Tuesday, February 28, 2023

February Vignette - Aquarius the Zodian by Linda Mooney

Posted by: Linda Mooney

Aquarius

            Stick a fork in her. She was done. She was ready to quit. She couldn’t take it anymore. If it wasn’t the bank hounding her, or Trannon Weston badgering her to sell her property to him…

            Now this.

            Meomi stared at the old pump. The tears rising in her eyes quickly turned it into a watery haze. Sniffing, she swiped away the wetness at her eyes and nose with the sleeve of her flannel shirt.

            She was tired. Tired of fighting. Of being hungry. Worse, she was thirsty. There’d be no crops this year, thanks to the busted pipes that fed water to the fields. Without a harvest, she’d have no money to pay her taxes on the farm. And now that the pump to the house had also gone on the fritz…

            “I can’t, Daddy. I can’t anymore,” she whispered. “I tried. Heaven knows I tried, but it’s too much. It’s…too m-much.”

            She knew she was on the verge of breaking down. Again.

            A hard gust of wind blasted her back. Shivering, she zipped up her down vest and turned to go back into the house. No sense staying out in this weather any longer than she had to. Besides, there wasn’t a thing she could do anymore.

            She’d almost reached the rear kitchen door when a movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention. It took her a couple of seconds before she recognized the red pickup coming down the road. As if reading her mind, it turned onto the red clay trail leading up to her place.

            Quickly wiping her face again with her hands, she cleared her throat and forced a smile on her lips. It wasn’t until the truck pulled up behind her twelve-year-old Chevy that she walked over to greet her visitor.

            “Good morning, Meomi!” Cove Brodney greeted her as he climbed out of the cab.

            “Morning, Cove. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

            “Just doing the neighborly thing. Checking to see how my favorite neighbor’s doing after that hard freeze last night.” He flashed her a grin that was almost dazzling. If she wasn’t so down-hearted, she would have been delighted to see him. Today, she was touched he’d come by, but she was too ashamed to let him know just how dire her straits had become.

            “Cove, I’m your only neighbor down this stretch of road.”

            He parked his hands on his hips, and she could tell he was studying her. She reciprocated, once again appreciating his muscular stature. He wasn’t a tall man. Less than six feet. But he was well-proportioned, with a kind face that reminded her of the profiles on the busts of Greek gods.

            “Mind if I invite myself in for a cup of coffee?”

            She sighed. “I’m sorry. If I could, I would, but my pump’s froze up. I can’t get any water into the house.”

            “Oh?” He gestured toward the pump. “Mind if I take a look?”

            “Be my guest.”

            Going over to the device, he examined it. Even pulled a screwdriver out of the back pocket of his jeans to undo the screws bolting down the cover. She watched, arms crossed over her chest. He seemed to know what he was doing, but she knew it was a gallant if futile gesture. He finally verified it when he hung his head before looking up at her.

            “I think it’s fried.”

            “Thanks for checking anyway,” she told him.

            He got to his feet. “I don’t know if Eldridge’s will have the parts to fix it, but they can probably order them.”

            “Doesn’t matter. I don’t have the money to get it repaired anyway.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted saying them, and hung her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

            “Shouldn’t have what? Told me the truth?” He advanced toward her until he stood directly in front of her. “What’s going on, Meomi?” he softly demanded.

            She opened her mouth to say he was kind to ask, but that she’d rather not burden him with her problems when another hard gust of wind tried to knock them down.

            Cove reached over, placing a hand on her elbow. “Let’s get inside before we freeze out here.”

            Reluctantly, she led him inside so he could see the dirty dishes piled up in the sink. “Sorry. It’s the maid’s day off.”

            “Don’t worry about it. It happens if you can’t get any water from your well.” He glanced around. “Kind of chilly in here. How low do you have your thermostat set?”

            “I don’t,” she admitted. “When it gets too intolerable, I start a fire in the fireplace.”

            Before she could stop him, he strode into the adjacent living room where he’d see the rumpled blankets and pillow on the sofa and the remains of her meager breakfast on the coffee table.

            “You’re living in your living room?” he verified, giving her an odd look.

            Meomi gave a little shrug. “That’s why it’s called a living room.”

            She didn’t expect him to walk back over and stop right in front of her to stare into her face. There was true concern in his blue eyes.

            “How are you getting by, Meomi?”

            She started to say something flippant. Something that wouldn’t give her away. To her utter embarrassment, she broke into tears. More astonishing, he pulled her into his embrace.

            “Tell me all of it,” he gently demanded.

            She did, right down to the fact that she had less than ten bucks in the bank, which was why she’d had to turn off the heat. But she still owed the electric company sixty-one dollars or they’d cut that off, too, and then where would she be?

            “It doesn’t matter,” she finished. “I was about to call Trannon Weston to tell him I’m ready to sign those papers.”

            “Is that bastard still egging you to sell him this property?”

            She nodded in answer. “The well’s gone dry anyway. It can’t pump enough to irrigate the crops. Now, with the pump to the house burned out…”

            He was so warm. His chest was like a padded wall, all muscle and fragrant skin. She couldn’t identify what cologne or aftershave he used, if he used any, but it was pleasant. And comforting.

            He let out a heavy sigh. “Guess I’m just in time, then.” Holding her at arm’s length, he smiled. “The real reason I came over was to let you know the good news. I just had a surveyor confirm what I’ve been suspecting for some time.”

            “Please tell me you found a gold mine, and you’re willing to give low-interest loans to close friends and neighbors.” She returned the smile, which made his widen.

            “There. That’s the Meomi I’m used to seeing,” he teased. “Actually, it’s better than a gold mine.”

            She snorted. “What could be better than a gold mine?”

            “There’s a natural spring running under both our properties, and we can both tap into it to feed our crops and our homes.”

            Meomi gave him her best you-gotta-be-shitting-me look. “Under both our properties?”

            “Yep.” Cove nodded once. “It extends underneath my back forty and about two hundred yards under yours. Not only will you no longer have to rely on that well, or worry about having to dig another, but drawing from it won’t be that much of a headache.”

            She continued to stare at him in disbelief. “You’re willing…to share…property rights?”

            “Yeah. Why not?”

            She shook her head. “That’s so generous of you, but—”

            He pressed a finger to her lips. “No buts. If you were the one with the spring, and you found it running under my land, you’d do the right thing and let me know, wouldn’t you?”

            “You know you could’ve kept this all to yourself,” she told him.

            “You’re right. I could have. If it had been anyone else but you…” His voice trailed off as he continued to stare at her. At that moment, she wanted to kiss him in the worst way, but she feared his reaction.

            Miraculously, he made that decision for her.

            It was too brief a kiss. Soft, warm, but too damn short. Almost like a friendship kiss.

            Almost.

When he pulled away, she waited for him to apologize. Or for her to. Neither of them did, and that felt right.

            “Okay. So that solves my irrigation problem. If I can get Joe Ackerman over here to start laying out lines, I just might have a cash crop ready in time for harvesting.”

            “Don’t worry about it,” he assured her. “I’ve already called him, and he and his crew’s set to arrive first thing Monday morning.”

            “But until then, there’s the matter of me getting water into the house.”

            He let her go and started for the back door. “I got just what the doctor ordered.”

            “What?”

            He didn’t respond. Instead, he strode out the back door. She followed him out into the yard, then stopped to watch as he went around to the bed of his pickup. Lowering the tailgate, he hefted what looked to be an old-fashioned clay jar onto his hip. She continued to watch in numb silence as he took it over to the pump where he set the jar on the ground beside it.

            “What are you doing?” she finally inquired.

            “Just wait.”

            He returned to his truck to retrieve a toolbox and took it over to the pump. There, he removed a small shovel from the kit and proceeded to dig into the frost-crusted ground. When he reached the depth he wanted, he placed the jar into the hole, then began digging in another spot about a foot away.

Eventually he reached what he was looking for and pulled up a length of the hose leading from the pump to the house. Unscrewing the hose from the pump, he blew on the end before inserting the hose into the jug. Several strips of electrical tape to secure the hose to the jug so it wouldn’t slip out, and he was finished.

“All right! You should have plenty of water now until you can have that pump fixed.” He dusted off his hands as he grinned at her.

She didn’t try to hide her look of disbelief. “Are you telling me that jar’s got enough water in it to last me for…for at least three or four months?”

“It could last you for as long as you want,” he answered solemnly. “Or rather, for as long as I want.”

She pointed to it. “But that looks like it can only hold maybe five gallons at the most!”

He walked up to her and, to her surprise, placed the tips of his fingers of one hand on her left cheek. “Meomi, listen very carefully. This is between just the two of us.”

She stared at him, waiting.

“What if I was to tell you I’m an Aquarian?”

“An Aquarian? You mean Aquarius? Like the zodiac symbol?” She narrowed her eyes. “What does your birth sign have to do with this?”

“A lot.” His lips pressed into a thin line before continuing. “Meomi, there’s not many of us, but we do exist. We have for over a thousand generations. You could say we’re the reason that zodiac symbol exists.”

Her first instinct was to write him off. Call him a quack and separate herself from him as quickly and as far away as possible…until the image of the pottery jar floated in her mind.

“You’re a water bearer?”

“Sort of. We have this ability to… Let’s just say water to us is our lifeblood. We always have access to it.”

“How?” She glanced back at the half-buried jug. “Are you telling me that container will never run dry?”

“It’s a lot more complicated than that,” he admitted, dropping his gaze. “It’s a long story.” He pivoted around and went back to retrieve his toolbox, which he took over to the truck.

Fearing he was about to leave, Meomi called out to him. “Cove?”

He stopped by the passenger side door and glanced over at her.

“I…I’d like to hear more about Aquarians.” Throwing a thumb behind her, she gave him her warmest smile. “How about you tell me over a cup of coffee?”

He hesitated for a moment, then gave her a beaming smile of his own. “I’d really like that.”

She remained by the back door, holding it open so he’d enter first, then closed it behind her.

And sometime later during their discussion, her wish was granted when they exchanged their second kiss. It left her believing they would eventually share more in the coming days.

Linda's Website

Monday, February 27, 2023

HERE BE NEWS for Monday February 27, 2023

Posted by: PG Forte

 




 Monday February 27, 2023 

Welcome to HERE BE NEWS, where each monday we bring you all the latest from the fantasy romance authors at Here Be Magic:



Tuesday February 21, 2023: Deborah Bailey discusses How to Stay Productive When You've Got the Winter Blues


        


 So I'm doing something a little different today. I was (and still am) deep in the midst of writing what I'd thought of as my first werewolf story, my first vampire-werewolf love story, actually, when it suddenly occurred to me that...yeah, it's really NOT my first.  About a gazillion years ago I co-wrote a parody romance with a group of authors I belonged to known as the Nine Naughty Novelists. And, yes, my contribution is a mere two chapters (and a few related blog posts, you can find the links on my webpage: https://www.pgforte.com/beyond-the-cofn ) but it was and is (and probably always will be) the most fun I've ever had while writing. 

You can still buy it for a mere .99 (because we can't figure out how to take it down). Or you can download it for free from the link on my website. https://www.pgforte.com/beyond-the-cofn


The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies

Theirs was a love that nature never intended. Bigger than Texas. Hotter than Hades. Weirder than…a lot of other things you might have read about up until now.

Self-made zillionaire Rock Fangsworthy is your typical Texas cowboy…well, sort of. Typical in that the only thing this lethally sexy lady-charmer with the hair trigger temper loves more than his horse is his ranch, The Double Fang. Or maybe his boots. Less typical in the fact he's also a four hundred year old vampire with a shocking secret—he can't stand the sight of blood.

Buffi Van Pelt is just your average girl-next-door winery owner…or is she? The spunky single mom to twin boys also happens to be a winsome werewolf with secrets and troubles of her own. The winery that the gutsy good-girl recently inherited from her grandmother is on the verge of ruin. If Buffi can't find a use for the mysteriously tainted wine before time and her pantry's limited supply of red meat runs out, she and her pups will be left homeless, destitute and very, very hungry. Worse yet, her baby-daddy is the same hunky, bad-boy vampire rancher who's out to steal The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck from under her paws.

Once upon a time their passion flamed hotter'n a summer's night in Dallas with three Cheerleaders and a side of habanero sauce. Tonight, love's lightning might just strike them twice…but only if the wine don't kill them first. 

***YES, it's a PARODY. Don't say you haven't been warned!***




Excerpt:It was a dark and stormy night in Bloodsuck, Texas—the kind of night vampire cowboy 

Rock Fangsworthy loved best. All except for the stormy part. Too much rain made the brim of his Stetson go limp. And if there was one thing Rock wasn’t, it was limp. He was rock hard, through and through, from the flinty gaze in his slate-blue eyes to the diamond-tipped spurs on his custom-made, hand-crafted Lucchese lizard skin boots. In fact, Rock had only one soft spot, and that was for his ranch, the Double Fang. 

The ranch had been in his possession for several generations, ever since he’d fled Boston at the turn of the last-century-plus-one hoping to leave his family’s nest, his disgrace, and the truth about his shameful condition behind and start life anew in that paradise on Earth known as the Texas Hill Country. 

The Double Fang occupied some of the prettiest country in all of Texas, ergo the world. And as Rock rode across it tonight, he was filled to overflowing with feelings of contentment and self-satisfaction—even despite the rain and the currently questionable condition of his hat. He was master of all he surveyed. There was, in fact, only one thing marring his happiness; one burr beneath his saddle, so to speak; one blot on his otherwise blot-free horizon. 

The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck. 

Rock’s jaw clenched at the thought. A vein in his temple began to throb. “Grape farmers,” he growled, even though there was no one to hear him but his horse, Monk. “No good, double-crossing werewolf scum.” 

Rock had no use for wineries. After all, he didn’t drink...wine. He had no use for werewolves either, not since the day the Braveheart brothers, Butch and Barkley, had cheated him out of a prime parcel of land that should, by rights, have belonged to him. The pair had caught him napping during the day (an unfortunate necessity for those of his kind) and took the opportunity to mark their territory—not just in the manner of wolves, which would have been bad enough, but with stakes and flags and deed contracts—the kinds of thing the County Assessor’s Office put such child-like faith in. 

Rock had tried twice to right the terrible wrong that had been done him, but both times he’d failed. His last attempt had been made shortly after Barkley, the second of the brothers to die, was killed in a routine hunting accident. He’d approached the widow Braveheart with his offer to buy her out but had been rebuffed. Babs Braveheart might have been beautiful, but she had the brains to match her blonde good looks and was crazy to boot. She’d taken it into her head that Rock was at fault for her husband’s death. 

Like anyone could be reasonably expected to distinguish between one wolf and another at a distance of several feet! 

Babs had taken her revenge on Rock, sure enough. She’d made certain he didn’t get the only two things he’d ever wanted. But now the ding-dong bitch was dead, God rest her spiteful soul. Tonight, he would make his third and final offer for the winery. An offer the new owner, whoever he was, would not be able to refuse. 

Rock reined his horse to a stop in the winery’s front yard and dismounted. He tied Monk to a conveniently placed grape arbor, a landscape feature that evoked sweet memories of better times. The vein in his temple throbbed harder. That arbor would be the first thing he’d have dismantled once the winery was his. He smiled as he imagined herds of happy cows frolicking in the vineyards, trampling the grapes, the tender fruit turning to jelly beneath their hooves. 

His spurs jingle jangle jingled in a pleasantly menacing fashion as he strode confidently up to the front door. High pitched barking noises emanated from inside the house. Rock sneered at the sound. It pleased him to think the former werewolf home now housed a passel of pocketbook dogs, even though they’d shortly be gone as well.

Just as he was about to pound commandingly on the door, it was thrown open. 

Rock stiffened. His jaw clenched harder. His vein throbbed. Again. “Buffi Van Pelt. I should have known you’d be back.” But, really, how could he have known something like that? Who would ever have expected that Babs and Barkley Braveheart’s granddaughter would return to the scene of their crime of passion? An awful suspicion took hold in his mind. “Don’t tell me you’re the new owner of The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck?” 

“Well, of course I’m the new owner,” she answered in flustered tones. She seemed distracted by the two puppies gamboling about at her feet. “What did you expect?” 

Rock ignored her question—and the puppies. As his gaze roved over the lithe yet athletic form of the woman he’d once been foolish enough to think he might love, the years since he’d last seen her (five, at least, wasn’t it? he was almost certain it had been that long) melted away as though it had been no more than two years. Three years, tops. He took note of her strong calves, her breasts rising and falling beneath the thin t-shirt she wore, her rosy cheeks, her red lips. 

Her eyes were still as blue as Texas bluebonnets. And her hair—oh, how he remembered that glossy, gold mane, so similar in color and texture to the coat of the golden retriever puppy he’d loved as a child. 

He’d named the puppy Rosebud. It had been his faithful companion for three-quarters of an afternoon. Until his cousin Viggo decided to eat him for a snack. Rock could still recall the sick horror he’d felt when he’d come upon them in the kitchen that day; Viggo’s mouth stained red with Rosebud’s blood, the puppy’s lifeless body hanging limp in his hands... 

A sharp tug on his ankle brought Rock’s mind back to the present. He looked down. Way down. Down to where the two puppies—wolf-hybrids obviously, not pocketbook dogs after all, nor Golden Retrievers either, more’s the pity—were viciously attacking one of his custom-made, hand-crafted Lucchese lizard skin boots with the diamond-tipped spurs. 

“Shoo,” he said as, gently but with firmness, he kicked his foot in an effort to dislodge the pests. 

Buffi clapped her hands. “Vlad! Ivan! Stop that this minute!” she scolded. 

Rock stared at her in disbelief. She’d named her dogs after his father and grandfather? Oh, the fickle cruelty of women! Why did she not just stake him through the heart and have done with it? The vein in his temple throbbed its agreement. 

Saturday, February 25, 2023

Bring It Back(list)! The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies ~ PG Forte

Posted by: PG Forte

 So I'm doing something a little different today. I was (and still am) deep in the midst of writing what I'd thought of as my first werewolf story, my first vampire-werewolf love story, actually, when it suddenly occurred to me that...yeah, it's really NOT my first.  About a gazillion years ago I co-wrote a parody romance with a group of authors I belonged to known as the Nine Naughty Novelists. And, yes, my contribution is a mere two chapters (and a few related blog posts, you can find the links on my webpage: https://www.pgforte.com/beyond-the-cofn ) but it was and is (and probably always will be) the most fun I've ever had while writing. 

You can still buy it for a mere .99 (because we can't figure out how to take it down). Or you can download it for free from the link on my website. https://www.pgforte.com/beyond-the-cofn


The Zillionaire Vampire Cowboy's Secret Werewolf Babies

Theirs was a love that nature never intended. Bigger than Texas. Hotter than Hades. Weirder than…a lot of other things you might have read about up until now.

Self-made zillionaire Rock Fangsworthy is your typical Texas cowboy…well, sort of. Typical in that the only thing this lethally sexy lady-charmer with the hair trigger temper loves more than his horse is his ranch, The Double Fang. Or maybe his boots. Less typical in the fact he's also a four hundred year old vampire with a shocking secret—he can't stand the sight of blood.

Buffi Van Pelt is just your average girl-next-door winery owner…or is she? The spunky single mom to twin boys also happens to be a winsome werewolf with secrets and troubles of her own. The winery that the gutsy good-girl recently inherited from her grandmother is on the verge of ruin. If Buffi can't find a use for the mysteriously tainted wine before time and her pantry's limited supply of red meat runs out, she and her pups will be left homeless, destitute and very, very hungry. Worse yet, her baby-daddy is the same hunky, bad-boy vampire rancher who's out to steal The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck from under her paws.

Once upon a time their passion flamed hotter'n a summer's night in Dallas with three Cheerleaders and a side of habanero sauce. Tonight, love's lightning might just strike them twice…but only if the wine don't kill them first. 

***YES, it's a PARODY. Don't say you haven't been warned!***




Excerpt:It was a dark and stormy night in Bloodsuck, Texas—the kind of night vampire cowboy 

Rock Fangsworthy loved best. All except for the stormy part. Too much rain made the brim of his Stetson go limp. And if there was one thing Rock wasn’t, it was limp. He was rock hard, through and through, from the flinty gaze in his slate-blue eyes to the diamond-tipped spurs on his custom-made, hand-crafted Lucchese lizard skin boots. In fact, Rock had only one soft spot, and that was for his ranch, the Double Fang. 

The ranch had been in his possession for several generations, ever since he’d fled Boston at the turn of the last-century-plus-one hoping to leave his family’s nest, his disgrace, and the truth about his shameful condition behind and start life anew in that paradise on Earth known as the Texas Hill Country. 

The Double Fang occupied some of the prettiest country in all of Texas, ergo the world. And as Rock rode across it tonight, he was filled to overflowing with feelings of contentment and self-satisfaction—even despite the rain and the currently questionable condition of his hat. He was master of all he surveyed. There was, in fact, only one thing marring his happiness; one burr beneath his saddle, so to speak; one blot on his otherwise blot-free horizon. 

The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck. 

Rock’s jaw clenched at the thought. A vein in his temple began to throb. “Grape farmers,” he growled, even though there was no one to hear him but his horse, Monk. “No good, double-crossing werewolf scum.” 

Rock had no use for wineries. After all, he didn’t drink...wine. He had no use for werewolves either, not since the day the Braveheart brothers, Butch and Barkley, had cheated him out of a prime parcel of land that should, by rights, have belonged to him. The pair had caught him napping during the day (an unfortunate necessity for those of his kind) and took the opportunity to mark their territory—not just in the manner of wolves, which would have been bad enough, but with stakes and flags and deed contracts—the kinds of thing the County Assessor’s Office put such child-like faith in. 

Rock had tried twice to right the terrible wrong that had been done him, but both times he’d failed. His last attempt had been made shortly after Barkley, the second of the brothers to die, was killed in a routine hunting accident. He’d approached the widow Braveheart with his offer to buy her out but had been rebuffed. Babs Braveheart might have been beautiful, but she had the brains to match her blonde good looks and was crazy to boot. She’d taken it into her head that Rock was at fault for her husband’s death. 

Like anyone could be reasonably expected to distinguish between one wolf and another at a distance of several feet! 

Babs had taken her revenge on Rock, sure enough. She’d made certain he didn’t get the only two things he’d ever wanted. But now the ding-dong bitch was dead, God rest her spiteful soul. Tonight, he would make his third and final offer for the winery. An offer the new owner, whoever he was, would not be able to refuse. 

Rock reined his horse to a stop in the winery’s front yard and dismounted. He tied Monk to a conveniently placed grape arbor, a landscape feature that evoked sweet memories of better times. The vein in his temple throbbed harder. That arbor would be the first thing he’d have dismantled once the winery was his. He smiled as he imagined herds of happy cows frolicking in the vineyards, trampling the grapes, the tender fruit turning to jelly beneath their hooves. 

His spurs jingle jangle jingled in a pleasantly menacing fashion as he strode confidently up to the front door. High pitched barking noises emanated from inside the house. Rock sneered at the sound. It pleased him to think the former werewolf home now housed a passel of pocketbook dogs, even though they’d shortly be gone as well.

Just as he was about to pound commandingly on the door, it was thrown open. 

Rock stiffened. His jaw clenched harder. His vein throbbed. Again. “Buffi Van Pelt. I should have known you’d be back.” But, really, how could he have known something like that? Who would ever have expected that Babs and Barkley Braveheart’s granddaughter would return to the scene of their crime of passion? An awful suspicion took hold in his mind. “Don’t tell me you’re the new owner of The Best Little Winery in Bloodsuck?” 

“Well, of course I’m the new owner,” she answered in flustered tones. She seemed distracted by the two puppies gamboling about at her feet. “What did you expect?” 

Rock ignored her question—and the puppies. As his gaze roved over the lithe yet athletic form of the woman he’d once been foolish enough to think he might love, the years since he’d last seen her (five, at least, wasn’t it? he was almost certain it had been that long) melted away as though it had been no more than two years. Three years, tops. He took note of her strong calves, her breasts rising and falling beneath the thin t-shirt she wore, her rosy cheeks, her red lips. 

Her eyes were still as blue as Texas bluebonnets. And her hair—oh, how he remembered that glossy, gold mane, so similar in color and texture to the coat of the golden retriever puppy he’d loved as a child. 

He’d named the puppy Rosebud. It had been his faithful companion for three-quarters of an afternoon. Until his cousin Viggo decided to eat him for a snack. Rock could still recall the sick horror he’d felt when he’d come upon them in the kitchen that day; Viggo’s mouth stained red with Rosebud’s blood, the puppy’s lifeless body hanging limp in his hands... 

A sharp tug on his ankle brought Rock’s mind back to the present. He looked down. Way down. Down to where the two puppies—wolf-hybrids obviously, not pocketbook dogs after all, nor Golden Retrievers either, more’s the pity—were viciously attacking one of his custom-made, hand-crafted Lucchese lizard skin boots with the diamond-tipped spurs. 

“Shoo,” he said as, gently but with firmness, he kicked his foot in an effort to dislodge the pests. 

Buffi clapped her hands. “Vlad! Ivan! Stop that this minute!” she scolded. 

Rock stared at her in disbelief. She’d named her dogs after his father and grandfather? Oh, the fickle cruelty of women! Why did she not just stake him through the heart and have done with it? The vein in his temple throbbed its agreement. 

Tuesday, February 21, 2023

How to Stay Productive When You've Got the Winter Blues

Posted by: Deborah A Bailey

When the weather gets colder and there's less sun, it can be very easy to fall into a slump. There's nothing wrong with feeling the urge to hibernate. But shorter days can bring challenges as well.

Here on the East Coast the weather gets cold  (though this year temperatures have been fluctuating quite a bit) and often the sky is cloudy. Dreary days with limited sunshine can affect my mood. And when I'm not feeling much energy, usually that means not a lot of writing gets done.

I’ve learned to compensate by doing healthy things to keep me going. Sometimes I have more energy and want to keep up the momentum. But when I don't, I try not to be hard on myself. 

If this is something you struggle with, here are some suggestions that might be helpful.

*Get a light that simulates sunlight (there are "sunset" lamps as well). A friend of mine recommended full-spectrum light bulbs which can be used in lamps or light fixtures. 

*Buy fresh flowers, prints or other items to add a touch of color to brighten up your home or workspace. 

*Exercise is a great way to lift your mood. If you can’t get outside as often, use online exercise videos or create your own exercise routine. Just do what works for you.

*Meditate to clear your mind and get focused. It might also help with story ideas!

One more thing: limiting your exposure to  negative environments (and negative people) can go a long way.  Even if your output slows down, be kind to yourself. Do the best you can for the time being. 

You can plan for slower times and set your writing deadlines accordingly. That way even if you're not in the mood to get a lot done, you'll still be on track. Do what works for you so that you can stay creative and productive during the winter season. 


Monday, February 20, 2023

HERE BE NEWS for Monday February 20, 2023

Posted by: PG Forte

 




 Monday February 20, 2023 

Welcome to HERE BE NEWS, where each monday we bring you all the latest from the fantasy romance authors at Here Be Magic:



Thursday February 16, 2023: Ruth Casie asks, What About Romance? and offers real life examples.

Tuesday February 14, 2023: The authors of Here Be Magic celebrate Valentine's Day!





Never Have I Ever was the second of three books I wrote for Loose Id's "Three for the Holidays" series for which authors were asked to pick any three winter holidays and write interconnected novellas set around each one. 

My original plan was to pick Thanksgiving, New Year's Eve and Valentine's Day, but life got in the way and I quickly realized I wouldn't be able to finish them in time for the stories to be released on those dates. So I moved things around--made some serious CHANGES to the overall storyline--and ended up with Valentine's Day, Mardi Gras and St Patrick's Day--which, I know, I  know, is something of a stretch in terms of WINTER. But it ended up working.

These were stories that had been kicking around in my head for some time and I loved how they came together. In fact, I loved the setting so much that, last year, I started writing/publishing a whole new set of Atlas Beach stories. Including a FREEBIE that you can download here: https://www.tinyurl.com/Just-Another-Day

With Valentine's Day last week, and Mardi Gras falling on this coming Tuesday, I figured now was a good time to re-explore this series with a small excerpt. Enjoy!

Had it really been ten years ago?

[Luke had] been a senior in high school at the time, and Kristy had been a junior, so he guessed it had to have been. It was shortly after Thanksgiving—something else he remembered clearly because it was just a few days after he’d gotten back from spending the holiday weekend in Atlas Beach.

His family had moved to Bergen County, in the northern part of the state, four years earlier, when his mother had gotten a teaching position at Fairleigh Dickinson University. Technically, it was still New Jersey, but culturally it was almost a different planet. Or so it had felt at the time.

He remembered he’d been surprised when Kristy called him. Not because she never did; their phone conversations over the previous four years had helped him through several rough patches as he’d adjusted to his new community. No, what had surprised him was the timing. He’d only seen her a few days earlier.


“There’s this dance coming up at school,” Kristy said, in a tone that seemed to veer between nervous and annoyed. “Did I mention it last week?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, well, it’s the junior class’s semiformal.”

“Your class?”

“Yes. And it’s scheduled for the Saturday before Christmas.”

“Uh-huh,” Luke replied unenthusiastically. Maybe, if he didn’t express much interest, she’d take the hint and stop talking about it. At the best of times, he didn’t like hearing about events he was missing in what he still considered his hometown. He especially didn’t want to hear about some dance she’d be attending without him.

As Kristy continued talking, Luke opened his desk drawer and took out the folder of sketches he kept hidden from his mother—pictures of naked women, tied up or in chains. He picked up a pencil, and as he half listened to Kristy talk, he added details to a half-finished picture.

“It’s going to be at the hotel. So I thought maybe someone there might have said something about it to you?”

“Nope.” Maybe they had, but if so, he hadn’t been listening then either.

“Okay, well, I’m on the decorating committee, and I think it’s gonna be really cool, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” he repeated, wondering why they were still on this subject. For that matter, why did she sound so weird, so…nervous, almost? Did she realize how much he hated this conversation? Nah, couldn’t be. Kristy was nicer than he was. If she knew she was making him unhappy, she’d stop. He added a gag to the picture.

“So, the thing is, it’s the kind of thing where the girls have to ask the boys.”

Luke’s pencil stilled. “Uh-huh.” What the fuck? She couldn’t be asking him out…could she? It had been her idea that they just stay friends. Did this mean she’d changed her mind? Or was she going to ask his advice on which of their friends she should go with instead? Maybe it was neither. Maybe she just wanted to talk. He sure hoped that was all it was.

“And, well, you know my father!” Kristy’s frustrated sigh vibrated through the phone, leaving Luke guiltily aware of the fact that he’d missed a critical part of the conversation.

“Sorry, I missed that. What did you say?”

The phone went silent. “What part did you miss?” Kristy asked in cautious tones.

Luke winced. “Everything after ‘the girls have to ask the boys,’” he admitted, steeling himself for Kristy’s reaction.

Kristy sighed. “I said, ‘my father will only let me go with someone he approves of.’”

“Well, that sucks,” Luke said, even though he was secretly—and selfishly—relieved.

“Yeah, so will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Will you go with me to the dance?” Kristy replied, then quickly added, “I mean, you don’t have to. It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just…well, it kinda sucks, that’s all, to put in all that work and not even see how it all turns out…”

“Wait. Didn’t you just… Are you saying your father approves of me?” Luke asked in disbelief. That couldn’t be right.

“He thinks you’re a good influence.”

“He does? Does he even know who I am?”

“Yes, Luke. He knows who you are. He knows your family. I guess he figures because you and Rocco are friends that you’re…I dunno. Safe, maybe?”

“Safe?”

“Or something, I guess.”

“He oughta talk to my mom.” Luke thought about that for a moment. “On second thought, no, he shouldn’t.”

“So…?”

Luke bit back a sigh. She didn’t want him as a boyfriend, but she didn’t mind using him as a sort of pretend boyfriend when she needed a date. Being there, surrounded by real couples, was going to suck. He had every right to be angry, every right to tell her no. But then she’d be disappointed. She’d have to stay home, or she’d find some other loser to go with—maybe someone every bit as “safe” as him. There was no way he was going to let that happen.

“What time do you want me to pick you up?” he asked, giving in to the inevitable.

“Really? You mean it?” Kristy practically squealed with happiness, which made Luke feel even more confused. Much as he liked being her hero, he kind of wished he’d been able to tease her a little more first. To drag it out. To make her beg. Maybe next time.

He sighed. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

The phone went silent once again. “I guess,” Kristy said, sounding suddenly more subdued. “I just, um…thank you.”

That was how, two weeks later, Luke found himself standing at her side, gazing around the dining room of the Wild Geese Inn. If he hadn’t known where he was, he’d have had a hard time figuring it out. Which was no small feat, given how much time he’d spent here over the years. Tonight it had been transformed into something resembling an ice cave—or maybe an ice palace; that was surely a more romantic interpretation—thanks to yards and yards of iridescent cellophane, frosted white balloons, glittering icicles, blue and white twinkle lights, and shimmery white-and-silver place settings. Not to mention piles of fake snow—on the floor, on the tables, pretty much everywhere.

“Well?” Kristy gazed at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

She sounded so excited, so eager for his approval, he didn’t have the heart to tell her what he was really thinking: that he hoped like hell he wouldn’t get roped into having to stay and help return the room to its normal appearance. Just sweeping up would be a bitch all on its own. “It must have taken hours to do all this,” he said instead.

“Oh, it did. We were working on it all day. I almost didn’t have time to get home and get dressed before you got there to pick me up.”

Luke nodded absently. He had not needed to hear that. He’d already been blown away earlier tonight by the sight of Kristy DiLuca all dressed up in a slinky black dress with swirls of silver he wanted to trace—with his finger, with a piece of ice, perhaps with his tongue, or a dripping candle, or maybe a Wartenberg wheel. He’d already been struggling to remember that they were here tonight as nothing more than friends—that her father approved of him, for fuck’s sake. That none of those other things could ever happen.

Now all he could think about was what she must have looked like before she’d gotten dressed. That was her fault. That was all on her for having mentioned it. But he knew—he fucking knew—that later on tonight he’d be jerking off to the completely unrealistic fantasy she’d just inspired, one in which he’d arrived at her house to find her home alone, naked and wet, just stepping out of the shower. One in which he’d gotten to punish her for not being ready, for making them late, for keeping him waiting…

“Where’d you go?” Kristy asked softly. “You seem like you’re miles away all of a sudden.”

“Sorry.” Luke grasped for the first lie he could think of. “I was just, uh…just thinking of all the stuff I have to do when I get back up north.”

“Oh.” Kristy looked suddenly crestfallen. Her lips rolled in, and she turned her head away from him. “I guess you’re really busy, huh? Sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you away from anything important.”

“Stop it.” Luke took hold of her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “That’s not what I meant. I’m happy to be here. And I’m glad you called me. All right?” That was at least partially true. He was glad she’d called him rather than someone else. “Now, c’mon. Let’s go have some fun.”




Games We Play 

A quirky, family-owned resort on the Jersey Shore is the setting for this erotic, lightly paranormal series. Cousins Brenda, Luke and Gwyn are determined to turn their failing hotel business around. They have no time for love. They're in no mood for games. But it's not going to matter. Not when they're up against a handful of ghosts, a mischievous boggart, a family curse, and destinies written in stone. ​ 

The Games We Play trilogy. Three books that prove that holiday fun doesn't begin or end in December!

https://books2read.com/u/4ENoKg

Saturday, February 18, 2023

Bring It Back(list) Never Have I Ever ~ PG Forte

Posted by: PG Forte

 


Never Have I Ever was the second of three books I wrote for Loose Id's "Three for the Holidays" series for which authors were asked to pick any three winter holidays and write interconnected novellas set around each one. 

My original plan was to pick Thanksgiving, New Year's Eve and Valentine's Day, but life got in the way and I quickly realized I wouldn't be able to finish them in time for the stories to be released on those dates. So I moved things around--made some serious CHANGES to the overall storyline--and ended up with Valentine's Day, Mardi Gras and St Patrick's Day--which, I know, I  know, is something of a stretch in terms of WINTER. But it ended up working.

These were stories that had been kicking around in my head for some time and I loved how they came together. In fact, I loved the setting so much that, last year, I started writing/publishing a whole new set of Atlas Beach stories. Including a FREEBIE that you can download here: https://www.tinyurl.com/Just-Another-Day

With Valentine's Day last week, and Mardi Gras falling on this coming Tuesday, I figured now was a good time to re-explore this series with a small excerpt. Enjoy!

Had it really been ten years ago?

[Luke had] been a senior in high school at the time, and Kristy had been a junior, so he guessed it had to have been. It was shortly after Thanksgiving—something else he remembered clearly because it was just a few days after he’d gotten back from spending the holiday weekend in Atlas Beach.

His family had moved to Bergen County, in the northern part of the state, four years earlier, when his mother had gotten a teaching position at Fairleigh Dickinson University. Technically, it was still New Jersey, but culturally it was almost a different planet. Or so it had felt at the time.

He remembered he’d been surprised when Kristy called him. Not because she never did; their phone conversations over the previous four years had helped him through several rough patches as he’d adjusted to his new community. No, what had surprised him was the timing. He’d only seen her a few days earlier.


“There’s this dance coming up at school,” Kristy said, in a tone that seemed to veer between nervous and annoyed. “Did I mention it last week?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Okay, well, it’s the junior class’s semiformal.”

“Your class?”

“Yes. And it’s scheduled for the Saturday before Christmas.”

“Uh-huh,” Luke replied unenthusiastically. Maybe, if he didn’t express much interest, she’d take the hint and stop talking about it. At the best of times, he didn’t like hearing about events he was missing in what he still considered his hometown. He especially didn’t want to hear about some dance she’d be attending without him.

As Kristy continued talking, Luke opened his desk drawer and took out the folder of sketches he kept hidden from his mother—pictures of naked women, tied up or in chains. He picked up a pencil, and as he half listened to Kristy talk, he added details to a half-finished picture.

“It’s going to be at the hotel. So I thought maybe someone there might have said something about it to you?”

“Nope.” Maybe they had, but if so, he hadn’t been listening then either.

“Okay, well, I’m on the decorating committee, and I think it’s gonna be really cool, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” he repeated, wondering why they were still on this subject. For that matter, why did she sound so weird, so…nervous, almost? Did she realize how much he hated this conversation? Nah, couldn’t be. Kristy was nicer than he was. If she knew she was making him unhappy, she’d stop. He added a gag to the picture.

“So, the thing is, it’s the kind of thing where the girls have to ask the boys.”

Luke’s pencil stilled. “Uh-huh.” What the fuck? She couldn’t be asking him out…could she? It had been her idea that they just stay friends. Did this mean she’d changed her mind? Or was she going to ask his advice on which of their friends she should go with instead? Maybe it was neither. Maybe she just wanted to talk. He sure hoped that was all it was.

“And, well, you know my father!” Kristy’s frustrated sigh vibrated through the phone, leaving Luke guiltily aware of the fact that he’d missed a critical part of the conversation.

“Sorry, I missed that. What did you say?”

The phone went silent. “What part did you miss?” Kristy asked in cautious tones.

Luke winced. “Everything after ‘the girls have to ask the boys,’” he admitted, steeling himself for Kristy’s reaction.

Kristy sighed. “I said, ‘my father will only let me go with someone he approves of.’”

“Well, that sucks,” Luke said, even though he was secretly—and selfishly—relieved.

“Yeah, so will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Will you go with me to the dance?” Kristy replied, then quickly added, “I mean, you don’t have to. It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just…well, it kinda sucks, that’s all, to put in all that work and not even see how it all turns out…”

“Wait. Didn’t you just… Are you saying your father approves of me?” Luke asked in disbelief. That couldn’t be right.

“He thinks you’re a good influence.”

“He does? Does he even know who I am?”

“Yes, Luke. He knows who you are. He knows your family. I guess he figures because you and Rocco are friends that you’re…I dunno. Safe, maybe?”

“Safe?”

“Or something, I guess.”

“He oughta talk to my mom.” Luke thought about that for a moment. “On second thought, no, he shouldn’t.”

“So…?”

Luke bit back a sigh. She didn’t want him as a boyfriend, but she didn’t mind using him as a sort of pretend boyfriend when she needed a date. Being there, surrounded by real couples, was going to suck. He had every right to be angry, every right to tell her no. But then she’d be disappointed. She’d have to stay home, or she’d find some other loser to go with—maybe someone every bit as “safe” as him. There was no way he was going to let that happen.

“What time do you want me to pick you up?” he asked, giving in to the inevitable.

“Really? You mean it?” Kristy practically squealed with happiness, which made Luke feel even more confused. Much as he liked being her hero, he kind of wished he’d been able to tease her a little more first. To drag it out. To make her beg. Maybe next time.

He sighed. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

The phone went silent once again. “I guess,” Kristy said, sounding suddenly more subdued. “I just, um…thank you.”

That was how, two weeks later, Luke found himself standing at her side, gazing around the dining room of the Wild Geese Inn. If he hadn’t known where he was, he’d have had a hard time figuring it out. Which was no small feat, given how much time he’d spent here over the years. Tonight it had been transformed into something resembling an ice cave—or maybe an ice palace; that was surely a more romantic interpretation—thanks to yards and yards of iridescent cellophane, frosted white balloons, glittering icicles, blue and white twinkle lights, and shimmery white-and-silver place settings. Not to mention piles of fake snow—on the floor, on the tables, pretty much everywhere.

“Well?” Kristy gazed at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

She sounded so excited, so eager for his approval, he didn’t have the heart to tell her what he was really thinking: that he hoped like hell he wouldn’t get roped into having to stay and help return the room to its normal appearance. Just sweeping up would be a bitch all on its own. “It must have taken hours to do all this,” he said instead.

“Oh, it did. We were working on it all day. I almost didn’t have time to get home and get dressed before you got there to pick me up.”

Luke nodded absently. He had not needed to hear that. He’d already been blown away earlier tonight by the sight of Kristy DiLuca all dressed up in a slinky black dress with swirls of silver he wanted to trace—with his finger, with a piece of ice, perhaps with his tongue, or a dripping candle, or maybe a Wartenberg wheel. He’d already been struggling to remember that they were here tonight as nothing more than friends—that her father approved of him, for fuck’s sake. That none of those other things could ever happen.

Now all he could think about was what she must have looked like before she’d gotten dressed. That was her fault. That was all on her for having mentioned it. But he knew—he fucking knew—that later on tonight he’d be jerking off to the completely unrealistic fantasy she’d just inspired, one in which he’d arrived at her house to find her home alone, naked and wet, just stepping out of the shower. One in which he’d gotten to punish her for not being ready, for making them late, for keeping him waiting…

“Where’d you go?” Kristy asked softly. “You seem like you’re miles away all of a sudden.”

“Sorry.” Luke grasped for the first lie he could think of. “I was just, uh…just thinking of all the stuff I have to do when I get back up north.”

“Oh.” Kristy looked suddenly crestfallen. Her lips rolled in, and she turned her head away from him. “I guess you’re really busy, huh? Sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you away from anything important.”

“Stop it.” Luke took hold of her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. “That’s not what I meant. I’m happy to be here. And I’m glad you called me. All right?” That was at least partially true. He was glad she’d called him rather than someone else. “Now, c’mon. Let’s go have some fun.”




Games We Play 

A quirky, family-owned resort on the Jersey Shore is the setting for this erotic, lightly paranormal series. Cousins Brenda, Luke and Gwyn are determined to turn their failing hotel business around. They have no time for love. They're in no mood for games. But it's not going to matter. Not when they're up against a handful of ghosts, a mischievous boggart, a family curse, and destinies written in stone. ​ 

The Games We Play trilogy. Three books that prove that holiday fun doesn't begin or end in December!

https://books2read.com/u/4ENoKg

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