Bring it Back(List) Light Up the Night by PG Forte

So, a couple of weeks ago I ran across the following meme:

And it reminded me of the following scene from Light Up the Night (which is going to be FREE for five days starting on Christmas day!). In this scene Heather is arguing with her sire, Marc, about who she is and isn't allowed to date. 

Oh, and in case you aren't familiar with the Children of Night/Beyond the CofN series, everyone mentioned in this post (well, not Lesley Gore, obviously) are vampires. 

This is an age gap story. For reference, Heather was a teenage runaway when she was turned (against her will) just a year or two earlier. Marc is NOT the guy who turned her, but IS her "guardian" now (long story) and super-protective. He was born in 1969--which makes him really young by vampire standards, not so much by Heather's Gen Z standards.  Drew and Elise, OTOH, are both several hundred years old.

“I thought you liked Drew. Aren’t you supposed to be friends, or something?”

“I do like him. And of course, we’re friends. Did you really think I’d have trusted just anyone to look after you? I don’t like being the bad guy. I don’t like making the people I care about unhappy. But he’s just too damn old for you. There’s no getting around that.”

“And how much older than you is Elise?”

“That’s different.”

“No, it really isn’t. It’s a double standard—and that’s not different at all.” She shook her head. “You know it’s funny. People keep talking about how we’re a new type of vampire clan. They say we’re re-writing the rules and making history, and blah, blah, blah. And I’m not seeing it. But I do like the way it sounds. And I think it’s something we could maybe lean into a little harder. And you know where a good place to start would be?  If you let me make my own decisions about who I get involved with. It’s like the song says: you don’t own me.”

Marc frowned. “Wait. Did you just quote Lesley Gore at me?”

“No?” Heather replied. “I don’t even know who that is.”

“She was a singer. She’s dead now, but she was very popular during the sixties. That song was one of her biggest hits.” 

“Oh. Well, then maybe I did. But all I know is the song. And only that one part. I remember it from a movie I saw when I was a kid. I think the song was old then.” She studied him for a moment then asked, “So, you must be reallyold, huh?”

“Oh, thank you very much. Not that old, no.”

“If you say so.”

Marc shot her an amused look. “You know, someday, when you’re my age—which, by the way, is going to come along a whole lot sooner than you apparently think—I’m going to remind you of this conversation and ask you how old you feel then.” He shook his head and added, mockingly, “And you say you’re not a kid.”

“Yeah, because I’m not,” Heather replied. “Just because I’m going to look like a kid forever doesn’t mean you get to treat me like one. We’re not living in the nineteen-hundreds anymore.”

“Don’t you mean the eighteen-hundreds?  Although I wouldn’t know anything about that, since I wasn’t alive back then. You know who you could ask, though—right? That’d be Drew. Because he lived through that entire century, not to mention the previous two. Or maybe even the previous three. I don’t know for sure.”

“Nice try. But no. I said the nineteen-hundreds and that’s what I meant. Didn’t you ever see West Side Story? Or Titanic? Endless Love? The Notebook?”

“Wait—are you talking about movies? I thought we were discussing real life?”

“We are. But all those movies I mentioned were set in the nineteen-hundreds. In fact, I think they were filmed then, too. So, they’re probably reasonably accurate depictions of the idiotic notions you all had back then.”

Light Up the Night

A Children of Night/Ugly Christmas Sweater Story

Her love will light up his night. If they both can survive that long. 

 

Heather is having the worst Christmas ever! Or, at least, the worst Christmas since she was forced to become a vampire. Her sire's distracted, her nest-mates have forgotten her existence, and a bunch of weirdos have taken over her lair. The only bright spot in her life right now is Drew--who didn't even used to like her! She knows he's coming around, but that's not good enough. She wants more. She wants everything. She wants him. And she's not giving up. 

 

Drew Geiger gave up on love a long time ago. Such tender emotions have no place in a vampire's heart. But, somehow, the girl he once described as a "feral kitten" has got her claws in him, and she's not letting go. That would be fine, if only someone didn't want her dead--and if her sire didn't still inconveniently remember that it was Drew who'd once suggested that maybe she'd be better off that way.

​

***This story features characters from the Children of Night series. It takes place between books six and seven in the series and follows Going Back to Find You.***

https://books2read.com/LightNight

Bring It Back(list) In the Dark by PG Forte

 I feel like I've posted this before. Because Thanksgiving is coming and this is my favorite (for which read ONLY) Thanksgiving Day scene. I do have a book in the works that is actually set at Thanksgiving, but until that's done, I'll just have to make do with Grumpy Vampire Thanksgiving. It's from In the Dark (still one of my favorites, still not a romance) the very first book in the Children of Night series. ALTHOUGH...there's a prequel of sorts in the works. If all goes well, that will release next September as part of the Rejected by the Immortal anthology (available for preorder now. links below). And I  do have a new vampire Christmas story releasing next month...more about that Tuesday. 

But, for now, Happy Thanksgiving from Conrad and crew!

When you live forever, a few mistakes are bound to happen. 

Vampire Conrad Quintano has been around for centuries -- long enough to know falling for a human is a terrible idea. Much less falling for adventure-seeking hippie Desert Rose and agreeing to raise her babies. 

Raised in virtual isolation, Marc and Julie Fischer have never known their unique status in the world. But once they're in San Francisco, the family reunion is nothing like they anticipated and they're thrust into a world they're completely unprepared for.

Buy it here: https://books2read.com/u/49nGpX

Exerpt:Thursday, November 28th, 1968

Thanksgiving Day

“All I’m saying is that the picnic in the park was a total blast and you missed out on a really great party today.”

Desert Rose was pouting. Arms crossed, her posture rigid, she glared sullenly at Conrad from one end of his couch. Lying comfortably against the cushions at the other end, he smiled back at her indulgently. He hadn’t been expecting to see her here this evening. Even though she’d taken to spending nearly every weekend with him, tonight was Thursday—definitely part of the week, as far as he was concerned. In her mind, however, the fact that it was Thanksgiving apparently made it the start of the weekend. 

“I told you all about it when I was here last weekend. I was really hoping you’d show. You’d have liked it.”

“Yes, I’m sure I would have.” Enough talk now. Conrad reached for the girl and pulled her toward him. He rearranged her limbs until she was reclining against his chest with her head resting on his shoulder, her long, dark hair swept to one side. Unexpected, yes, he thought, as he began to lick lazily at her neck. But definitely not unwelcome.Three days was long enough to go without. He’d grown quite addicted to the taste of her over the course of the past month—which would have worried him, if he’d been planning on turning her. He wasn’t. “I’m sorry I missed your picnic today. It sounds like it was a…real happening scene.” 

A strangled noise, emanating from the vicinity of the secretary desk on the other side of the room, greeted Conrad’s observation. He glanced up, his face breaking into a wide grin at the sight of Armand’s pained expression. 

“A happening scene? Mon Dieu.” 

“Well, it was,” Desert Rose insisted as she settled deeper into Conrad’s embrace, her eyes closed, her neck exposed. “With music and dancing and...just crowds of people. And more food than…well, than you’ve probably ever seen in your life.” 

Armand’s eyes grew smoky as he gazed at the girl. His tongue danced lightly across the points of his teeth. He looked mesmerized, enchanted. He looked hungry. 

Mine. Conrad stilled. It took a conscious effort to tamp down the unreasoning jealousy that was once again threatening to burn holes in his gut. Luckily, Armand seemed to collect himself before too much time had passed. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he shook his head and went back to work, writing checks to pay the monthly bills. Conrad relaxed as well, and quietly sank his teeth into the girl’s waiting neck.

“Corn and beans and squash and cranberry sauce and those little pearl onions,” she continued her recital, in the slightly dreamy tone that indicated she was so relaxed she hadn’t even noticed Conrad’s feasting at her throat. “And mashed potatoes, scalloped potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, peas, three kinds of pie, a big chocolate cake. Not to mention homemade bread and biscuits and pumpkin soup. Oh, and there was even an entire turkey made out of tofu.”

“It sounds delightful.” Conrad raised his head. “Armand?”

“Oui?” 

“Qu’est-ce que c’est…toe-foo?”

Armand looked up again, his face perplexed. “Je ne sais pas,” he replied with a shrug. Then, his face clearing, he snapped his fingers. “ Ah, non, non, non. Il est Chinois. It’s something to do with soybeans. A kind of a paste, I think?”

“Soybeans? Vraiment?” Conrad shook his head and went back to his meal. Soybean turkeys. What would they think of next? He could still eat human food, if he had to, but it had very little taste and no nutritional value for him, so he rarely bothered. In the past, of course, things had been different and he’d frequently been forced to eat regular meals as part of his attempts to pass for human. He hadn’t felt the need for such subterfuge in quite some time, however, and being as he was now a man of some means and could afford not to eat, he no longer did.

“I wish you’d been there,” Desert Rose murmured, still pouting. “You could have met some of my friends.”

“I’m sure that would have been very charming,” Conrad lied and, sensing she was growing restless, quickly licked the wounds shut and released her. “But, you know, mignonne, Armand is Canadian and they don’t really celebrate Thanksgiving in his country. It would have been rude to leave him alone.”

 “Well, you could have come too,” she said, sitting up and gazing earnestly at Armand. “All sorts of people were there.” 

“Merci, chérie.” Armand smiled at her. “And, for the record, we do celebrate Thanksgiving in Canada. It’s just not all about the food for us.” He cast a sly glance in Conrad’s direction. “But, you know, Conrad is not from this country originally either. So you can’t really expect him to appreciate the delights of all your traditional American dishes. Like tofu, for example.”

“You’re not American?” Eyes wide, she stared at Conrad. “Where are you from?”

“Originally?” Conrad frowned. He had to think about that for a moment. The part of Europe he hailed from had been called many different things over the centuries, most of which would mean nothing to her. “Rome,” he answered, finally, taking the easy way out.

“So, does that mean you’re like…Italian?” 

“Close enough,” he said, ignoring Armand when he muttered, “…but no cigar.” 

“So, what do you like to eat on Thanksgiving then? Spaghetti, or pizza, or lasagna or something?”

Conrad grimaced as thoughts of garlic, and other unpleasant spices, threatened to sour his stomach. “I don’t really care for any of those.”

Cocking her head to the side, she frowned thoughtfully. “You know what’s funny? Now that I think about it, I never see you eat anything. Why is that?”

From across the room, Armand choked back a laugh. “C’est parce que vos yeux sont fermés, chérie,” he answered. That’s because your eyes are shut. 

“That’s enough out of you,” Conrad growled, throwing a pillow at his head. 

“What did he say?” the girl asked, her gaze shifting back and forth between them both.

Conrad shrugged. “He said it’s because I’m always on a diet.”

“What?” Her eyebrows rose. “You? But, you don’t need to diet, you’re perfect!”

Conrad pulled her close again and kissed her, flashing a smug smile over her shoulder at Armand. “Thank you, chérie. So are you.”

An avaricious little thrill pulsed through him as she clung to him, sighing happily against his mouth. Mine. He tightened his arms around her. One kiss was not enough. The taste of her mouth was an easy match for the taste of her blood—he was addicted to both and unable to get enough of either. Angling his head to the side, he plundered her mouth, loving the way her hands crept shyly up to frame his face, the eagerness with which she snuggled against him. Soon he was rolling her beneath him on the couch and stretching himself out on top of her, wanting, needing more. 

In the long run, his dual obsession with both her body and her blood was a very bad thing. One that would surely lead to trouble when he lost control of either his temper or his jealousy, as had happened with the last person he’d craved in this fashion. In the short run, however, it was perfect. As he tangled his legs with hers, he allowed himself a single depraved fantasy of what it would be like if he could have them both together in his bed. Both of his dark-eyed beauties, gazing at him adoringly…

It would be…nice. Very nice. But it was never going to happen, if only because, for safety’s sake, he’d have to turn her first. And that was such a very bad idea he wasn’t even tempted by it. Much.

“So, what holidays do you celebrate?” she asked, pressing her hands into his chest in an attempt to push him away. 

She’s pushing me away? He glanced down at her, surprised by her unexpected resistance. Is there a problem here?The furtive glance she cast in Armand’s direction, however, made the source of her discomfort clear.

Conrad sighed. He rolled to the side, giving her the space she so clearly desired. He’d been forgetting how very young she was. Young enough to still be self-conscious about being observed at play. Far too young for the fantasies he’d been imagining. Far too young for him. Yet another reason things would never work out between them. “I’m sorry. What were we talking about?”

“Holidays. There’s gotta be some you celebrate, right?”

“No, not really.” 

She looked surprised. “Not even Christmas?” 

“Not even Christmas.”

“That’s a shame.” She nodded at the big bay window, heavily swathed in velvet curtains to keep out the sun. “Because, you know, that would be a perfect place to put a tree.”

“A tree?” The grounds were full of trees—which was exactly where they belonged. “Why would I want a tree in the house?” It would have to be a very hardy specimen, something that could flourish in the dark.

“A Christmas tree, silly. You know, all done up with tinsel and pretty lights? If I had a house like this, I’d sure have one.”

He smiled at her. “So, you want a tree now? Is that what you’re saying?”

The girl sighed wistfully. “Well, who wouldn’t? But I don’t have any room at my place. I mean, I don’t really even have a place—not of my own. So, you know, there’s not much point in thinking about it, is there?”

“No, I meant here. Would you like me to get a tree for you to decorate?”

The look in her eyes gave him his answer. “Really?”

Conrad raised his head. “Armand!”

“Oui!”

“We need a tree!”

“Eh?” Armand glanced up, confused. “Comment? A…tree?”

“Yes, a tree, you heathen. For Christmas. Get one for us, will you, mon cher?”

Raising one eyebrow, Armand stared at him. “Ah, oui. Très bien. And would you be wanting the little colored lights, too?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “You could wrap them all around the house, perhaps—up on the roof and around all the doors and windows?” 

Conrad looked at the girl. She nodded eagerly. He smiled. “Oui.” 

Want to read more about Armand? His origin story will be the focus of Dancing in the Dark: 

Sometimes living forever is not all it's cracked up to be. 

1956 Winnipeg, Canada. Once Armand Renaud realizes that eternal youth is a real possibility, nothing will deter him from achieving his goal. And after one hundred years of solitude, Conrad can’t bring himself to resist the handsome young dancer who’s hellbent on being turned. 

They both know they’re not destined to be the great loves of each other’s lives, but there are worse ways to pass a long and lonely decade or two than in the arms of a passionate stranger. 

Living forever might not be everything they’d hoped for. But, at least they can still get a few things right. Can't they?

​

Scheduled for release September 19, 2023 as part of the  Rejected by the Immortal anthology.

PREORDER IT NOW:  https://books2read.com/rejectedimmortal

And why not spend this Christmas with a vampire...or two?

Her love will light up his night. If they can both survive that long. 

Heather is having the worst Christmas ever! Or, at least, the worst Christmas since she was forced to become a vampire. Her sire's distracted, her nestmates have forgotten her, weirdos have taken over the lair. The only bright spot in her life right now is Drew--who didn't even used to like her! She knows he's fond of her now, but that's not good enough. She wants more. She wants everything. She wants him. And she's not giving up. 

Drew Geiger gave up on love a long time ago. Such tender emotions have no place in a vampire's heart. But, somehow, the girl he once described as a "feral kitten" has got her claws in him, and she's not letting go. That would be fine, if only someone didn't want her dead--and if her sire didn't recall that it was Drew who once suggested that maybe she'd be better off that way.

 

Releasing December 13, 2022 

Available for preorder now: https://books2read.com/u/m0En1l

New! BABS CLAUS, Tuffy Claus, Book 2, a Contemporary Fantasy Holiday Romance by Linda Mooney

New!

BABS CLAUS
Tuffy Claus, Book 2
Contemporary Fantasy Holiday Romance
by Linda Mooney
Word Count: 24.4K
$2.99 e

Tuffy Claus and Babs are back, and despite Dominik’s protests, his wife is coming along for the ride. Being previously in law enforcement, she won’t be playing the obedient housewife while waiting for him to get home. No, she’ll be out chasing the bad guys as well. But can she handle the heart-wrenching jobs she’ll have to take on?

Their newest case tests Babs to her limits, making her wonder if she’s really cut out for this. Short answer? Yes. When it comes to the children, she’ll do whatever it takes. But when things quickly take a turn for the worst, leaving Babs on her own, she realizes how important her job really is.

It’s then that a thought hits her, and Dominik and Kris realize there could be a whole group of kids that are being overlooked—those who can’t write a letter to Santa. Those who can’t ask for help. And they wonder how many children have suffered through the centuries because of their oversight?

The Kringles know they can’t possibly save them all, but they’re gonna damn sure try. 

Warning! Contains peppermint schnapps; jingle bell communications; a baseball bat; powdered donuts; bullets; gut instincts; and a warm, contented, and loving Christmas Day.

Excerpt and Buy Links

Ghosts of Christmas Past

 By Maureen Bonatch

When I was young I absolutely adored Christmas. I counted down the days, decorated anything and everything and believed in the magic of the season far longer than most my age. 

Then I Grew Up

The holidays became expensive and exhausting. I'd still be excited when the season rolled around, but I was just as happy once it was done. 

Magic, Mimosas & Mistletoe

2020 wasn't the best year for most, and the holidays were looking even less inviting. So when I sat down for November's National Novel Writing Month, I really struggled with my story. Until I decided that I would change it to a Christmas story featuring a witch who loved Halloween, but without her help, Christmas might be ruined. 

The thoughts and images of spreading cheer with family and friends elevated my mood. I binged on holiday movies and played Christmas music way earlier than I ever have to write this holiday story. 

Except in MAGIC, MIMOSAS & MISTLETOE (a story from my Charmed Cocktail Cozy series), I found a way to combine Halloween and Christmas.   

Oh, and it's a paranormal cozy mystery, so there might be a murder or two...and some ghosts.

A little About MAGIC, MIMOSAS & MISTLETOE

I don’t see dead people, but my dog does. 

 

Hi, I’m Marissa Hale. When my friend, Grace invites me to visit the Inn she inherited, I’m high-tailing it back to my home state of Pennsylvania. Like most things in life, there are strings attached to her inheritance—and these ones have twinkly lights. The Inn, and the town, are Christmas themed. No witch worth her broom would choose Christmas over Halloween, unless that witch’s bloodline is the magic mainline for keeping the yuletide spirit alive. 

Her aunt’s death was already suspicious, but then we stumble upon a dead body amongst the poinsettias that resembles one of Santa’s fabled elves. It sure seems like someone is trying to force Grace to sell Kringle Inn. I’m going to need all the help I can get to solve these crimes, and save Christmas, but when the only witnesses are a pig, and a ghost, I’m not sure that’s going to be enough… 

 

Click Here To Get Your Copy

An Excerpt featuring Marissa and her cat, Jasper, from my book MAGIC, MIMOSAS & MISTLETOE 

 

Everyone would be a suspect until I proved them innocent—or I tired of determining if there had truly been a murder. It was better than contemplating the Christmas holidays when it wasn't Halloween yet. “It's nothing like that. The spell provides a way to ride along with someone and see and hear what they see. Like a little spy.” 

“What do you mean by a ride along? If you're referring to me, which I'm guessing by the look in your two current eyes, I can tell you it will not work. You're,” he raked his gaze over me, “many, many times my size.” 

“Not in person, silly. I would ride along in your mind.” 

Jasper let out a hiss and jumped to the floor, backing away with his tail raised. “In my mind? What kind of hocus pocus are you getting into? Most likely, it wouldn't work. With your lackluster spelling abilities, you could end up trapped there, and that wouldn't be good for anyone. Who would remember to feed me?” 

“Enough of the insults about my spelling.” Most of them were true, but I was practicing and getting better. Potions were more my thing. Well, they were getting to be my thing. “It's not an evil spell, so I shouldn't get more black streaks in my hair.”

 

“I'm not worried about your hair. Besides, there's nothing wrong with black hair. Feast your eyes on my glorious fur.” He swished his tail from side-to-side. “Yes, you're lovely, whatever. Now, listen. I know this spell sounds far-fetched, but it could be fun.” 

“Nope, not fun at all. Zero fun. Nada.” He kept backing away toward the door. 

“But I thought you wanted to be my familiar?” It was low of me to play that card, but I knew how to sway him to my favor. 

Jasper stopped and remained silent for a moment as he considered it. “I don't see how that matters in this situation.” 

“Our bond could grow stronger with a spell like this. Who knows? You might gain some magic yourself.” I did not know if any of this was true. 

He paused and lowered his tail. “You're joking.” 

“No, I've heard it could happen. I can't guarantee it would, but it's possible. If anything were to go wrong, Grace is here. She could fix it.” 

Jasper nodded. “That much I can agree on. Grace is much better at spelling than you'll ever be, and I've never seen one dark strand in her hair.” 

I clapped my hands together. “We can find out much more about everyone this way.” 

“You mean you can. Obviously, this is how I always find out things. You're just jealous you don't have my stealth and want it for yourself. There are benefits to being small.” 

I stood from the bed and grabbed my oversized purse. “Let's get started.” “Now?” Jasper's eyes widened. I stopped digging in the bottomless pit that was my purse. “Why not? We can try to approach Wilber again.” 

“What, and get stomped on with one of his cloven hoofs, or mixed into his dinner trough?” 

I waved him off. “I can help you with finessing the conversation. I already have all the ingredients gathered here in my purse, so let's get ready.” 

“You were optimistic that I was going to agree to this spell, I see.” Jasper leapt on the bed. “Elevated to the role of familiar, you say?” 

“Maybe? I knew you'd see my side.” I laid out a small bowl and the ingredients, including the one item Sabina insisted was essential. I had to make it myself to personalize it to the spell. With limited time and supplies available for crafting, it wasn’t perfect. 

“What in the tuna is that?” Jasper shrieked. 

“This?” I knew the tiny homemade voodoo cat doll might push him over the edge. “It's nothing. The figure helps to make sure this works right and that I end up in the correct person's thoughts that we intended the spell for.” 

Mulder came stumbling into the room, falling over his feet on the slippery floor and taking a nosedive. He came to a stop with a skittering of paws at the foot of the bed. His irritated huffs and raised behind confirmed that he’d discovered something of interest under the bed.

Jasper studied me with a wary expression. “Don't you think we need to tell Grace what we're doing here first?” 

I shrugged and sat on the bed. “She's busy. No need to worry her. Besides, what could go wrong?” 

Looking for Some Cozy Mystery Bargains?

To check out these Deals CLICK RIGHT HERE - these books are in Kindle Unlimited and/or less than $2.99

What is Your Favorite Thing About the Holidays? 

 P.S. It’s November aka: National Novel Writing Month – I’d better get writing!

 

Just a small-town girl, Maureen Bonatch leads a double life. She lives in a magical world as a novelist, and as a nurse leader in reality. Maureen’s first novella was a paranormal romance published when blogs were a new-fangled thing. She’s since changed her focus to writing paranormal cozy mysteries as M.L. Bonatch and urban fantasy as Maureen Bonatch. 

While she’s not busy writing or doing nurse-things, she’s a mom to her twin daughters, bicycling in the beautiful woods of PA with her hubby, doing the bidding of a feisty Shih Tzu, and dancing as much as possible. She believes music can be paired with every mood, laughter is contagious, and that caffeine and wine are essential for survival.

 Follow M.L. Bonatch all through cyberspace! 

 Amazon page    BookBub Facebook Goodreads Newsletter

Bring It Back(list) - Christmas-Themed Books by Linda Mooney

Titles include Breath of Christmas (a sweet contemporary fantasy romance), Sand Castle (a sweet contemporary romance), Silent Night Final Night (a paranormal horror with romantic elements), Tickle My Candy Cane (a sensuous romance), and Winter's Fyre (a sensuous fantasy romance).
(Excludes "The 13th Gift of Christmas")

Click titles above for excerpts and buy links.

Writing A Book Is Like Decorating A Christmas Tree

By Maureen L. Bonatch 

Everyone has their own way of decorating a Christmas tree. Some like white lights, while others prefer multi-colored. A few may coordinate specific decorations, while some choose ornaments with a special story or memory behind them. Still some hang whatever ornament catches their eye. 

We always put our Christmas tree up the day after Thanksgiving—during the last week of National Novel Writing Month (#NaNoWri). Once we had our tree complete this year, I sat and watched it move on the rotating base and considered how decorating the tree was comparable to crafting a story.

An Outline, or An Idea

You start with the bare bones. It’s just a tree. Beautiful in it’s own right, but displaying the potential for so much more.  Perhaps it sits in your yard for months, or years, as you consider just how you want to mold it for the end result. Then you find the place of honor  in your home where the tree gets the best attention. (Environment)

Main Characters

The lights go on first. You decide if you want just one color (First Person POV) or more than one color. You know what catches your eye and enthralls you. There are people who will tell you they prefer one over the other, it’s your job to convince them why your color(s) is just as beautiful, if not more.

Secondary Characters

You add the ornaments. Each one serves a purpose to enhance the overall effect so it’s pleasing to the eye. A few have a really special story to tell about how they earned that place on your tree. All of the ornaments look fabulous together, yet none stand out more than another.

 Bring Your Story Together

The tinsel drapes over the tree and brings all the ornaments, and the lights together in harmony. Then the tree, and the varied decorations, make one beautiful whole.

I Hope Your Holiday Is Beautiful and Fills You With Awe

Just don't choose your Christmas tree from the woods of DESTINY CALLING.

When the woman who raised Hope is murdered by something not human, Hope loses the only family she knows and discovers one she might wish she never met. With a touch that can make the desperate hopeful, Hope is the answer. The only question is if she can deal with sibling rivalry, accept that entities feeding off despair exist, and determine if Griffith is the man of her dreams, or not at all what he seems.

Author Bio: Maureen Bonatch grew up in small town Pennsylvania and her love of the four seasons—hockey, biking, sweat pants and hibernation—keeps her there. While immersed in writing or reading paranormal romance and fantasy, she survives on caffeine, wine, music, and laughter. A feisty Shih Tzu keeps her in line. Find Maureen on her website, Facebook & Twitter

Seven Tips for Happy Reading

It's that time of year - when everything and everyone goes crazy! It's my favourite time of year to stay away from the shopping mall - if possible. But sometimes, you just have to dive into the chaos. Fortunately, once you've swum back to shore and wrung out your hermit's cloak and retreated to you cave (what? not everyone's antisocial like me?), there are books to restore your soul.

So here are my seven tips for happy reading during this crazy time of year.

1. Disconnect the doorbell. I tend to turn my cellphone off, so I don't need to especially remember to switch that off, too. If someone knocks on the door, it's only a courier (truly, it's not your great-aunt who's travelled three hours to visit you) and you'll collect the parcel later.

2. Eat a Christmas treat. You know you don't ever manage to snaffle the best treats at parties, so indulge now. If you're sneaky, you won't even have to share with your family (good luck ignoring your pets, though).

3. Don't you dare read a book you feel you should read, either for your book club or because everyone at the office is pretending they've read it. Read something for pure (or impure!) enjoyment ;)

4. Lounge around in your pjs. No one will judge you - well, they might if they could see you, but you've disconnected the doorbell, remember?

5. Let your emotions flow. Is the scene sad? Bawl your eyes out. Is it funny? Snort and giggle. Is the scene infuriating? Throw the book -- uh, no. If it's an ebook, don't throw your ereader against the wall! Santa mightn't bring you a replacement, naughty girl.

6. Stop reading for a minute and think of the chores you should be doing. There, don't you feel extra-happy at avoiding them? Maybe if we wish hard enough, Santa will share his housecleaning elves with us?

7. Have a second book ready and when you've finished the first, simply re-stock your plate with treats and keep going!

Read on! and Merry Christmas!

Throwback Thursday: This Winter Heart

It's occurred to me, recently, that it's really not all that surprising that I sometimes write about characters that are more-or-less indestructible. I'm starting to realize that my octogenarian mother, who's just returned home from the hospital after breaking her neck for the second time in three years, could probably give any of my semi-mechanical people a run for their money. 

I come from really tough stock. 

However, caring for my mother full-time while she's still largely bed-ridden has left me with too little time to come up with a new blog post, so I'm posting a throwback excerpt from This Winter Heart, the book that led to my inclusion in this wonderful group.

Here's a look at how my steampunk family might have celebrated Christmas in Santa Fe. I've also included a link at the bottom to a short story I wrote involving the same characters.  

“How will we be spending Christmas this year?” Arthur asked, half turning in his seat to look up at Dario.

The boy’s voice pulled Dario back to the present. He was surprised to find that, while his thoughts had wandered, he’d somehow allowed his horse to slow to a walk. He frowned absently, annoyed at his own inattention. “What was that?”

“Christmas,” the boy repeated, his tone unexpectedly stern. “You said that’s why we were coming here, because it would make Christmas more enjoyable.”

“So I did.” Dario felt a small stab of guilt. His motives for wanting Ophelia and her son out of the hotel had been purely personal. But, all the same, who wouldn’t prefer to be here, rather than in a hotel?

“But how will it be enjoyable? What do you intend to do to make it so? Everyone says you don’t do anything anymore—that you never celebrate Christmas—that you rarely even leave the house. That doesn’t sound very enjoyable to me.”

Everyone? “Who have you been talking to?” Dario asked, equally affronted by the idea of the child asking questions about him as he was by his accusations. True, he hadn’t had a reason to celebrate much of anything in the past few years and the stares and whispered comments his presence always seemed to elicit made going out in public something of a nightmare, but his behavior wasn’t unalterable either. He could still celebrate Christmas if he wanted to.

Arthur shrugged. “Just the maids. And the grooms. And Mrs. Harrison, of course. She said it was because you were so unhappy. And Mama said I was to stop asking so many questions and not to trouble you about it either, but I’m not troubling you. Am I?”

“Not at all,” Dario answered, lying smoothly. He gazed curiously at the boy. “How are you used to celebrating Christmas?”

“We’d always have a tall tree set up in the parlor, all lit with candles,” Arthur said promptly. “With presents underneath. Oh, and there’d be cookies, of course, and sweets, and sometimes in the evening, carolers would come to the door, singing.”

Dario nodded. “And what kind of presents do you like to get?”

“I dunno. Games, I guess, and toys, maybe some books. Last year I got a pair of ice-skates.” His face fell. “But there’s no pond to skate on here, is there?”

“Not really.”

“And there’d always be one special toy that Grandpapa would have made for me,” the boy said wistfully. “But he’s gone now. I don’t suppose I’ll be getting any more like those.”

“No. Probably not.” Dario could only imagine the wondrous toys an inventor of Charles’ caliber might have made for his grandson: marvelous electrical games and puzzles, miniature steam-powered vehicles that were working replicas of their real-life counterparts, clockwork dolls that could walk and talk and...no, he would not think of it.

“Here, it’s your turn.” Seeking distraction, Dario took hold of Arthur’s hands. He lifted them from the pommel and placed them on the reins, keeping his own hands loosely clasped atop them. “Guide her where you want her to go.” He smiled at the small tremor that ran through the boy, the way he sat up a little bit straighter in the saddle, the way his hands firmed on the reins. “Yes. Just like that. Very good.”

A pleasant silence settled between them, broken only by Arthur’s murmured encouragements to Leveche.

“You know, my father used to take me riding like this when I was your age. This is how he taught me.” And now I’m teaching my own son in the exact same fashion. The thought came to him unbidden and once again set his heart to racing. He wanted so desperately to believe it was true. Why should it not be so, even if he couldn’t prove it? What could it hurt to at least entertain the possibility? And what possible goal could Ophelia have for seeking to deceive him in this fashion?

“Did you always live here?” Arthur asked.

“What, here in this house? No. But, if you mean in Santa Fe, then yes. Always.”

“It must be nice to live in the same place your whole life.” Arthur’s voice held a wistful note once again.

“Oh, I think both paths have their own advantages.” Dario gave the boy’s hands a slight squeeze. “Think of it this way, you will get to experience so much more, and at a much younger age, than I ever did. And, if something here is not to your liking, perhaps in the next place you go, it will be.”

“I don’t want there to be a next place,” Arthur muttered beneath his breath. Dario pretended not to hear.

“What did you used to do here at Christmas?” Arthur asked after a moment’s silence. “When you were my age, I mean.”

“It was very much like what you described—a tree, presents, special foods. And then on Christmas Eve we’d go into town to view the posada and see the plaza, all lit up with faralitos. But there were quite a few more of us in my family, so it was very noisy at times and we always had to share. And we lived too far from town for anyone to come caroling, there was no pond for skating and I had no grandpapa to make me wonderful toys.”

“But you had horses, didn’t you? I should think they’d make up for a lot of the other things.”

“Yes. We always had horses.” Dario smiled, for he, too, had been crazy about horses from a very young age. “And each season the whole family would ride out to the river for Balloon Glow, which is something else I imagine you don’t see much of back in Pennsylvania.”

Arthur craned his neck again to frown up at him. “Balloon Glow? I’ve never heard of it. What is it?”

“It’s a local festival involving lighter-than-air craft—mostly balloons. Even back in those days, you know, almost all of the most wealthy families had at least one. On a specific date, we’d gather out on one of the mesas along the river. People would come from miles around. For some, the trip was so long it would take them several days to get there and back. On the day of the event, vendors would set up camp, offering coffee and hot apple cider as well as fry-bread and other snacks. Shortly after dusk, all the other lights would be extinguished and the balloons fired up. They’d glow from within like giant lanterns and we’d walk around among them, admiring all the many designs, listening to the carolers sing...” Dario’s voice trailed off as the memories overtook him. He almost missed Arthur’s next question.

“Do they not do that anymore?”

Dario looked at him in surprise. “Why, no. Why would you think that? It’s still held every year. It takes place this coming weekend, I believe.” It had been years since he’d gone, years since he’d even thought about it.

“Might we go?”

Dario smiled at the tension in Arthur’s voice; surely that combination of hesitancy and eagerness could not be manufactured? Noticing the boy had let the reins go slack he took them back and urged Leveche toward the stables. “I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t. Especially seeing as you haven’t been to one before.” In such a vast crowd one little boy was unlikely to attract too much attention and, with any luck, even Dario might be able to go about his business undetected by the gossips. It was a holiday. Why should he not chance it?


Blurb: Santa Fe, The Republic of New Texacali, 1870

Eight years ago, Ophelia Leonides's husband cast her off when he discovered she was not the woman he thought she was. Now destitute after the death of her father, Ophelia is forced to turn to Dario for help raising the child she never told him about.

Dario is furious that Ophelia has returned, and refuses to believe Arthur is his son—after all, he thought his wife was barren. But to avoid gossip, he agrees to let them spend the holidays at his villa. While he cannot resist the desire he still feels for Ophelia, Dario despises himself for being hopelessly in love with a woman who can never love him back.

But Dario is wrong: Ophelia's emotions are all too human, and she was brokenhearted when he rejected her. Unsure if she can trust the man she desperately loves, she fears for her life, her freedom and her son if anyone else learns of her true nature...

https://www.amazon.com/This-Winter-Heart-Steampunk-Christmas-ebook/dp/B005Z1C29G

            

FREE READ: This Winter Night