly freebie, however, I turn into a ‘pantser’. I have a vague direction in mind, but for the most part I write the story as I go. Sometimes, it allows me to work into the story suggestions or requests from the readers who are reading along. The best part though is that I get to be surprised with the readers when my characters do something I wasn’t expecting.

Like I said, I just finished my latest freebie. I’ve already started working on the next one, and I’m very excited about that one. Or the past year and half, my mind has been taken over by two vampires, Andrew and Nicholas, and their son, Jacob. I’ve told this family’s story for the first eighteen years of Jacob’s life in Fangs & Lullabies, and I’ll continue in 2012 with Demons & Lullabies. But I’ll also start posting a different story – the monthly freebie – focused on Jacob when he becomes a grown up.

I hope you’ll join me for this new adventure, but I know some readers hate having to wait between chapters and prefer to read a story all at once. What about you? To enter our contest today, just comment and tell me: do you like to read serial stories? Or does waiting for a new chapter make you want to tear your hair out?

~*~

And now for our giveaway!

First, lets list the instructions...

Just answer Kallysten's question in a comment to this post to enter. (Be sure to click the "I DID THIS" button on the RaffleCopter form after making your blog comment!) After you've made your blog comment, and clicked I DID THIS, the other tasks will open. Do those tasks for extra entries into the contest if you wish.

We have 3 books up for grabs today. ONE winner will snag all three. We'll draw one winner and announce it tomorrow and deliver the prize at the end of the event.

Here's what we have up for grabs today: Kallysten's: Aria and Will, Lily Griason's Destined Hearts, Alexandra Marell's: In the Dark With You

Day 3 Winner was chosen by Rafflecopter.
AND THE WINNER IS... Entry #12 Denise Golden

On the Third Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...An Interview with Candy Nicks/Alexandra Marell

2011-12-03T08:00:00.110Z

Welcome to day 3 of our event. Today we have Alinar author Candy Nicks / Alexandra Marell with us. We took a moment of her time to interview her and she graciously answer all our questions. Stay tuned for the daily contest at the end of the post.

Author Bio:
I don't like my heroes too perfect and I like heroines who aren't afraid to go out and get their man. I love gothic romance, which I hope will come back into fashion one day. I like my romance to have a touch of the epic about it, with strong emotions and unforgettable characters. My favourite novel is Wuthering Heights. I write as Candy Nicks and Alexandra Marell.

Hi Candy. Could you introduce yourself, please?

Hi all, I write under two pen names, Candy Nicks and Alexandra Marell. Candy writes more adult rated, fantasy and paranormal romance. Alexandra writes what I’d call sensual rather than sultry rating and to date has written contemp, historical and ghostly romance. Talking of ghosts, Saturday nights are very likely to find me lurking in some haunted house, mansion or castle as a paranormal investigator. I’m the group historian and it’s my task to take the transcripts of the sessions and try to marry any phenomena, events or names with real people or happening. Yes, you do have to have nerves of steel to do the solo vigils. Luckily, I’m not easily spooked and have only jumped once when someone or something knocked on a door behind me. A door to a room we knew to be empty. I’m also an avid collector of musical instruments, my pride and joy being my two pianos, one an antique Bechstein and the other a new Bluthner. I’ve been in epublishing since 2005 when I was founding partner and chief publishing editor at Linden Bay Romance. I left after a year to co found Alinar Publishing and pioneer indie publishing and author co ops. I’m thrilled to be part of the indie publishing revolution.

So, what kind of books do you like to write?

I write the kind of romances I like to read - character-based with a tight focus on the hero and heroine and their developing relationship. I'm very fond of romances that isolate the main characters either by place or by circumstance and love seeing how they use their own particular strengths to solve whatever problems the author throws at them. My ideal romance would probably involve stranding two very different characters on a desert island, then watching them slowly find common ground and fall in love. My two pen names may write different ratings, but the underlying themes are quite similar. When I first wheeled out my Candy persona I did it anonymously and my crit partner, while she didn’t know it was me until I told her, said she’d read the story and it bugged her no end that it sounded like someone she knew!

Will you give us a sneak of what you’re working on for next year’s releases?

I’d love to. As Candy I’m writing a two book series called Lords of the Dark Fall. It’s fantasy romance involving two immortal brothers who are displaced in time and have to cope with becoming human. (They’re not impressed, LOL) Fabian’s story is complete at 100 k plus words. Marcellus’ book is 30k done and I need to complete it before I release Fabian’s story in order to keep the continuity straight. You can read the first (unedited) 30K words of Fabian's story in the files on my Candy / Alexandra yahoo forum. http://uk.groups.yahoo.com/group/CandyandAlexandra/

As Candy I also hope to write book 3 in the Interview series. This will be the final book, and might give us a bit of closure. (Hard to tell with Fay and Dane!)

As Alex I’m planning a series set on an Italian island that mixes mystical elements (ghosts, mermaids, matchmaking cat who is really a cursed princess, that sort of thing) and contemporary romance. I’ve started book one, The Cursed Princess and hope to get these out next year.

Any other news to share?

I’m having new websites designed and hope to be able to unveil them soon. There’s a sneak peek of the front pages on my Facebook author page. Having two pen names I thought it might be easier to put them both in one place so there will be a portal page and then visitors will get the choice of clicking on the Candy or the Alex sites. As well as all the usual blurbs, excerpts and buy links, I want to get some promo videos made with original music, which I want to write myself and also to make some world-building pages for the series.

Thanks a lot for chatting, Candy/Alexandra. Looking forward to the new series and be sure to let everyone know when the new websites launched.

It’s my pleasure, and yes, I’ll be having an official launch when the websites are ready, possibly in the new year.

~*~

We have another giveaway for you today. As always, just comment on this blog post, or just say Hi.

But first, lets list the rules...

Contest Rules:

Just comment to this post to enter. (Be sure you click the "I DID THIS" button on the RaffleCopter form after making your blog comment!) After you've made your blog comment, and clicked I DID THIS, the other tasks will open. Do those tasks for extra entries into the contest if you wish.

We have 3 books up for grabs today. ONE winner will snag all three. We'll draw one winner and announce it tomorrow and deliver the prize at the end of the event.

Here's what we have up for grabs today: Kallysten: In This Life or The Next, Lily Graison's: Wicked: Tempt Me Not, Candy Nicks: Choice of 1 Interview Book

On the Second Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...A Blog Post from Lily Graison

2011-12-02T04:00:00.082Z

A Christmas to Remember

I can’t say that I’ve always dreamed of being a writer but I’ve always had a love of writing. And office supplies. Nothing thrills me more than pens, pencils, highlighters and paper. Christmas for me was almost always filled with gifts of the stationary kind. Not only did I like to make things up, I liked to draw.

The Christmas I remember the most was when I was ten. The box I’d been giving was big and we all know, as a child, the bigger the box, the better the gift, right? This was my thinking too and when I tore the paper on that box, the shock of seeing the picture of a typewriter on the cardboard tore a scream from me I can still remember. I stood up, box in hand and danced around the room squealing like a piglet. My mother was laughing and my father, as most father's usually do, was telling me to settle down.

I don’t remember many of the gifts I received that year other than a stack of bright blue paper. It matched my new typewriter, as you can see in the photo. (Yes, that is me - age 10) My mother’s sewing machine cabinet was the perfect size to create a small desk and she set me up in my bedroom, gave me a chair, and I typed out my first masterpiece. Then I typed out a few more.

What happened to those old stories, I’ll never know but I remember sitting at my makeshift desk, typing away at those little plastic keys and thinking I was the luckiest girl in the world. I had a typewriter. No longer would I have to scribble things down with a mere pencil. I could type them now! And I did. I typed everything, even copying down the TV Guide listings.

My little blue typewriter is no more. I have a laptop now and although it doesn’t make that nice little clicking ting when you hit the keys, I still love to write. I often wonder if that typewriter, and my love for it, wasn't what drew me back to those familiar keys years later when I typed out my first ‘real’ story. It was 160,000 words and, as always, a masterpiece. Not really but it cemented my love for writing. For telling stories and creating worlds I can escape to everyday. A writer’s life is never boring, regardless of how much we occasionally complain. How can making things up for a living ever be boring?

So tell me, what is the one gift you received as a child that you still remember? Tell me in the comments below to enter today's contest.

~*~

Thank you, Lily for that story. I'm sure our readers enjoyed it but now its time for our contest! Lily has asked what your favorite remembered gift was so we'll use that as our entry today. Just comment on this blog post and let her know your answer. Please use the Rafflecopter form to enter. The directions are below.

But first, a few reminders...

Just comment to this post to enter. (Be sure you click the "I DID THIS" button on the RaffleCopter form after making your blog comment!) After you've made your blog comment, and clicked I DID THIS, the other 3 tasks will open. Do those tasks for extra entries into the contest if you wish.

We have 3 books up for grabs today. ONE winner will snag all three. We'll draw one winner and announce it tomorrow and deliver the prize at the end of the event.

Here's what we have up for grabs today: Kallysten's: Vampire's Concubine, Lily Graison's: Blame It On the Mistletoe, Candy Nicks': Choice of Moon Child Book

On the First Day of Christmas....Alinar brings to you...Christmas Themed Flash Fiction

2011-12-01T04:00:00.016Z

Hello! Welcome to our 12 Days of Christmas Event. The Alinar Author's have a full schedule of special postings for everyone and some great contests with over 50 eBooks to give away. Everyday the prizes will get larger so come back each day to see what we have up for grabs!

We'll be kicking it off today with some Christmas Themed Flash Fiction.

Instead of all the authors posting about the same theme as we usually do for our flash fiction posts, we thought we'd mix it up and let them write about their favorite things so, enjoy their offerings and be sure to read to the bottom of the post. We have an awesome contest for you!

Christmas Is For Sharing by Candy / Alexandra
2,300 words

Someone had cut down the holly tree.

Kara Fletcher, noted fashion photographer and lately the new owner of Gamekeeper’s Cottage, dropped her tote and rolled shoulders stiff from five hours at the wheel. The M1 on a Friday night in deepest December, what had she been thinking? She should have taken the train, but couldn’t resist the chance to show off the new BMW convertible, a bonus from a grateful client.

Only no one had been watching when she’d driven through the main street, half-blinded by driving snow, past the village green and ancient duck pond and turned left for the Wentworth estate. The only witness to her triumphal return was a life-sized Santa flashing merrily from the post office window and a half-built snowman standing sentinel beside the village stocks.

Making her way to the front door, she was already revising her plans to turn the cottage into a showcase location for photo-shoots. A pang of guilt cancelled out the annoyance caused by the lack of holly tree. The roses had also been ruthlessly cut back, the York-stone paving taken up and replaced with innocuous gravel probably bought by the bag from the local garden centre. The old wooden casements, she noted with alarm, had been replaced with hermetically sealed UPVC frames. Not even an attempt to replicate the originals.

But how could she complain? She hadn’t been here to stop the desecration. She’d only shown her face once since decamping to London and art college and that had been for Aunt Sally’s funeral. Uncle Josh had been senile at the end, so they’d told her. Oh lord, now she felt terrible. He’d left her a cottage and she’d been too busy photographing the beautiful and famous to attend his funeral. Being in Thailand was no excuse. Should have flown home.

She’d got the cottage, which her uncle had purchased from the estate in the early eighties, and her brother the share portfolio. At the time, she’d thought to have the better of the bargain, but now, stepping over the threshold into the damp and dim interior, she was thinking again. It would take thousands to restore the place to its original beauty.

Laughing, she groped for a light switch. Memories certainly played strange tricks. The place had its own beauty with its pale yellow stone and tall chimneys, but it was no chocolate box. This was a working cottage, lived in by generations of gamekeepers to the gentry. A position someone in her family had held since the first lord Wentworth decided the future lay in cotton.

Plans for a cosy Christmas lazing in front of a roaring log fire, chestnuts on the hearth and a few days alone with nothing to do but recharge after a frantic year of travelling the globe, evaporated to be replaced by yet more list-making. Organising was in her blood and despite having to revise her plans, she’d started taking a mental inventory the moment she’d stepped over the threshold. Plenty of grants available for the restoration of listed buildings, which this could well be despite it having become so run down.

Too cold to spend the night here. Poking her head into the kitchen, she saw the old solid-fuel Aga that doubled as both stove and boiler for the central heating. And she also saw the last thing she expected to see. A man, dressed in waxed-jacket and beanie, kneeling in front of the old iron stove, shoving logs into the fire-grate. On the floor beside him, a rucksack and bed-roll. She froze, hoping he hadn’t heard her enter.

Squatter, a vagrant come in out of the cold? Slowly, she backed up, thinking she ought to make a run for it rather than confront the man and demand to know what he was doing in her house. Which of course, would have been a stupid question anyway – he was lighting the stove, obviously intending to stay the night and be warm.

He turned abruptly, just as she was about to run.

“Wait,” he said in a voice that sounded oddly familiar. “I can explain.”

“It better be a good one.” She stopped and stared beyond the heavily-stubbled cheeks, the hat pulled down almost to his eyes. Eyes that looked as if they’d seen too much.

“Charlie Wentworth? What the hell are you doing back here? I thought you were in Afghanistan.”

The man rose, pulled off his hat to reveal his soldier’s haircut. Hair bleached even blonder by the Afghan sun. Standing at his full height, she recognised him now. How could she not? Youngest son of the lord of the manor. War hero if the newspapers were to be believed.

“Home on leave,” he said, looking rather embarrassed now at having been caught in the gamekeepers cottage when he should have been up at the big house celebrating with his family. “I rather thought the place would be empty. Got in through the bathroom window. I’d heard Josh died.”

“He left the cottage to me.” She still hadn’t got over the surprise of seeing him. The man she’d had a crush on since she was thirteen. Oh, the love-pangs of youth. How many hours had she spent watching for him in the grounds, waiting for him to come home from boarding school?

“Oh gosh, it’s Kara Fletcher. I’m so sorry.” He ran a hand through his short hair. “I’ll light the range for you, then get my things and go.”

She stepped back into the kitchen that was stuck in a sixties time-warp and glanced at the rucksack. “Won’t they be expecting you up at the house?”

His expression turned guarded. “I haven’t told them I’m home.”

“Why ever not? Your mother will be ecstatic to see you home and safe for Christmas.”

He blew out a long breath. “It’s complicated. After what I’ve been through, what I’ve seen this year, I just couldn’t face another Wentworth family Christmas. Thought I’d hole up here, stay quiet and spend some time getting my head together.” He shrugged. “I don’t suppose that makes any sense to you. Or that I would have gone undetected for long.”

Kara thought of her year, the fabulous locations, the parties, glittering jewels and beautiful clothes. Looking at this man with so much suffering etched into his face, it all suddenly seemed so trivial and empty.

“Yes,” she said nodding. “Yes, it does make sense.” She shivered. “Would you like to light the range? I’d appreciate it.”

It gave him something to do while she sat at the formica table and contemplated this turn of events. On impulse, she said, “I wasn’t looking forward to spending Christmas here alone. Want to join me? You’d be very welcome.”

She hadn’t expected him to agree and when he picked up his pack to leave, protesting that he couldn’t possibly intrude, she rose, too, thinking that she’d find a local hotel for this first night and then see how things were in the morning.

Half-way out of the door, Charlie stopped, bracing one arm on the frame as if anchoring himself down. “You’re sure I won’t be intruding?” he spoke without turning around and she had to wonder what demons he was hiding. She couldn’t imagine what he’d been through, what he was still going through even thought Afghanistan was half a world away.

“Come in, Charlie.” She spoke softly, suddenly wanting to hear it all. “If you want to hide from your family, well I won’t tell.”

A bit of a smile on his face when he turned around. He dropped his rucksack and rubbed at the back of his neck. A weary gesture that showed how far he’d come. “Kara Fletcher,” he said again. “Do you remember that summer you pushed me into the lake because I called you carrot-tops?”

“And then you caught that chill and I thought you were going to die and I’d be sent to prison for killing you.”

“Good lord, did you really?”

“Sit down, Charlie. It’s been a long time.”

The look he gave her sent a shiver racing over her skin. How long since she’d last seen him? Had to be fifteen years at the very least and it felt like only yesterday. And that little flame she’d so carefully nurtured hadn’t gone out as she’d thought. It was still there, burning quietly in her heart.

“It certainly has. But I must warn you, I’m not very good company these days.”

“I know it’s been tough. Feel free to just be here. You don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t mind talking.” He pulled out a chair. “Just not to the family right now.”

“Then talk to me.” Her heart raced as he sat, leaning his elbows on the table. Photography was her passion, but she’d never done anything real with it. Perhaps it was time to start?

“I’ve a few supplies in the car. Wait and I’ll get some coffee and make us one.”

“I’ve a better idea.” Reaching for his rucksack, he flicked open the buckles and delved inside, bringing out a bottle of fine malt whisky which he placed on the table between them.

“Rustle up a couple of glasses and we’ll catch up. You can awe me with how successful you’ve been. I saw your photo of the prince in Country Life magazine.”

“He’s asked me to do more. A family spread.”

“No kidding?” He turned the bottle, fingered the label. “Happy in your work?”

“Thought I was.”

“Yes, so did I.”

She rose to search one of the kitchen cupboards for glasses. Surprisingly, the shelves were stacked with a motley assortment of glasses and mugs, all clean. Uncle Josh had at least been well looked after.

He poured them out half a glass-full each. Pushed hers across the table.

“So, what’s the toast?”

He held up his glass, a hint of challenge in his dark green eyes. She’d been struck by the colour the first time she’d met him skipping through the woods, a bunch of blue-bells in her hand. He’d jump out of a tree and given her the fright of her life. But even as she’d screamed fit to wake the dead, she’d been struck by those eyes. And never forgotten them.

“To new beginnings?”

“New beginnings,” he said, clinking his glass with hers.

She felt him relax a little as they sipped their drinks, each of them lost in their own thoughts. He dreaming about a quiet life, away from the horror and noise of war. She of leaving her comfort zone and doing something she could look back on and be proud of.

War photographer? Was she brave enough? She thought so, but that was easy to do sitting here in a Northumbrian cottage with insistent snow drifting past the window and nothing more to worry about than the boiler going out and being snowed in for Christmas.

Maybe later, when he’d told his story, she wouldn’t be thinking of giving up her glamorous lifestyle for fatigues and bombs and life on the edge.

Snowed in for Christmas? She couldn’t help a smile at that thought.

“What?” he said, breaking the silence. “What just went through your mind?”

“I was just thinking about the snow.” She glanced pointedly at the window. He followed her gaze and, at last, gave her a full on smile. The one he’d used to work his way through half the women in the village before decamping to Sandhurst for officer training.

“Forecast is for more. They’re predicting blizzards tonight.”

He downed his whisky, poured himself another. She covered her glass when he made to top it up.

“My head’s starting to spin already. Haven’t eaten all day.”

“I’d offer to take you out for dinner, but…” He glanced again at the window and the mad whirl of white. “There are more logs in the wood-shed. I’ll go fill up the basket to see us through the night.”

“And I’ll go get those supplies I mentioned.” She rose, laughing to herself. “Would you believe I have a ready-cooked turkey in the car? With all the trimmings.”

“Wouldn’t expect any less of you, Kara. You always were the hostess with the mostess.”

She groaned at the joke and reached for her coat. Charlie rose too, standing too close, moving with a confident stride as he followed her to the front door. She’d been tired and now she was gripped by a surprising feeling of excitement that made every nerve ending tingle. And not just because she was spending Christmas holed up with a hot man. Although that undoubtedly helped, she thought as she took in the height and breadth of him.

Her thoughts invariably turned wicked. How could they not when Charlie Wentworth was around?

Dangerous thoughts. They both had jobs to go back to that didn’t involve the other. And he wasn’t the type to stick around. Never had been. Could she cope with that?

“Leave it in the snow until the fridge gets cold enough.” He nodded to the cool-box in which she’d packed the turkey, stuffing and roast potatoes for Christmas day. With a whole salmon en croute and tossed salad for tonight. “Should be safe enough from scavengers in that.”

“Yes, m’lord.” She bobbed him a curtsey, which earned her a grin. As youngest son, he wouldn’t be inheriting the title, nor the running of the estate and would be free to live his life as he saw fit. He’d probably end up marrying some Camilla or Zara and settling comfortably into one of the family’s smaller country houses to shoot grouse and play polo.

But for the next few days, he was all hers.

She grinned back. And she was going to make the most of every moment.

~*~

Old & New by Kallysten
800 words - a 'deleted scene' from Fangs & Lullabies

“Are you sure your dads will be okay with this?” Kirsten sounded genuinely concerned. She had taken an ornament out of the storage box but she hadn’t unwrapped the silk paper that protected it yet. “I mean, if it’s a family tradition or something…” When she shrugged, her hair swung lightly on her shoulders. “I don’t want them to be mad at us again.”

Reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, Jacob smiled at her. The previous summer, when he had told her his fathers were vampires, she had taken things pretty well, and even when she had been confronted by two angry vampires she had held her own. Afterwards, though, when Jacob hadn’t been grounded anymore and they’d been allowed to spend some time together again, she had confessed that she had been scared. “I didn’t think they’d hurt me,” she had explained. “But I could tell they were really upset. I was scared they’d leave town with you and I’d never see you again.” Jacob had understood all too well; he’d had the same fear.

“I asked them if it was okay,” he assured her. “And they said it was. Nicholas might come help.”

“Not Andrew?” she asked, passing the ornament from hand to hand.

“He was called out.”

He was careful not to say the word ‘demon’ but a shadow crossed her eyes anyway, like it always did. He had confided to her that, some day, he intended to join his fathers’ fight. He knew she didn’t like that idea, but she had never said so out right, and he doubted she ever would.

“Come on.” He hung his first ornament, a small wooden reindeer, and pulled another one from the box. “Let’s try to finish before the pizza comes in.”

She nodded and finally unwrapped the ornament she held. She raised the glittery foam star in front of her, a slow smile spreading on her lips. “This looks pretty… unique.”

Jacob chuckled. “Unique is a nice word,” he said, tongue in cheek. “I was four or five when I made that.”

“Six,” Nicholas chimed in from behind them. They both looked at him to find him grinning. “There was glitter everywhere by the time he was done. Including his underwear.”

Jacob’s smile vanished in a blink. Heat suffused his face just as fast. “Dad!”

Nicholas turned an innocent look at him. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

Jacob didn’t even know where to start. He contented himself with throwing a glare at Nicholas before resolutely turning his back on him. Kirsten – God, but he really loved her – had disguised a quick laugh into a cough and was hanging the blue, glittery star high on the tree. She pulled another ornament out and looked at it closely again before raising a questioning eyebrow at Jacob. He nodded.

“Yup, that one too. It’s just paint swirled inside the glass. Pretty easy to do.” He threw a glance back. “Even vampires can do it. After they mess up two or three times.”

That drew a protesting sputter from Nicholas along with a laugh like silver bells from Kirsten. They went back to decorating the tree, and as he told Kirsten about this ornament or that one, it dawned on Jacob that he or his dads had made half the ornaments in the box themselves. They used to add two or three to their collection every year, and suddenly Jacob was wondering when they had stopped, or why. Had he outgrown the tradition? He looked at Kirsten, smiling and happy at his side, and wondered what it would be like to restart that tradition with her.

“Look what I found.”

Nicholas was back, with a box of his own. He set it down next to the ornament storage box and Jacob and Kirsten both peered in. A handful of clear glass balls were nestled in silk paper, and on the side a few plastic bottles still bore smudged splatters of colorful paint.

“Do you kids want to make a couple more ornaments to add to that tree?”

Jacob’s first reaction was to protest the ‘kids’ part of that offer, but a glance at Kirsten stilled his tongue. She was beaming as she pulled a clear ornament out and started looking through the paint bottles. Some of them were new, Jacob realized. He looked at Nicholas again and mouthed a silent ‘thank you.’ Nicholas winked at him before retreating out of the room.

Later, Jacob would ask Nicholas whose idea it had been to get these new ornaments and more paint. He had a feeling it might have been Andrew’s doing. Then again, it didn’t really matter, did it? Jacob had been grateful for his fathers many times over the years; this was only one more instance.

~*~

The Christmas Gift by Lily Graison
1472 words - characters from The Night Breeds Series

The air on the mountain was brisk and held a hint of ice crystals. Rayna could taste the coolness of it on the back of her tongue. It would snow soon.

Fall had given away to winter. The moon was full tonight but it played hide and seek with the clouds. She’d shifted only three times since becoming on of the monsters and as terrifying as the act was, she was oddly calm.

The crunch of twigs and dry leaves drew her attention. Someone was coming through the trees. She closed her eyes, inhaled a breath and smiled. It was Garrett. His scent danced along her senses until it felt like a live thing caressing her flesh.

She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him and smiled. He hadn’t bothered with a coat, his muscles hugged by his t-shirt. Her wolf stirred as she watched him, that restless pushing against her flesh she’d grown used to causing a quick breath to pull a gasp from her throat.

He was staring at her as he entered the clearing; his eyes already wolf amber in color. “Why did you leave the party?”

Rayna grinned at him. “Because I knew it was the only way to get you to myself before the shift.”

He stopped in front of her and lifted his hands to cup her cheeks. “You could have just said you wanted me alone.” He kissed her forehead, his arms lowering to wrap around her. “I’ll follow you anywhere, you know that.”

She sighed, the warmth of his embrace seeping into her bones. “I know, I just didn’t want the others to know I was taking you away from them. They went to a lot of trouble to set the Christmas party up. I didn’t want to ruin it for them.”

“Well, you have me here, Ms. Ford. What are you going to do with me?”

“I’d thought of seducing you but it’s a bit cold to get naked.”

“I’ll keep you warm.”

“I’m sure you can but I actually had another idea in mind.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Reaching into her coat pocket, Rayna pulled out the small wrapped box she’d hidden inside. “I wanted to give you this.”

His smile lit his face and even in the low light she could see the delight in his eyes. “You bought me a Christmas gift?”

She grinned up at him. “Sort of.”

“What is it?”

“Open it and you’ll find out.”

He opened gifts like a child, ripping paper and tossing it away in a rush. The small box was covered in black velvet and the moment he reached for the lid, the nervous butterflies she’d felt all day erupted.

The rings were gold, both engraved inside with the sign for infinity. He said nothing as he stared down at them and those butterflies were now making her nauseous. She reached for the box, cupping her hands around it and tried to take it from him. “It was stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

His grip on the box tightened before he looked up at her. His eyes had bleed back to the warm honey brown she was used to seeing and she wasn’t sure but they looked a bit glassy.

“Are these what I think they are?”

Rayna didn’t answer. Her vocal cords seemed to have frozen tight. The longer she stared at the rings, the sillier the entire idea seemed. They were werewolves. Nothing about their lives were normal. It never would be.

She’d had a crushing blow two months ago when she found out she’d never be able to carry a baby to term and the depression had eaten away at her. Her life was as abnormal as it could get. She should have known the idea of getting married would be seen as ridiculous too.

“Forget it,” she said, trying to hide the disappointment with a smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking. It was just a silly girls fantasy, is all. I should remember nothing about my life will ever be normal again.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why can’t it be normal?”

She laughed but there was nothing humorous about the sound. “We’re werewolves. There’s nothing normal about that.”

“To other werewolves we’re perfectly normal. This is our life. We can live it anyway we want.” He was right but she didn’t tell him so.

Turning, she looked back across the darkened mountain. The pain in her chest warmed her, the cold now forgotten. Garrett moved closer to her, his footsteps disturbing the leaves.

“Rayna…”

“Just forget about it, Garrett. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll take them back.”

“So you don’t want to marry me?”

She didn’t answer him. The truth was, she did. She wanted something normal. A family was out of the question but a husband, she could have. A home of her own, she could have, and damn it, she wanted them. Something. Anything that normal people had.

“I guess I’ll have to return your Christmas gift then.”

Looking up at him and seeing the smile on his face, she wondered what he’d gotten her. When he reached into his pocket and pulled a box almost identical to the one he was holding from his pocket, she could only stare. It wasn’t wrapped but the black velvet was unmistakable.

Opening the box, Rayna stared at the diamond ring glittering up at her. An engagement ring, if she had to guess. She laughed, lifted her hand to cover her mouth and shook her head. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Probably.” He lifted the ring out, tossed the box aside and reached for her hand. “I figured since you were going to be stuck with me for the next eighty or so years, we might as well make it official.” He slid the ring onto her finger, twisting it slightly to go over her knuckle. “Seeing how you bought the wedding bands, I’m assuming your answer will be yes.”

“Yes.” She laughed while staring at the ring.

A howl echoed across the mountain, signaling that the others were shifting. Rayna tried to distinguish who it was but she wasn’t able to, yet, like the others could. Ever since her first shift, Garrett had turned over the ritual at the meeting grounds to Bryce. Her mate still wanted to shift in private, which suited her fine. She wasn’t keen on the idea of the others seeing her naked.

When Garrett lifted her hand, kissing the spot his ring now sat, she smiled. The moon was hidden now, the clouds thick and low in the sky but she could see him perfectly. Her mate. Her lover. Her everything.

The air was crisp and cold but that wasn’t the reason she was now shivering. It was the very thought of him.

“You won’t be cold long,” Garrett said. “Once you start shifting, your body will heat.”

She didn’t tell him the cold wasn’t the reason. The look on her face should be enough. When he smiled at her, she knew he’d figured it out.

Garrett removed his shirt, tossing it to the ground by his feet. “I can warm you up in advance if you’d like.”

Staring at his chest, her gaze roaming the expanse of flesh down to his flat belly, she considered his offer. “And what if the others see us?”

He laughed. “Then I guess they’ll think twice before hunting us from now on.”

“Possibly.”

“Get busy shifting, Rayna. The wolf wants his mate.”

She undressed, watching Garrett as he did the same. When she was naked before him, her breaths misting in the air, the first soft flakes of snow gently swept across her cheek. She looked up, watching their decent and smiled. “It’s snowing.”

“Then I suggest you get your fur coat on before you freeze.”

Rayna watched him shift, jealous at how easy he made it look before concentrating on her own wolf. The process didn’t take as long as it had at first but it still hurt like a bitch. When her screams turned to a wolf’s howl and her whimpers drew Garrett to her side, he nuzzled the side of her face. The snow was falling harder now, the ground turning white around them. Rayna lifted her head and looked at her mate. His fur was coated with snow and the look in his eyes told her what he wanted. The wolf wanted his mate and he was tired of waiting.

Snapping at him playfully, she turned and ran, the heavy footfalls of the wolf following close behind. She’d outrun him for as long as she could but knew he’d eventually he’d catch her. Then, their true marriage would take place. The marriage of her wolf and his. Mated for life regardless of ceremony or rings.

~*~

I hope you enjoyed the flash fiction the Alinar authors had for you today. Be sure to come back tomorrow to see what we have in store but before you go, here's the first of our giveaways.

Contest Rules:

Just comment to this post to enter. (Be sure you click the "I DID THIS" button on the RaffleCopter form after making your blog comment!) After you've made your blog comment, and clicked I DID THIS, the other 3 tasks will open. Do those tasks for extra entries into the contest if you wish.

We have 3 books up for grabs today. ONE winner will snag all three. We'll draw one winner and announce it tomorrow and deliver the prize at the end of the event. Up for grabs: Kallysten's: Fangs & Lullabies, Lily Graison's: The Calling, Alexandra Marell's: The Heart Wants

Alinar Publishing's 12 Days of Christmas

2011-11-10T02:44:00.001Z

Starting December 1st, the Alinar authors will be here for their 12 Days of Christmas celebration. Join them as they post Holiday Flash Fiction, Author Interviews, Holiday memories and Daily Giveaways that include 50 PRIZES over all 12 days. Each day the prize bundles will get larger so come back every day for your chance to win some great books. Mark your calendars and don't miss the fun!

We'll see you December 1st when we start the celebration off with Holiday Themed Flash Fiction from all the authors!

Friday Flash Fiction

2011-06-10T04:09:00.001+01:00

Another Friday, another round of flash fiction from the Alinar authors.

Our new theme suggested by Sue.

Lily has commitments all summer, and Kallysten will go abroad for a couple of weeks, so we're going to put the flash fiction on hiatus for a little while after this post.

This week's theme: a motorbike and a sexy man

A Beauty by Kallysten
400 words featuring the characters from On The Edge

Humming along with the music rising from the dance floor, Leo waved to Julia as he passed by the door. She was busy, a shaker in one hand and a glass in the other, but she threw a wink at him before turning her attention back to her customer. It was the middle of the week and things were slow enough that she would be alone behind the bar for a couple of hours. It wouldn’t be Leo who joined her later for a night shift, though; he had the night off, and he intended to make good use of it.

With a spring to his steps at the thought of what was to come, he sauntered out of the club and started down the street to the garage. He opened it, took the bike out and closed the garage door again, sliding on leather gloves as he glanced up the street. The eyes he met were not those he expected.

“Man, is that the XP67? What a beauty.”

He grinned at the young woman standing just a few feet away on the sidewalk. “She really is.”

The woman grinned back. She was wearing a miniskirt, a tank top and heels, and he could have sworn he had seen her at the club before. Then his gaze stopped on the marks at the crook of her neck, and he knew he had done more than seen her. Her name came back to him in the next second.

“Sue, isn’t it?” he asked. “Are you on your way to the club?”

She gave him a coy little smile, clearly pleased he had remembered her name. “I was. But I wouldn’t say no to a test drive…”

Leo chuckled. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible tonight. I already have a date.”

Right on cue, Brett came out of the club a few yards behind her and started toward them.

“Maybe another time?” Sue said, batting her eyelashes.

“Maybe,” Leo repeated, still grinning. The idea wasn’t unpleasant at all, but he could never agree before Brett had given his okay. “You’ll have to tell me what kind of bike you ride.”

It was her turn to laugh, her throat arched back. “Oh, I don’t ride bikes. I ride bikers.” And with that, she gave a little wave of her hand and was on her way.

Leo was still laughing when Brett joined him.

~*~

Careful What You Wish For by Lily Graison
813 words

“It’s a book.”

Nadine rolled her eyes. “It isn’t just a book, silly. It’s a book of spells.”

Sue flipped through the pages of the book before looking back at the cover. 1,000 spells to conjure a lover. She smiled and looked back at her friend. “Thanks, Nadine. It’s a great birthday present.”

Nadine grinned. “I know. It’s how I met Nick, you know.”

With a raised eyebrow, Sue seriously thought her friend had lost it. Everyone knew Nadine hooked Nick by dancing topless down at the Eager Beaver. Telling everyone it was ‘magic” didn’t make it true.

Flipping back through the book, she stopped on a page at random and read the passage. “So, my knight in shining armor will just…appear if I perform the spells correctly, right?”

Nadine took another sip of her rum and coke. “Yep. Just make sure the man you really want is described in the spell otherwise you’ll end up with someone like that toad, Jerry, that Helen is stuck with.”

Sue shuddered. Being alone was better than ending up with a man like Jerry.

When the last guest left, Sue retreated to the living room, spell book in hand. She grabbed the remaining bottle of wine and sat down to examine her new boyfriend finding spell book. She giggled while reading some of the pages. Most of the entries looked as if twelve year olds wrote them. Did people really think they could conjure a man out of thing air?

By the time she drank the last of the wine, she thought maybe they could. Dashing around the house, she found the ingredients for her spell and carried them outside. Searching the garage for the last ingredient, she pulled it to the porch and inspected it under the lights. It was beat up but would work. The old bicycle was missing a tire but the spell book didn’t say it had to be in perfect working order.

Grabbing the old leather jacket from the pile of things she’d carried outside, Sue draped the worn leather across the seat and added in the rest of the ingredients. She said the appropriate words, lit the candle and waited.

Five minutes later the candle burnt her finger and she cussed, throwing the melting candle away before sucking her fingers into her mouth. That’s when she heard it. The unmistakable sound of a motorcycle. Her heart rate increased and the wine she’d drunk earlier made her head spin more than it had been. She whirled and ran around the house, down the driveway and looked up the street. A single light pierced her vision and she watched in rapt wonder as the light grew brighter, swirling with every color of the rainbow.

The moment the roaring of the motorcycle grew deafening, Sue blinked and rubbed at her eyes when she saw it ride through the mass of light. One moment the street was empty, the next, a hoard of motorcycle riding sex gods descended onto her quiet suburban street. When they stopped in front of her, she swallowed to moisten her now dry mouth.

The lead rider was studying her, his gaze running slow paths over her body. When his gaze lifted and he met her eyes, he gave her a dimpled smile. “Hello Sue.”

Sue stared wide-eyed at him, too speechless to utter a sound,

“I hear it’s your birthday.”

She nodded again and looked at the other men lining the street. One biker in particular drew her interest. He looked familiar. So did the girl sitting behind him. When their eyes locked, Sue knew she’d been had.

“Somehow I knew you’d pick the motorcycle riding love spell.” When Nadine hoped off the bike and removed her helmet, handing it to Nick, Sue wanted to kill her. She waited until her friend joined her on the sidewalk before throwing the spell book at her.

“You set me up.”

Nadine giggled. “Yeah but you have to admit, the outcome was worth it.”

“Oh?” Sue said. “How do you figure that?”

Nadine nodded her head toward the man on the lead bike, all two-hundred leather bound pounds of him. “Max has wanted to meet you since you caught sight of you down at the Eager Beaver. The man has a serious case of the hots for you.”

Sue turned her head to look at him. He was a yummy specimen. She grinned when he cocked his head at her and patted the seat behind him. What the hell, she thought. It was her birthday. So what if she conjured a love spell to find her dream man and her friend made sure he actually appeared. Another glance at Max and Sue knew she’d owe her friend big time. But later. Right now she had a biker who hadn’t taken his eyes off of her and her thighs itched to straddle that beast.

~*~

Coming Home by Candy/Alexandra
1000 words

The bike was a beauty. A 1958 Harly, duo glide, if she wasn’t mistaken. And she rarely was.
The guy had even come in period gear. Hair quiffed and slicked back, Lewis leathers. On his feet a pair of classic Thor 50/50 motorcross boots. The guy had surely ridden straight out of her dreams and into this field.

As if he’d read her mind, the guy looked up and a prickle of excitement danced its way along her spine, made the fine hairs on her arm tingle. Something about his eyes, the way he seemed to look right through her. The way he sat the bike, as if he were almost a part of it.

She couldn’t have stopped herself crossing the field if she’d wanted to. The chatter, the noise of the bikes that had gathered here to celebrate the biggest, the fastest and the best, all faded to a background rumble as she walked past them towards the vintage Harly and the rider with the most mesmerising eyes she’d ever seen. Raising a hand, he crooked a finger, beckoned her over and pointed to the pillion-seat.

“Want to ride?”

The rich velvet of his voice melted something deep inside of her. Was he kidding? Of course she wanted a ride. Reaching for the spare helmet, she said, “Didn’t see you arrive.”

He shrugged and reached for his own helmet, kick-started the bike and braced it steady. “Few do. Get on.”

Not a man of many words, she noticed. But then when you looked like him, who needed words? Settling herself astride the seat she lifted her feet onto the foot-pegs and secured her hands on the grab-rails. He smelled of leather and some exotic after-shave she couldn’t place.

“Ready,” she said above the grumbling hum of the bike. Opening the throttle, it pulled away, smooth as butter, past the other bikes and out through the farm-gate. No one seemed to notice them go, or show any interest in the beautiful machine and it’s enigmatic rider. But then the field was filled with vintage dream machines. This was just one of many.

Man, but there was nothing better than being on the back of a bike. The open road, a hot guy driving. She smiled, wishing Karen had seen her go. The highway flashed by, fields, Brenner’s farm. The biker took a left, left again, turning them back towards the field where they’d rejoin the rally and where hopefully Karen would be waiting and watching open-mouthed as she drove past.

Ahead was the field, filled with bikes, men and women in leathers milling about, admiring the rides, the custom paintwork. As they ground to a halt, she noticed that it had been raining. The ground was soft, the wheel-ruts filled with muddy water. And as she took off her helmet and shook out her hair she heard Elvis crooning, When My Blue Moon Turns Cold Again.

She loved that song.

“Thanks,” she said as the rider turned around and gave her a heart-breaking smile. “That was…awesome.”

There was that prickle along her spine again. The biker pulled off his helmet and placed it carefully on the handlebars. “Yours is a cherry-coke, right?”

She cocked her head, wondering why the guy looked suddenly very familiar. “How did you know that?”

“It’s what you always drink. Come on.”

Bemused, she followed him. They were in another part of the field,and the music was live, she realised. A pretty good Elvis impersonator strutted his stuff on the stage.

“He’s good,” she said to her companion.

“The best,” he replied. “We were lucky to get him. Knows the guy who owns the farm. Appearance is a personal favour by all accounts.”

“Cool.”

“So, what’s your name, pretty lady?”

Oh lord, she thought. Flattery like that is going to get you everywhere.

“Sue,” she answered, casually as she could. “Yours?”

“Daniel, but most folks call me Dan.”

“Been coming here long?”

He leaned a casual arm against the bar. “Since ’58. You?”

She couldn’t help frowning. “My first rally was 2005. What did year did you say?”

“Since ’58. Been doing this circuit for the past five years. Ever since I finished my stint in the army.”

Now it was getting freaky.

“Hey,” he said when he saw her shiver. “Here, let me.” Shrugging out of his leather jacket, he reached around her and draped it over her shoulder. “Better?”

Hugging the jacket to her, she relished the lingering warmth and then turned, startled as someone behind her gave a loud cry. The woman held the pocket radio away from herself as if she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

“Oh god, I can’t believe it.” The woman raised stricken eyes to the gathering crowd. “They shot the president. Kennedy’s been shot.”

Sue gripped at the bar to hold herself up, because her legs had suddenly stopped working. She felt Dan’s arm solid around her back, holding her. “I got you,” he whispered. “It’s a terrible shock. Just breathe.”

Around them the crowd fell silent as they listened to the announcement. Leaning against Dan’s solid warmth, she looked around and realised that everyone was in period dress, except her.

This was no dream, that was for sure.

“It’s okay,” Dan whispered. “You’re home now and I’m never losing you again.”

“Home?” Raising her face, she gazed into his deep blue eyes, that familiar mouth and suddenly, she remembered where she’d seen him before.

“Dan?”

He smiled and leaned down for a kiss.

Friday Flash Fiction

2011-06-03T04:40:00.006+01:00

Another Friday, another round of flash fiction from the Alinar authors.

Our new theme is from our prompt list, with cameos from a special lady for whose support we are very grateful. If you would like to suggest a theme you want to see us tackle, we're always looking for new prompts! Just leave us a note in the comments.

This week's theme: Fight

Mine by Lily Graison
531 words

“You want to fight me?”

“That’s what I said!”

Kieran scratched his head as he looked at the brute before him. “I just asked if I could buy her a drink. I wasn’t moving in on your girl.”

“I’m not his girl!” The brunette he’d spent the last half hour watching stood and placed her hands on her hips. She cocked her head to one side and threw a glare at the brute. “Get lost, Mack. The restraining order says you can’t be anywhere near me.”

Restraining order? Kieran looked from the brunette to the brute and shook his head before lifting his hands, palms out. “Look. This is all one big misunderstanding. I just offered a pretty girl a drink. I don’t want to get in the middle of a domestic dispute.”

The brunette smiled at him before crossing the distance and taking his arm. “There is no dispute. This lunk-head can’t take no for an answer. Now, if I’m not mistaken, you offered me a drink and I’m dying of thirst.”

Kieran followed her back to the bar, ordered her drink and watched her take a sip before looking over his shoulder. The brute was still there. Still staring a hole in the back of his head. Regardless of what this little beauty said, he’d not walk away from this without a fight. Was it worth it?

When she turned and smiled at him, he decided it was. He winked at her before standing to his full height and turning to face the irate man at his back. “What do you say we just get this over with? I really don’t feel like looking over my shoulder all night.”

“Fine by me!”

Kieran nodded his head and smiled. “Right then.” Glancing back at the brunette, he said, “This will only take a moment.”

He followed the brute out back and when the man turned, he used the one weapon that seemed to work the best. He smiled, showed his fangs, and lunged. The brute screamed, tried to run, but failed. When his lifeless body hit the ground, Kieran wiped his mouth and returned to the bar.

When he spotted the brunette where he left her, he took his time walking back. Her glass was nearly empty and she smiled when he sat back down beside her. “I don’t think you’ll have to worry about him again,” he said. “Now, how about another drink?”

She smiled. “I’d love one.”

Kieran order her another drink and watched her take a sip before saying, “I don’t think you told me your name.”

“Oh!” She giggled and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “It’s Kiki.”

Kieran raised an eyebrow. “Kiki?” She nodded her head. Kiki. Could he spend eternity with a girl named Kiki? His teeth itched just looking at her. He didn’t know if eternity would work out but a few hundred years might. He smiled as she finished her second drink and ordered her another. At this rate she would be his before midnight. She’d have a hell of a hangover come morning but it wouldn’t last. Once she realized she was like him, she wouldn’t care. Vampires rarely did.

~*~

Ego Boost from Kallysten
700 words with the characters from On The Edge

As he crossed the room toward the office, Brett shifted his shoulders uncomfortably and passed a hand through his damp hair, hyper-conscious that he was wearing nothing more than a t-shirt and a pair of sweats. He didn’t like to go down to the club dressed so casually, but the call from security that had pulled him from the shower had requested that he come right away. He entered the office, closing the door behind him and shutting out most of the music and noise.

John, the head of security, was standing near his desk, arms crossed and looming over two pretty women, both of them sitting and glaring at each other, both of them looking somewhat disheveled. Leo was a few feet away, leaning back against the glass wall that closed off Brett’s actual office.

“I had nothing to do with it,” Leo said at once. The corners of his mouth were twitching as though he were trying to suppress a grin.

Frowning, Brett looked at John, who answered without ever dropping his intimidation act. “These ladies here thought it would be a good idea to start a fight at the bar.”

Brett blinked twice. A fight? In the club? He had seen and heard many things over the years, but this was a first. And two women, too? Really?

He had a good memory for faces, and now that he looked at them again, he thought he could recognize them. He’d seen both of them at the club before. Together; they were friends – or at least, their attitude had made him think they were, but if they had been fighting, maybe not. And he was pretty sure he had given the go-ahead to Leo accompanying one of them home a week or so earlier. Was that why Leo was there now?

He cleared his throat. “You’re Kiki, right?”

One of the two women looked at him in surprise. A light blush colored her cheeks and she answered a little breathlessly. “Hi. Yes. You remember me?”

Brett nodded. “Do you want to tell me what this was about?”

She threw a quick glance toward the other woman and her blush only grew brighter. “It was… nothing, really. Just a small disagreement between friends.”

“Go ahead,” Leo drawled without moving from his place against the wall. “Tell him what you disagreed about.”

John coughed lightly. “You look like you’ve got it under control, boss,” he said, sounding uncharacteristically uncomfortable. “I’ll go back to my post if that’s okay.”

Brett waved him off before looking at the women again. Both of them were blushing now, and neither seemed ready to explain anything. Brett was getting annoyed. He threw a hard look at Leo. “You were there, weren’t you? You tell me.”

Leo shrugged. He didn’t try to conceal his grin anymore. “They were arguing about which of them would ask me home tonight.”

It took a few seconds before the words started to make sense, and even when they did Brett could only gape at the women.

“You were fighting over Leo?” he asked, taken aback.

The women’s guilty looks answered better than words could have.

Brett huffed. “Do you have any idea how insufferable he’s going to be now, with women fighting over him?”

Leo laughed, and even kept laughing when Brett glared at him.

Holding back a sigh, Brett made Kiki and her friend promise they wouldn’t fight again, or at least not in the club. He also assured them – and Leo – that he wouldn’t give his permission for Leo to accompany anyone home for a long, long time, so they needn’t argue about him again.

“Did you mean that?” Leo asked once Brett had allowed the women to leave.

Brett went over to him, grabbed the back of his neck and drew him in for a biting kiss.

“What do you think?” he rumbled when he pulled back.

Before Leo could answer, someone knocked timidly on the door. Brett turned just in time to see the door open and Kiki and her friend peek in.

“If we can’t have him,” Kiki asked, “could we at least watch you two?”

Leo laughed again. It was Brett’s turn to blush.

~*~

Honour Is For Fools by Candy/Alexandra
970 Words

There were more than he’d expected. But then, was not the Lady Kiki’s beauty legendary? Every man capable of wielding a weapon seemed to have travelled to the tournament in the hope of winning her hand. And at the end of the day, the last man standing would do just that.

Sir Everard leaped from his dragon, handing the huffing beast over to the waiting groom and retrieved his weapon-pack. Short and long sword, battleaxe and a double-headed mace. Having glimpsed the legendary beauty at the young King’s coronation, he was leaving nothing to chance. With his scarred face, he may not be the most handsome man in the field, but he would win the day, or die in the attempt. He had never yet cried yield, and today would not be the exception.

“You are late, my lord. They have already started the first round.” The steward beckoned him urgently. “Come, I have placed you in the second bout, along with Sir Stanley and Sir Timothy. You have no objections to that?”

Sir Everard allowed himself a wicked grin. What were those two lily-livered fools doing here? Sir Stanley could hardly stand upright without help and Sir Timothy would probably soil himself and cry yield before the bout even started.

“No,” he said, adjusting the straps of his leather body-armour. “I have no objections. Who will stand as fourth? Come man, you do mean to give me some competition this day?”

The steward could barely contain his grin. “Sir Brickhouse. I trust he will be sufficient competition for you?”

The news only gave him slight pause. “I’d heard he was dead.”

“No.” The steward pointed to the huge mountain of a man standing at the edge of the arena. “Very much alive, as you can see.”

And very much intent on the prize, too. Sir Everard followed the giant’s gaze, which was firmly fixed on the dais upon which sat the Lady Kiki and all the other noblewomen. Sir Everard gave an experimental swing of his axe. Not in a million lifetimes was the beast getting within ten yards of the fair lady. His fair lady; for that was the only way he would allow this day to end.

A round of noisy cheering signalled the end of the first bout. That field had yielded to a man to Sir Henry, who would prove troublesome, but not impossible to beat in the final confrontation. Sir Everard strapped on his sword belt as the crowd fell silent and the Lady Kiki rose to acknowledge the first victor.

The tantalising glimpse of her cleavage, as she leaned from the dais to crown Sir Henry with a laurel wreath, sharpened his resolve like nothing else.

Smoothing back his hair, he straightened and moved forward for the presentation of the favours. Each of them would receive a token from the Prize, but only one would return it at the end of the day. It was to all intents, an auction. An impoverished nobleman selling his daughter to the highest bidder. Something that was happening with grim regularity these days as times were so hard. Why settle for one daughter-price, when you could have that multiple times over? The more beautiful the Prize, the bigger the field and the higher the entry fee.

Each of them would pay for the right to fight. One would win the day and the others would either pay the ultimate price, or leave with tail between legs and a considerably lighter purse.

Moving forward, he was near enough to take in the exotic scent of her perfume. To glimpse the surprising sparkle of unshed tears in her violet eyes. With a deep breath, she pasted a smile on her lips and tied a silk handkerchief to the handle of Sir Brickhouse’s sword. The man gave her a leery grin and then turning to the crowd, held the sword aloft and roared out his battle-cry.

Behind him, the lady Kiki bit her lip and briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them and reached for his token, Sir Everard saw that her hands were shaking.

“He will not win,” he whispered, as she tied it to the handle of his axe.

“Will not win?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You have noticed that he is twice the size of any man here?”

“He may be twice the size, but I am twice the man.”

Her lips quirked. “Four times the man would not beat him. May the gods strengthen your arm, Sir Knight.”

An impatient cough from behind told him his audience was over. He made to step away, them impulsively, he stepped back and leaned close.

“I will win you your freedom, my lady. When I take this day I will give you leave to marry where you choose.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You would do that?”

He had no time to answer and as he walked from the dais could only wonder why he had made so rash an offer. Hadn’t he travelled for five weeks to win this woman who had haunted his dreams and his every waking hour? Why then had he offered to set her free rather than simply marry her on the spot as any victor would?

Because it would be the honourable thing to do? He laughed to himself and stretched his arms above his head to loosen them ready for the fight. Honour was for fools. As he mentally prepared for the fight, he noticed that she was watching him intently, her eyes never leaving him. The resignation in her expression now tempered by hope.

Lifting his sword, he sighted along the blade and then saluted, first to the crowd and then to her. Her nod of encouragement, the warmth of her smile was all he needed. If honour was all he won today, then so be it.

With a roar, he threw himself into the fray.

Friday Flash Fiction

2011-05-27T03:49:00.000+01:00

Another Friday, another round of flash fiction from the Alinar authors.

Our new theme was given to us in a comment by Tonya. If you would like to suggest a theme you want to see us tackle, we're always looking for new prompts! Just leave us a note in the comments.

This week's theme: Outdoor adventure.

Adventurous by Kallysten
300 words featuring the characters from Out of the Box.

“You are impossible!” I hissed, looking around us in worry. It was so dark that I could barely see where I was going.

Anando’s laugh echoed against the brick walls of the narrow cul de sac. “You keep saying that and yet, there you are.”

The worst part was, he was right. I had needed nothing more than a smile and a wink from him to follow his lead. Even with the air conditioning at full blast, the club had felt too hot after a couple hours of dancing, and a bit of fresh air had sounded like a great idea. I just hadn’t expected him to take me to a back alley.

Then again, this was Anando. By now, I should have learned to expect anything from him.

As he guided me until my back was pressed against a wall, I craned my neck to look toward the end of the alley. It was at a slight angle, enough so to block the view from the street, but my heart didn’t stop thundering.

I rested my hand on top of his on my thigh and prevented it from drifting upward. “Someone could see us,” I whispered urgently.

“It never stopped us before,” he murmured, his lips so close to the scars on my neck that electricity sparked through me.

My resistance was wavering. I searched for another reason to say no – because he was right, the possibility that we might get caught had never been a deal breaker – but I couldn’t think of anything. He always makes it hard to think.

And thinking wasn’t the only thing that was hard…

“You’re impossible,” I said again, at a loss for anything more decisive.

Anando did have the most seductive laugh I had ever heard. How could I have resisted, really?

~*~

Lost by Lily Graison

(1,009 words - deleted scene from Wicked: Tempt Me Not)

Holly slammed into Devin’s back when he suddenly stopped. There was barely enough light to see the path and the air had cooled until she could officially call it cold. The thin jacket she wore did little good but she drew the material closer to her body anyway.

She took a step away from him and looked at their surroundings. Her eyes widened when they landed on the clearing. The same clearing they’d passed an hour ago. "Oh. My. God."

He gave a light chuckle before scratching the side of his neck. "Guess we took a wrong turn somewhere."

If she weren’t on the verge of a major freak-out she would have slapped him. "How could you do this?"

"What? It's not like I did it on purpose," Devin said as he looked from her to the clearing. "Just got turned the wrong way is all."

Holly shot him a look that actually made him take a step away from her. She studied his face. The look of concern etched across his features looked sincere and she almost felt bad for yelling until she looked into his eyes. They were dancing with mischief and she had never wanted to kill anyone like she did now. "You did this on purpose!"

"What?” He rolled his eyes at her before turning away. "Are you insane? Why the hell would I purposely get us lost?"

Because you’ve unsuccessfully tried to get into my bed for three days now? Holly laughed before shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. “Why else?” she said. "I should have known you were up to something. You planned this from the very beginning didn’t you?"

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did! This is the part of the plan that I should have seen coming. It almost worked too, Devin.”

“What almost worked?”

“Get me out here, get me to trust you and then - BAM! You so conveniently get us lost and leave me completely at your mercy."

"Holly, just calm down," Devin told her as he walked over to her. "I can get us back to the cabin."

"Oh, you've done such a great job of it so far. God, I’m such an idiot!” She paced away from him, ranting about his schemes and shot him a glare before recounting all the things he’d done to her since meeting him. Rock star may have been on his resume but conniving, sex-crazed fiend was what he really was.

"Holly…"

"I can’t believe this. I should have known but did I listen to that little voice inside my head?" Holly asked herself as she continued to pace. "No, of course not!"

"Holly…"

"One wicked little grin from you and what did I do? I followed you out here just like you wanted and now look where I am," she said turning in a circle and pointing at the forest as she did. "The middle of no-fucking-where!"

"Holly!"

Holly stopped and turned to look at him and she inhaled deeply before letting it out slowly. He was staring at her, the picnic basket with the remains of their lunch in one hand and the blankets in the other. She watched him as he put the basket on the ground and set the blankets on top of it before walking the short distance to her and stopping in front of her.

"We're not lost," Devin said calmly.

"Oh really," Holly said, sarcastically. "Then what exactly do you call it?"

Devin sighed heavily before running a hand through his hair and looking around. "Okay, maybe a little lost," he said quietly, "But I can get us back."

"Then why haven't you?"

"Oh hell, woman!" Devin finally yelled before he started pacing. "It's fucking dark out here for one thing and your constant chattering hasn't helped. Do you honestly think I want to spend the night out here with your bitchy self?"

Holly shrunk back as he started yelling and watched him talk to himself as she had done only moments before. She sighed as she looked up at the darkening sky before looking back at him. He was still pacing and running his hands through his hair. A string of curses followed and it didn't take her long to realize he was getting just as irritated as she was.

With another long, cleansing breath, Holly's shoulders slumped before she sat down on the basket and propped her head in her hands.

That's the way she was when Devin finally stopped cussing. He cocked his head to one side and grinned down at her. "Comfy now?"

"Might as well be."

Devin sighed before shoving his hands in his coat pockets. "Look, for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to turn out like this."

Holly watched his face and he seemed to be sincere but she still had her doubts. He was almost completely bathed in shadows from the trees and what little light was left danced along the outskirts of the trees. The wildlife seemed to have sprang to life in a matter of minutes and she looked around her nervously. "So, um - can you get us out of here?"

"Tonight?" Devin asked. "Not sure."

Another long sigh before Holly scrubbed at her face with her hands. "Okay, so I guess we're camping then?" she asked. Holly glanced around at the clearing when Devin did. The trees would block the majority of wind but they'd still need a heat source. “We’ll freeze out here all night.”

He turned and kicked the leaves and grass out of a small spot. "Well, I guess we need us a bonfire then, yeah?"

Holly looked over at him when he spoke and for a brief second she thought she saw him smile. Would he go to so much trouble just to get her alone and have her completely dependent on him? To try and seduce her in the wilderness? She thought about it for a minute before she smiled to herself. You bet your sweet ass he would.

~*~

There Are Worst Things Than Me in the Forest by Candy/Alexandra

1550 words

Only the birds saw her sneaking out of the secret gate in the palace garden wall. Their sharp vision saw through the invisibility cloak she’d stolen, no borrowed, from the court magician. She was fully intending to hang it back on its hook in his alchemy-chamber as soon as she returned. When she’d seen it unattended, its owner nowhere in sight, she hadn’t been able to resist a rare jaunt away from the confines of the palace.

Away from her boring duties as princess in waiting.

Making her way along the path that flanked the enchanted forest, she couldn’t help shivering. Whether with the excitement of breaking free, or because of the tales told by her old nurse of fierce wolves and bloodthirsty brigands, of evil witches and greedy dwarves, she could not tell.

“I’m telling the queen. I’m telling the queen,” the old crow croaked. Princess Lania ignored the spiteful prattletale, picked up the hem of her cloak and started to run. She had no idea how much magic was left in the cloak but was determined to achieve at least one dream this summer’s afternoon.

Passing the travellers on the road, who had no clue she was even there, let alone that they walked right by their princess, was a thrill such as she had never experienced. When she pitched a farm boy’s hat onto the road, holding it for a moment in front of his astounded eyes, she could hardly contain the laughter. The sparrows, her dearest friends, flew alongside her, along with a gaggle of chattering magpies, who would not rest until they found out where she was going.

Ahead of her, she spied the Lake of Blue Waters, glistening in the afternoon sun. She’d crossed it once, on the Golden ship, to attend the coronation of the king in The Kingdom on the Other Side, but though she had often fantasised of doing so, she had never yet experienced the pleasures of swimming in its clear waters.

Something she was putting right the moment she reached its shores.

Finding a secluded spot on a shady bank, she dropped the cloak and started on the lacings of her gown. That too fell to the ground, along with her chemise. Warm air ghosted over her bare skin and she took a moment to luxuriate in the sheer joy of freedom. As she twisted her hair into a knot, she dipped a tentative toe into the water.

Heaven. The water was silky smooth on her skin, warm and inviting. She waded in with a sigh and leaned back, closing her eyes against the blindling brightness of the sun and allowed herself to just be.

Was there anything more wonderful than this?

The loud snap of a twig brought her to her senses so sharply, she almost drowned in her efforts to get back to the shore and the safety of her cloak. Grabbing the cloak, she flung it over her shoulders, and looked around.

Nothing. Screwing up her eyes, she peered into the trees skirting the lake. This time her shivers were nothing to do with excitement and everything to do with the dark shape now emerging into the light.

A man. Tall, and in peasant’s clothing. A felt hat hanging from his back. Stout boots on his feet. He stood for a moment, hands on hips, head sweeping from side to side, missing nothing as he surveyed the scene.

Princess Lania eyed her clothes, lying discarded at her feet and carefully, she stooped to retrieve them and hide them safely under the cloak.

Unfortunately, the man saw them too and in two strides was upon them and lifting them up, a puzzled expression clouding his features. He brought the bundle to his nose and gave a deep sniff. Then he sniffed the air and a slow smile formed on his lips. Putting out a hand, he batted the air between them.

Princess Lania ducked away from the probing hand. She’d almost cried out when he’d tested the air between them and pressed her lips together to stop herself making a sound.

Don’t panic. He can’t see you. You can easily skirt him and get back to the palace unharmed. But only if you don’t panic.

She would worry about explaining the loss of her gown later. Carefully, she stepped away, too late realising she should have been watching where she stepped in her bare feet. A sharp thorn pricked her heel and she couldn’t help the gasp of pain.

The man’s head turned towards the sound. He sniffed again.

Princess Lania froze. Perhaps keeping still was the better plan. The man would grow bored, realised there was nothing here and leave.

Then she heard a low chuckle followed by a soft curse.

Looking down, she saw herself as plain as day. The cloak had indeed been low on magic charge. She was standing, naked as the day she was born out in the world without an escort and being ogled by a man with the most compelling eyes she’d ever seen.

Not good. Not good at all.

Of course, being a princess, she was well equipped to cope with such emergencies. Straightening her spine, she held out her hand.

“My clothes, if you please.”

“You want these?”

The man held up the bundle, his gaze never leaving her. How dare he ogle her so openly. She would have him thrown into the deepest dungeon for this.

Lifting her chin, she said, “Do you know who I am? Hand me my clothes this instant.”

The man shook his head. “Think I prefer you without them,” he said, opening the pack slung over one shoulder. “A woman like you shouldn’t wear clothes.”

“How dare you. You insolent…” Lunging at his pack, she attempted to wrestle her gown from his grip. He held her off easily, circling her with an arm hard as an iron band and pulled her against the wall of his chest.

“Let me go,” she demanded, in a voice more shaky than she would have liked. This close she had no doubt of his superior strength. How foolish she’d been

“My father will pay a good reward for my safe return. Take me back to the palace and I’ll see you receive riches beyond your wildest dreams.” Tilting back her head, she struggled to look up into his face.

“Now, what would I do with a reward?”

“Spend it on someone to wash your clothes, for a start,” she returned tartly. “You smell like an old fur rug.”

His rumbling laugh sent shivers racing over her skin. “Got all the reward I need right here,” he said with another laugh.

“You sir, are not a gentleman.” She couldn’t even kick him, for even if she could move, he was so hard and solid he would not feel it.

“No, mistress, I am not.”

He let her go, sliding her down his big body, but keeping fast her hand in his enormous paw.

She looked at him, then. Into eyes that were even more startling close up. They seemed to glow a deep amber, catching the sun, reflecting the light in a way she’d never before seen.

Her clothes landed at her feet.

“Dress yourself,” he ordered. “Before…just dress yourself.”

She couldn’t get into her chemise and gown fast enough. Laced the bodice with shaking fingers and slid her feet into her slippers. He bent and picked up the cloak.

For a moment she thought he meant to steal it and panic gripped her. The court magician would be madder than a scorched frog if he found his precious cloak missing.

“You’ll be in trouble if you don’t return this.”

She accepted it gratefully, feeling a little less vulnerable now she was clothed. Those eyes were still watching her, seeing right through her, but the earlier air of menace had receded.

“Do I have anything to fear from you, sir?” She might as well find out her fate now.

“You do not. But perhaps a princess should have more sense than to come out here alone. There are worst things than me in the forest.”

“Will you walk me back?” He was right. Without the cloak, she was like a sitting duck to a huntsman.

“I’ll see you safely back, don’t you worry about that.”

He touched two fingers to his forehead and then to her surprise, turned and melted back into the trees from which he’d appeared. One moment he was there, the next she was alone.

She broke into a run. Damn the man. If he wasn’t going to be a gentleman, she would just have to get back on her own. Then she would return the cloak and then she would sit in the sun until her hair dried. How she would explain wet hair to her nurse, she had no idea.

The homeward path was, thankfully, deserted. She looked over her shoulder more than once, convinced that she was being followed. But when she turned, the road behind her was empty. She quickened her pace.

When she reached the secret gate, she turned once more to make sure she was alone and then she saw it. The large white wolf standing beside the ancient oak. It nodded twice, then spun around and disappeared into the forest.

And she knew, she just knew she would be seeing it again.

Friday Flash Fiction

2011-05-20T03:47:00.000+01:00

Another Friday, another round of flash fiction from the Alinar authors.

Our new theme was taken from our list of prompts. If you would like to suggest a theme you want to see us tackle, we're always looking for new prompts! Just leave us a note in the comments.

This week's theme: Broken.

Broken (Wo)Man by Kallysten
300 words, a 'deleted scene' from Blurred Bloodlines

Kate wasn’t used to crying. Even as a child, she had never liked to cry. Too many people did when something bad happened, and it never helped anything. Tears didn’t chase demons away. Tears didn’t bring back dead people. Tears did nothing more than blur someone’s vision, leaving them weak and empty.

Kate wasn’t crying now, but she did feel as weak and empty as though she had.

She leaned back against the wall and let herself slide down until she was sitting on the floor. On the other side of the bedroom, in the corner, curled into a ball as though by making himself small enough he’d disappear, was a man Kate loved. A man she had lost months ago, gone to the demons dimension after falling through a breach.

A man who had been returned to them in a wooden box – a coffin. A man who was now human when he had been vampire, and whom she could barely recognize.

A man who was terrified of her and didn’t dare look at her.

She wanted to help him more than anything else in the world, but she didn’t know what to do. She had tried talking to him, but he went into hysterics if she got too close. When she had tried touching him, he had jerked back so violently his head had hit the wall and left a trace of blood there.

She had sent a message to Marc, but she didn’t know where he was exactly, or how long he would need to come back. He had to come back, though. Who else could help Blake but his Sire? Who would know how to put back together the jagged pieces of this broken man who had been Blake – and heal Kate’s heart at the same time?

~*~

Breathless by Lily Graison
(344 words)- original piece from unfinished story

They say ones life is a series of choices but what if our paths were already set. The choices we make only steer us to an inevitable course with the outcome the same. How painful the journey is, is up to us.

Rachael Starnes stared at the house while rain splattered the road and ran down her face, obscuring her tears. The numbing tingle of the cold, wet drops hitting her flesh let her know she was still alive. Her heart lay shattered in hundreds of pieces, the pain a stabbing reminder of what she’d lost.

Her future stood inside that house, smiling along with the dozens of happy faces all alight with laughter. That should be her in there. It would have been if only…

She closed her eyes and saw him that first day. Standing at the foot of the bed staring at her in wonder. She’d heard of him from the others but had never seen him. The moment she did, she was lost. The sadness in his eyes caused her heart to ache.

Months of smiles, small talk and secret lunches led to one glorious night. A night that changed her life forever. The night his wife woke from her coma. Being her nurse all those years drove the guilt deeper. Made her regret for loving a married man that much more profound.

How had things gone so wrong? For over a year she’d lived her life in total bliss and in one horrifying, glorious second, her world crumbled before her eyes and she was helpless to stop it. The life she’d dreamed of sifted through her fingers like broken glass and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Someone stepped in front of the window. Rachel pushed her wet hair out of her eyes and saw him. Even from across the street she could see that same sadness she’s seen for so long on his face. He lifted his hand, fingers splayed against the glass and for one brief second, they were one.

Then he was gone.

~*~

Excerpt from Setting Him Free by Alexandra Marell

550 words

(I don't have time to write an original piece this week as I have house guests so I've posted an excerpt instead. The whole of Setting Him Free is available to read free at my Candy/Alexandra Yahoo forum.)

Taylor Bradford stared at the seat in front of him, trying not to think about the tattered remnants of his life. A painful cramp tightened his arm. Without moving too much, he tried to twist into a more comfortable position, taking in a deep, calming breath as he fought against the hysteria momentarily threatening to overwhelm him. You wanted this, he reminded himself and closed his eyes because the woman with the bouncy pony-tail and the neat little business suit was still giving him that wide-eyed look she’d adopted on spotting the handcuffs.

He couldn’t hide them so he let his mind go blank and just endured her look, of what? Pity? Concern? Whatever it is, I don’t want it, he thought. Why can’t she be scared of me? I could cope with that.

Inspiring fear was his gift and what had made him so good. It was what made him a survivor. And what had brought him to this. But every look that told him what a sad, pathetic creature he’d become ripped out another little part of him. Put up another bar to his cage. It was a bad place to be.

Even with his eyes closed, he could still feel her gazing at him. What was it with women and tragic figures? He could be a mass murderer for all she knew and yet here she was, giving him that I could be the one to reform you look. What the hell would she do if he gave her a real eyeful, let her see exactly what he’d become. An empty shell. Nothing.

The policeman sitting next to him prodded him with his elbow, something he’d been doing periodically to show who was boss. Taylor shifted in his seat, raised his eyebrows and lifted his handcuffed wrist a few inches to show he wasn’t going anywhere. The man flashed him a toothy grin and leaned across to take a drink from the attendant.

Stupid man. Jacket gaping open, gun on display for God’s sake. Taylor already had it planned. Two seconds, that’s all it would take. Grab the gun, point it at the nuns. Get the pilot to fly him somewhere safe. Easy, but then what? It would start all over again. That’s what.

Pair of incompetents, the both of them; should have had him in the window seat at the very least. Hell, he shouldn’t even be on a commercial flight. But then they all knew what was going to happen. They were all willing participants in this carefully plotted charade.

Taylor chose a whisky, downed it in one and saluted the policemen with his empty glass. The man beside him muttered something under his breath. The other ripped open a packet of peanuts and tipped back his head to pour them into his mouth. They thought they had Taylor’s number. A pussy-cat on a lead? He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat. They really were stupid, stupid men.

And the blonde who was now hidden behind a magazine? He hadn’t expected her to make him smile. It seemed like a long time since he’d smiled. Perhaps there was something left in him, after all.

Friday Flash Fiction

2011-05-17T18:36:00.000+01:00

Chains & Shackles by Kallysten
400 words featuring the characters from CheckMate

Boxes were piled up along the walls, testament to a full day’s worth of packing. Vincent’s townhouse wasn’t very big, and all things considered, he and Lilia didn’t have a lot of belongings, but it was still taking more time and effort than he would have expected to pack up for the move. At least, they were starting to see the end of the tunnel. All that was left was the small bedroom – little more than an oversized closet, really – that had served as Vincent’s office.

His weapons were in there: a generous supply of stakes, a couple of crossbows, a taser he rarely ever used, and a sword. Lilia packed these without commenting while Vincent sorted through his paperwork and trashed what he didn’t need anymore.

They had been working for a few minutes when the clanking of metal drew Vincent’s gaze to Lilia. She was turning shackles and chains in her hands, her mouth set on a weird little grin as she watched the polished metal. The grin became almost as sharp as her fangs when she looked up at Vincent.

“I was wondering where you had hidden these.”

Vincent shrugged and kept his expression as neutral as he could manage. Sometimes, Lilia was hard to read, and she could go from laughter to anger in the blink of an eye. He couldn’t begin to fathom what was going on in her head at that moment. She had worn these chains before, just hours after they had become Mates. She hadn’t been happy at the time; not happy at all. They had never talked about it but Lilia could hold a grudge with the best of them.

“There’s plenty of fun things to do with shackles,” Lilia said, her eyes now sparkling with gold flakes. “Do you want to try now or should we wait until we move to the house?”

Vincent laughed, both relieved and surprised. “Fun things?” he repeated. “What kind of fun things?”

Her teeth gleamed when her grin widened. Vincent thought he could even see her fangs. “If you need to ask,” she said in that low, almost purring voice that never failed to send shivers down Vincent’s spine, “maybe I should enlighten you now.”

Gathering the chains to hold them in one hand, she held the other one to Vincent, an eyebrow arched in invitation. Chuckling, he took her hand. Packing could wait.

~*~

Becoming More than Friends by Candy/Alexandra

1, 150 words

Great, so now her hands had gone dead. They’d twisted themselves into such a knot trying to get out of the shackles, she had no feeling left.

Well, at least it wouldn’t hurt when she slapped Mr Smartass Jed Conrad across that smug face of his. When she got these things, off that was.

“Will you quit wriggling,” he muttered over his shoulder. “You’re cutting off my circulation.”

“Good!” Maddie wriggled some more, trying to get as far away from him as possible. Difficult when they were shackled together, back to back on an old mattress in some castle dungeon, judging by the stink. God only knew where they’d been taken.

They’ll never guess we’re journalists, he’d said, two minutes before the men in black pounced and hauled them both into an equally black van. They’d missed El Presidente and his controversial address completely, had their cameras confiscated and could only hope that they’d been abducted by security and not the factions who roamed this region.

“Why did you have to go and yell like that? We were supposed to be blending, not taking part in a screaming contest.”

“There was a scorpion in my headscarf.” She shuddered at the memory. “You’d have done the same. And you thought kissing me would make a good distraction?”

“I was trying to shut you up,” he ground out. “Hold on, I think I’ve got it.”

“You’ve opened the shackles?”

“No, I’ve managed to restore circulation to my hands. I’d like to still be able to use them when we get out of this.”

Suddenly she didn’t want any distance between them. Irritating as Jed was, he was her only link to home right now. Together, they would get through this.”

“Where do you think we are?” she said, straining her ears for sounds of cheering, of the marching bands following El Presidente’s procession.

“Most probably at the old fort. Don’t worry,” he said, softening his tone for the first time since they’d been taken. “They probably just want all journalists out of the way for the speech and inevitable crack-down that will follow.”

“You think it’s the military, then. Or the internal police?”

“Hard to tell, but good chance it was. Doubt we’ll see the camera equipment again.”

“I’m finding it hard to worry about camera equipment at the moment. Do you think they’ll let me make a phone call?”

“Got a boyfriend you need to speak to?”

“No, a cat to feed. “

“Oh.”

“Asked a neighbour to feed it till Tuesday, which is tomorrow. If we’re not out of here by then, poor thing’s going to go hungry.”

“What’s its name?”

“Jellyfish.”

He gave a snort of laughter. “That is so you.”

She bristled. “How is it so me?”

“Cripes, no need to bite my head off. You’re pricklier than a cactus, sometimes. I meant it as a compliment.”

A compliment from Jed Conrad? That had to be a first.

“I have a right to be prickly. And…well, I’m worried about my cat.”

“Hey.” She felt him shuffling closer, offering his reassuringly warm back as comfort. He’d not missed the catch in her voice. The worry that they might be in bigger trouble than they realised. “I’m pretty sure it was security that nabbed us. Just putting us on ice for a while till the riot’s over.”

“But why the shackles?”

“Probably to make sure we didn’t escape. There’s some pretty controversial stuff going on up there. Not something they want splashed first-hand all over the media. They rounded up pretty much all of the press pack.”

“Damn.” She cursed under her breath. “And when it’s all over we’ll get their version of the truth and an armed escort to the airport.”

“We’ll still have a story to tell, though. Just not that story. My dungeon hell, how does that sound?”

“Sounds like you need to go work for a different paper. Can you hear something?”

She felt him stiffen. Lean to the left towards the door where footsteps sounded. The rattle of a chain, the scrape of a key in the lock and then a shaft of light illuminating them, making them blink. Instinctively, he curled his fingers around hers.

The braided officer made a big show of indignation for their plight.

“If I had known you were treated like this!” He threw up his hands then poked one of the attending officers with his swagger-stick. “Unshackle them immediately. Our country will, of course offer a full apology to your government.

Kudos to him for making the whole speech with no hint of irony.

“Allow me to offer you a full escort to the airport,” he added, waving them to the door.

Jed gave a low chuckle. “In one of your nice blacked out vans, general? And I’m guessing we don’t need to call by the hotel to fetch our things?”

She almost kicked him for that. “The ride would be most acceptable,” she added hastily, following with a sweet smile. If Jed dared mention his cameras, she really would kick him.

Thankfully, he didn’t. He did take hold of her hand, though. And he didn’t let go until they were safely seated on their flight home.

“Guess Jellyfish will be happy to see you.”

Maddie let out a long breath. “Guess so. She would have been mad at me for a week, if she’d gone hungry.”

The plane began to ease slowly from its dock. Holding on for the seat rest, she watched the tarmac flash by, braced for that moment of weightlessness when the plane tipped and they were no longer on the ground.

Jed’s sudden bark of laughter startled her.

“What?” she said, more irritably than she meant to. Did nothing faze this man?

He was holding something in his hand, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement.

A memory card. From his camera.

“Looks like we get our exclusive after all.”

Familiar excitement was already tingling in her gut. “How much did you get?”

“Enough to run on the news tonight,” he said, tucking the card into his jeans pocket.

“But how did you get it past them? They were pretty thorough with their patting down.”

“Why do you think I wear this pony tail,” he said settling back into the seat. His eyes closed and she saw the tension drain for his body. Hers was doing the same, crashing after their ordeal and leaving her feeling as if she could sleep for a week.

His hand rested casually next to hers. She studied the welts left by the shackles, a mirror of her own and felt something warming inside towards this man she called partner, but had never, till now, called friend. As if he knew what she was thinking, his fingers folded around hers, a light touch, nothing too demanding. More like a question that didn’t need an answer. For now.

But maybe one day…

Thanks for reading our flash fictions, we hope you enjoy them. Lily Graison has been busy these past couple of weeks, but she will hopefully be back with a flash fic next week. all the best, Candy/Alexandra

Friday Flash Fiction

2011-05-06T04:00:00.000+01:00

~*~

How to Meet a Prince by Candy/Alexandra

1410 words.

Well, one moment I was taking a leisurely drive up the legendary Strada Dellestanze, admiring the breathtaking mountain scenery, taking real care to negotiate the dangerous bends with the respect they deserved. The next, this idiot in some high-powered death-machine was screeching round the curve at suicidal speed, coming up behind me so fast I could do nothing but swerve and choose either the mountain rock-face, or the sheer drop as my preferred mode of demise.

My frantic prayer must have got through. Either that or the man had superhuman driving skills. I swear his two outside wheels were hanging over that edge as he took the outside curve and, for a moment, it was just the two of us, my expression one of frozen disbelief, his focussed and cool, the cars taking up the whole road with hardly an inch in between.

Instinctively, I swerved towards the mountain-face to give him room to pass, already resigned to the crunch of metal on rock as I scraped the car to a halt.

I sat there, stunned and cursing under my breath. The jerk hadn’t even stopped to swap insurance details. I was in one piece, for which I was thankful, but could hardly bear to look out the window at the damage to my poor car. Damage which I could ill afford to pay for.

“Dio! Signorina, are you okay?”

Well, what do you know? He did stop, after all. Was that concern, or anger darkening his features as he leaned towards my closed window? Behind us, another car, this time a Range Rover with blacked-out windows, ground to a halt. The doors were flung open with such force, I thought they’d fall off. Two very large men stepped from the vehicle, suited, dark glasses.

This was a Bond movie, right? Any moment now the camera crew would come barrelling round that bend and we’d all laugh. And then they’d cough up a huge cheque for the damage and I’d have quite a story to tell back in the hotel that night.

I was right about the cheque. Heavy number one was already brandishing what looked like a cheque book, while the other approached the driver and to my surprise, bowed deeply before taking him by the arm and attempting to usher him away.

I watched incredulously as the driver shook him off and threw up his hands, then pointed to my car. For one hysterical moment, I imagined he was ordering them to throw me from the cliff to get rid of the evidence. Someone with bodyguards this big had to be important enough to want to avoid a scandal. I swallowed hard and thought about making a run for it.

Heavy number one was already at the window, tapping imperiously and signing for me to open it.

Looking beyond him, I caught the driver’s eyes, nodding me to comply. Very nice, eyes, now I had time to look. Dark as the neatly trimmed hair. And his charcoal grey suit certainly hadn’t come from any high street chain.

He barked an order, totally in charge now the hysteria had died down.

I cracked open the window, wondering at the folly of reading them the riot act. I decided that discretion really was the better part of valour. Heavy number one leaned towards me.

“His Royal Highness would like to apologise profusely for any inconvenience caused.” The man had a more pronounced accent than the driver, a bit of eastern European, even though I was somewhere in the Italian alps. “He hopes you will accept this small token of his regard and allow us to see to your vehicle.” He motioned me from the car.

I must have laughed again because the man frowned and looked back at the driver who shook his head and strode forward, straightening his jacket and his hair. The gesture looked automatic, as if he were someone used to the scrutiny of the public.

He bowed smartly, flanked on both sides by the anxious Heavies, one of which I now saw was wearing a shoulder-holster beneath his jacket.

“Don’t let them frighten you,” his so-called Royal Highness said. “They can be…a little overzealous, but they are just doing their job. Now tell me, are you hurt?

“No, I don’t think so. Just a little, shocked.”

To tell the truth I was more shocked to be chatting with a central-European prince than by the near-crash. I recognised him now. Crown prince Alfonso Di Genaro of the tiny but scandalously wealthy principality of Cordova-Marina. Darling of the gossip magazines, and of every woman lucky enough to warrant his attentions. Of which there had been quite a few, if the gossips were to be believed.

His mouth turned up at the corners as he saw the recognition dawning in my eyes.

I waved away the cheque. “Just pay for the damage and we’ll call it quits. Where shall I send the bill, your Highness?” I sounded smugly cool. If he thought I was about to swoon over him and his title, he had another thing coming.

“Just send it to the Royal Palace. The garage will know where to find it,” he replied with only a small hint of sarcasm. He followed with a wink that scattered my resolve not to be overawed by him or this situation, to the four winds.

I tried to keep my smile sweet, rather than melting under the onslaught of all this Italian charm. One of the Heavies whispered something close to the Prince, who turned back to me and shrugged apologetically.

“I need to ask if we can expect this to be in the papers tomorrow morning. If so, I will warn my press office.”

“You think I’m going to go running to the tabloids?”

“It has been known to happen.”

Another wink, and oh Lord, any moment now I would be a puddle of goo running right out of the car and all over his immaculately-polished shoes.

“I wouldn’t dream of causing a scandal, your Highness. But I do have an appointment…”

“You must allow me to drive you there,” he returned before I could even finish. “Bartolo will stay with your car and arrange for a tow-truck and a hire car while it is at the garage.

“There’s really no need,” I said turning the ignition. “No need at all. Damn, why won’t it start?”

“Maybe because you just scraped it into a mountain-side. Signorina…” He opened the door with a flourish and stepped aside for me to exit. All we needed to complete the bizarre scenario were a few paparazzi, flashbulbs popping. “I absolutely insist.”

Grabbing my purse, I bowed to the inevitable and am almost ashamed to say I put on a quite outrageous limp as he led me to his car. The Heavies didn’t look too happy about it. Couldn’t be easy mopping up after spoiled Princes and their jet-set ways.

His near-encounter with the back-end of my car hadn’t sobered his driving. I tried not to pray too loudly as he swung the car round the bends and Heavy number two and the Range Rover struggled to stay on our tail.

A few heads turned as the Prince gallantly hopped from the Maserati to open my door. We both glanced back at the sight of the Range Rover screeching round the last bend to the hotel.

I felt a little sorry for the Prince then, to be so privileged and yet never free of the watching eyes.

“Have dinner with me tomorrow night,” he whispered urgently, one eye on the security guard now exiting the Range Rover. “I need to make sure you are really unharmed. And I would like to see you again.”

“And to make sure I’m not about to run to the tabloids?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I don’t even know your name,” he said with the confidence of one who already knew I would say yes to his invitation.

If he thought to buy my silence by taking me to dinner, he was going about it the right way.

“Dolly. My name is Dolly.”

He gave an explosive laugh. Probably thinking the same thing as I was. No chance of any fairytale happening from this. Whoever heard of a Princess Dolly?

That thought still makes us both laugh, all these years later. Her Royal Highness, the Princess Dolly. Amazing how quickly the people got used to it. And it has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

Friday Flash Fiction

2011-04-29T04:06:00.004+01:00

Another Friday, another round of flash fiction from the Alinar authors.

Our new theme was suggested by Robin. If you would like to suggest a theme you want to see us tackle, we're always looking for new prompts! Just leave us a note in the comments.

This week's theme: muddy

Out of the Mud by Kallysten
featuring the characters from Checkmate
550 words

Coming home from visiting Don at the store, Vincent parked in the driveway and for a few seconds watched the intense rain beat the windshield. The spring storm didn’t look like it would abate any time soon, so there was no point in waiting for the rain to stop. Finally getting out of the car, he rushed to the front door, shoulders hunched, splashing water with each step.

He had his keys in hand but the door was unlocked, as usual. Lilia had once told him that locks were for people who didn’t have fangs. He tried not to argue about that; some things were not worth fighting over.

It was also a gesture of peace if he toed off his shoes in the entrance and shrugged out of his jacket rather than tracking water inside. He was surprised to see that Lilia’s leather boots, on the mat behind the door, were wet, too, and splattered with mud. Had she gone out in the rain?

“Lilia?”

“In here.”

He followed her voice to the living room and, of course, the fireplace. They had only lived there for a few weeks, but it was already her favorite spot in the house – that, and the oversized tub. She was standing with her back to the roaring fire, wearing nothing more than her underwear. Her jeans and shirt – Vincent’s shirt, he noted, amused – were piled up on the right side of the hearth, mud staining them both. She was toweling her hair dry.

Vincent approached slowly, his eyes roaming over her, enjoying the lovely view she made. She caught him staring and grinned, then threw the towel at him.

“Dry yourself. You’re going to catch your death.”

He grinned back and ran the towel over his hair. “Would you worry that much if it didn’t mean your death, too?”

She huffed and turned to the fire, rubbing her hands together toward the flames. “Funny, Jordan. Very funny.”

He grimaced as he watched her. He wanted to ask her to take a step back so she wouldn’t get burned, but any such advice was likely to be met with little more than scorn or an eye roll, so he didn’t bother. Instead, he draped the towel over his shoulder and came to stand behind Lilia, his arms easily sliding around her. She shivered when he pressed his mouth to her neck over the silver scar he had left on her skin what seemed like so long ago.

“You went out in the rain,” he said, his lips still caressing the Mating marks, and his tone made the words a question.

Lilia arched her neck a little more and rested her arms over his, entwining their fingers. “Hmm. It’s nice to be out during the day, sometimes.”

The admission surprised him; she wasn’t one to dwell on things she couldn’t do. “What did you do outside?”

She turned in his embrace and gave him a mysterious smile. “You’ll see.”

“See what?” Vincent asked – or at least he tried to. She covered his mouth with hers mid-word, and for the next hour or so, Vincent didn’t worry about anything, not even the mud on Lilia’s clothes.

But a few weeks later, when tulips, daffodils and hyacinths started blooming all around their yard, he remembered, and understood.

~*~

The Warlord by Lily Graison

(unfinished work-in-progress)

901 words

Brielle woke to the sound of silence. The camp was quiet for the first time in days. Only the hiss and pop of campfires and the soft whining of the horses were heard.

She pulled the fur wrap they’d acquired three nights ago to her face and peeked out from around her edges. No one moved and she lifted her head, looking at those sleeping around her before sitting up.

The moon was high in the night sky, the stars twinkling in the thousands. The soft calls of a night lark whistled from the trees and Brielle pushed the furs away before reaching up to make sure the braid in her hair was still in place.

She’d rejoiced the moment she realized all these men wore their hair long. Most left it to fall freely down their back but some wore braids. If it weren’t for their size, one would mistake a man with hair so lush as a woman. She hadn’t worried about wearing her helm in their presence and Dalek hadn’t forced her too like he did in every other camp.

Of course, the state of her blonde locks wasn’t anything to be proud over.

The minute they realized not one fair-haired warrior resided in this camp, Dalek had found the nearest water pot and dirt mound and mixed a muddy paste to wash through her hair. The strands felt hard and brittle, coated to the root with diluted muddy water. He’d laughed at her when he was finished and she reminded him that everyone thought he was illegitimate for his brown locks. He’d sobered then, straightening his shoulders before covering her face with mud.

Glancing to his sleeping form, she stood and made her way quietly away from the fire, darting into the trees a moment later. Finding a bit of privacy around so many men was near impossible and made living amongst them a daily challenge. More so than she’d first thought. Hiding from the world was easy when you could blend in but some things set her apart. Being a woman surrounded by the crude, disgusting behavior she’d had to endure with these men tested her patience.

The path to the lake was well marked. The warriors had driven the grass into the ground with the many passes they’d made in the area. When Miera Lake came into view, she smiled and ran to an outcrop of trees and shed her boots and clothing, unbraiding her dry, stiff hair and sighed as the last confines of the person she’d been forced to become faded away.

Wading into the water, she dove in, emerging moments later. She swam closer to shore, grabbing a handful of the small pebbles from the bottom and scrubbed her skin clean. Week’s worth of filth slid from her skin and when she no longer smelled the stench of her own body she sank below the waters surface, scrubbing her face and hair.

She’d been covered in dirt from the moment they left the castle. Hiding behind a layer of filth insured her obscurity. No one questioned a dirty warrior. Most expected it. One would question the fresh faced, sweet smelling skin of the smallest warrior.

Clean, she waded from the water, ringing the water from her hair. She knew Dalek would cake the mud back on the minute he saw her. He’d done so every time she washed.

Getting clean, only to have Dalek replace it was useless, but one could only stand their own filth for so long. If being clean only meant small moments of time, she’d take it.

Walking back to her clothing, Brielle bent and picked up her trousers, shaking the dirt from them. Dust filled the air and she turned her head from it and coughed.

Slipping them back on, she struggled to pull them up her wet flesh and reached for her tunic.

“I knew you weren’t no man.”

Brielle gasped and turned, stumbling back a step at the voice. Peering into the darkness, she saw him, standing by the trees. When he stepped into the clearing and she saw the smile on his face, her heart nearly stopped.

His gaze ran along her body until she felt violated. His smile widened before he licked his lips and took a step toward her. She snatched the tunic from the ground, holding it to her chest and took a step backwards. “I… this isn’t…”

She was at a loss for words and abandoned them when he stepped toward her again. She turned and ran, fumbling with the tunic before getting it over her head and darting through the trees.

“Don’t run, lass. I only want to talk!”

Brielle was nearly blind with fear as she ran through the trees. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage and her feet stung as small twigs and limbs bit into the sensitive soles.

A barrage of horrible thought assaulted her as she ran. She was a lone woman in a camp of men and one had found her after days of hiding amongst them. What would they do when they realized the plague that had killed thousands hadn’t taken every woman in the kingdom as everyone thought? One still remained. Her.

Hearing the man behind her, Brielle had only one solution. She had to seek the help from the one man she’d avoided since sneaking into his camp. The Warlord.

~*~

The Return of Sean O’ Neill by Candy/Alexandra

1073 Words

She could hardly miss the mud-caked boots lying on the front porch. Nor the sound of the lusty baritone belting out the Song O’ Morn, accompanied by the gentle slosh of water from the tin tub in the scullery.

Pressing her lips together, Fiona bent to pick up the carelessly discarded and equally muddy jacket and hung it on a peg before making her way down the corridor to the back kitchen.

Instead of going directly to the voice, she took a moment to fill an enamel bucket with cold water from the pump at the stone sink.

The singing stopped.

“Is that you, Fiona m’darlin? The voice enquired.

“That it is, Sean O’ Neill. That it is.”

“Well, come on in here, me beauty. I’m a little muddy and there’s places only a woman can reach. If you catch me drift?”

Stepping into the scullery, she tried not to notice the ripple of muscle rising from the dirty brown water, the black hair, softly curling at his nape, the smile that could charm a leprechaun out of his gold. Carefully placing the bucket on the stone floor, she searched for the anger instead.

“Don’t you my beauty me, Sean O’ Neill. Where have you been these past weeks?”

His crooked grin left her in no doubt that the Sheep Inn had seen a visit before he’d decided to deposit half a field in her bathtub.

“Ahh, well, now there hangs a tale. Would you believe me if I told you’d I’d actually been doing some work for a change?”

“Not a chance, Sean O’ Neill. More like you got drunk and fell in a ditch.”

“Aww, Fiona.” He shot her another leery grin “I love that flash o’ fire you get when you’re angry. If you’ll be giving me back a little scrub, maybe we can go upstairs and put that passion to good use?”

“I’ve better things to do, Sean O’ Neill.”

“Come on Fiona, you know you want to.”

It was the wink that did it. The knowing wink that told her he not only thought himself a gift from God to womankind, but that he also knew full well she’d spent the past two weeks fretting and waiting and watching at the window for his return.

“I know this, Sean O’ Neill.” Picking up the bucket, she upended it over his head before he could react. With a spluttered curse, he rose from the tub causing a tidal wave of water to spill over the rim, soaking the front of her dress, her boots. Before she could turn and run, he had her fast by the arm.

“I love a woman who plays hard to get,” he said, pulling her close. “Come join me,”

“Don’t you dare, Sean O’ Neill. The water’s filthy and me in my Sunday best.”

“You could take it off?”

“I will not.” He had her flush now, against his hard and very naked body. A feeling she remembered all too well.

“As you wish.” Another tidal wave as he lowered himself, jamming them both in the tub, her kneeling between his knees, held down by the weight of her water-logged dress and the circle of his arms. The scummy brown tide seeped into her bodice, moulding it to her body. He looked, of course. This was Sean O’ Neill, after all.

The sexiest and possibly the most infuriating man in the whole of Fearhn County.

He wasn’t going to win this one.

“Let me go,” she said, with all the dignity she could muster, given that her hair had escaped the pins and was now hanging over her eyes in damp spirals. How dare he look like a sea-god when she probably looked like a drowned rat.

Mercifully, he did. She hauled herself from the tub and twisted her skirts, wringing out the muddy water onto the scullery floor. She might have forgiven him even then, had he not laughed out loud at her predicament.

She gave him a winsome smile. “All right, you win. You know I can’t resist you, Sean O’ Neill. Would you like me to wash your back, now?”

He did, and after a few moments of slow lathering he was almost purring under her hand.

“The water’s getting cold. Would you get out of the tub and I’ll dry you?”

“That’s more like it, woman.” He rose with his usual swagger and stepped from the tub. Diligently, she dried him off. All of him. Paying particular attention to a part of him that had definitely taken on a life of its own.”

Dropping the towel onto a stool, she moved to the door and glanced coyly over her shoulder. “Well, are you coming?”

Picking up her skirts, she ran back up the corridor and stopped at the foot of the stairs. Lord but he was magnificent in all his naked glory, but tonight he was to learn that he wasn’t quite as charming as he thought.

“Would you fetch your boots in from the porch,” she said as he appeared in the hall. “We don’t want the whole neighbourhood knowing you’re here, at this time of day, now do we? I’ll clean the mud off them tomorrow for you. Give them a bit of a polish.”

“You’re an angel, Fiona Heany, so you are. I don’t deserve you, that I don’t.” He leaned in, lips pouted for a kiss, but she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away.

“The boots, Sean. They’re dirty. Do we want the whole neighbourhood saying I let you go about with dirty boots?”

“Very well,” he mumbled, glancing down at himself. The man didn’t have a modest bone in his body. Flinging the door wide, he stepped out onto the porch and bent for his boots.

She took a moment to admire his taut and very naked backside before stepping nimbly to the front door and slamming it shut. Throwing the bolt, she turned and leaned against the door, a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter.

“Fiona!” His voice, an urgent whisper on the other side of the door.

Checking the bolt was secure, she ignored his urgent pleas, lifted her wet skirts and crossed the hall to climb the stairs. Sooner or later, he’d find the loose catch on the sitting-room window. And if he didn’t, well there was always the shed.

Perhaps she should slip downstairs and loosen that catch a little more…