Creatures of the Night and Santa’s Christmas duties don’t mix. Every myth and bedtime story tells you so. But on Christmas Eve, when the Elves walked off the job over pension rights, it was time for me—Irwin, the only vampire on Santa’s payroll, despite recent diversity initiatives—and my trusty team to help out.
Just deliver a few parcels, Santa asked me. Just help out on your local patch. Just for one night. Armed with my reluctance to face all that human sentimentality, and accompanied by a wise-cracking werewolf and an unruly fairy with a taste for vodka, I did my best. Honest.
But we were heading for disaster until I came face-to-face with cute babysitter Benny. It’s Santa’s Number One Rule—no fraternising with the clients. But Benny somehow managed to upset my appetite, inflame my libido, and restore my faith in the Christmas spirit, with one cheeky smile and a tasty body piercing. It’s Christmas, and the show must go on!
Original Review December 2022:
This is going to be short so I don't spoil this amazingly fun tale. When we think of Christmas reads we think emotional, reconnecting, heartwarming, reaffirming of the common good of one's neighbors . . . basically sappy happy to the Nth degree. I love all of that, I really do but I also enjoy a good "out there" take on holiday lore. This is exactly what Clare London's Bite Night is. Bite is not dark, it is not scary, but it is definitely not typical holiday fare.
Vampire, werewolf, sprite oh my! Oh my indeed! Yummy! It's like going to a Christmas party and finding a platter of all your favorite Christmas cookies waiting just for you.
Bite Night might be short in quantity but it is long on fun quality. If you have never read Clare London before, this is a perfect introduction to her work. You won't regret it.
RATING:
Summary:
The Magi Accounts #2
As if crushin’ on a shifter wasn’t bad enough, I had to go and date one.
A mage and a shifter walk into a bar… No, that’s the whole joke.
Magi and shifters don’t mix, and yet I find myself in a relationship with Cosmo, a lion shifter. And on top of that, Cosmo, and all his pride members, consider my brothers and me to be a part of their pride. Three magi in a shifter pride. Who would’ve ever thought?
Navigating our connection while trying to figure out what’s going on in the world isn’t easy. Trusting that Cosmo means forever when he says it? Even harder. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned since meeting the Ono-Nais, it’s that taking a risk with my heart will be worth it to be a part of their lives.
The Shackles That Hold Us is a 113K novel and the second book in the MM urban fantasy series, The Magi Accounts. It’s recommended to read the series in order because it has an ongoing storyline, but there is NO cliffhanger.
*Intended for adults only. Please read the trigger warnings at the beginning of this novel.
Summary:
The Secrets of Willowhope #3
Help comes in all shapes and sizes, and for Kingston and Skylar, it comes in the form of dreams, sinister whispers, and the cutest little girl you ever did see. Too bad she’s dead and has her sights set on Skylar to be the perfect playmate in her afterlife.
Skylar has been waiting so patiently for his shot with Kingston, but the gentle giant has no idea how to handle the vivacious man. While Kingston and Skylar learn more about themselves and each other, things unseen are brewing from their visit to Beckoning Pond months ago. It'll take a little—or a lot—of help from their families, both of origin and by choice, to free them from a spirit’s temper tantrum and bring peace once again to the beachtown of Willowhope.
In Whispering Fields, Kingston and Sky finally get their HEA, but it won’t make sense without first reading Beckoning Pond. The Secrets of Willowhope are fun and lighthearted reads, and like all Sammi Cee books, heartwarming. There’s only a touch of creepy in the books in this series, so if you’re looking for horror, I can promise you, this isn’t it.
Summary:
Wolf Moon Rising #1
An apple a day won’t keep this doctor away.
Linden Grove has always known that he’s not destined to be the next pack alpha. That position belonged to his brother Aspen—but then Aspen left the pack to join the military. When the unthinkable happens and the pack is left rudderless, someone has to step up and take care of it. Can a doctor go from “do no harm” to defending his own with his teeth and claws?
Colt Doherty is used to a certain kind of life. Glittering, picturesque, and . . . empty. As the youngest child of the country’s only werewolf senator, Colt has grown up in the spotlight, and he’s all too used to knot-headed alphas taking credit for the work of others, especially omegas like himself. When his editor sends him to write a story on the Grove pack, though, he finds something completely unexpected: Linden Grove in his unpolished perfection, as shiny and sweet as the apples his pack are known for.
A Grove pack omega has been kidnapped, and someone has to step up. The pack needs Linden to fill his father’s shoes, but no wolf can stand on his own. To save the day, sheltered Colt has to drop the politics and become the action hero he never thought an omega could be.
Black Moon is an 90k word standalone novel featuring one fiery journalist, one doctor with an obsession for hand knit sweaters, and the sweetest apple pies on the whole eastern seaboard, all bundled up in a non-mpreg A/B/O universe.
Soulbound #7
Death is the last lover you will ever know.
SOA Special Agent Patrick Collins has lived a life full of lies, and it has finally caught up with him. There’s no denying his past any longer, not after giving up the truth to save himself from a murder charge. But truth alone can’t set Patrick free, and time is running out to stop the Dominion Sect from turning his father into a god.
Jonothon de Vere knows survival isn’t a guarantee, but he’s desperate to keep Patrick safe, even as hope slips through his fingers. With the future unknown, Jono will follow Patrick wherever he goes, even to Salem, where a family reunion reveals a bitter secret that was never going to stay buried.
With New York City under control of their god pack, Patrick and Jono must fall back on every alliance they’ve brokered to fill the front lines of a war coming directly to the city streets. The veil is always thinnest on Samhain, and what awaits them on the other side is the stuff of nightmares. For when it tears, all hell will break loose, and the gods will be summoned to face a reckoning the world isn’t ready for.
The stakes have never been higher, failure has never been so deadly, and the Fates have never been kind to heroes. Patrick knows that better than anyone—because everything has a price, every debt always comes due, and it’s finally time for Patrick to pay his.
Random Paranormal Tales of 2023
Bite Night by Clare London
I WASN’T meant to be caught.
I mean, it’s Santa’s #1 Rule for Gift-Delivery Operatives. No visibility with the clients. Ever. Get in the house, deliver the gifts, eat the cookies—or carrots, whatever’s there, get over yourself and any of your food fads—and get out as fast as possible.
This was a detached, double-fronted house in an affluent, peaceful street. Large garden, large drive, and equivalently large car parked in front. Stylish and smart and reeking of new money. We’d visited plenty of these places tonight on Stacy Street, and the blatant privilege thing was starting to irritate my skin, like I imagined microdermal piercings would do if my unique physical status didn’t rule them out. Pity: I’d always liked the look of body jewelry.
I slid through the wall into the house in my usual fashion, shaking off that prickly nausea I got from dry wall insulation, and arrived with my sack of goodies in just the right place beside the Christmas tree. It was obvious there was a small kid in the house because the tree was, one, better anchored than most people’s, two, artificial so no pine needles would fall on the furniture and get eaten by mistake, and three, with decorations placed high enough to be out of the reach of small hands. The thought of a kid’s innocent delight at the season should have warmed me from the inside out, right? Instead, I thought I might vomit from an excess of sentimentality.
“Irwin?” came a harsh whisper from behind me, at the window. “You eating all the cookies, you greedy bastard?”
I winced. That was another of the rules: no cursing or abusive behavior while on the client’s premises. Guess at least one of my team needed refresher training. Or would Wulf start arguing semantics, that he wasn’t actually on the premises until I let him in? I bit back a snappy reply and unlatched the patio window.
With a rush of hot breath and prickly fur, Wulf burst into the room and skidded to a halt beside me. On all fours, of course, with his sack clutched in his teeth. He’d leaped the fence and approached through the back garden. I could only hope he’d kept his claws sheathed: they wreaked havoc with clients’ lawns.
“I don’t eat cookies,” I said to him. “As you very well know. The food is for you, and the milk or juice for Zilith.”
“Any sherry?” The mention of her name—and the promise of booze—had brought in the third person on my team. There was a swish of air as her butterfly-sized wings fluttered past, followed by a trail of glittery pink light from her miniscule toes. It never ceased to amaze me how she could also carry a sack a hundred times her personal size.
“Drinking on the job must be moderated,” I quoted from Santa’s handbook. Did I love being Mr. Human Resources, or what? Or maybe that should have been Mr. Inhuman Resources…. “You’ve had three sherries and a whiskey already from this street. Luckily, there’s only milk left out here.”
Zilith’s disappointed sniff expressed her opinion of the word “lucky”.
“Artificial tree. Huh. It’s a modern disease.” Wulf had finished the plate of cookies already—an expensive, organic brand, I noticed—and was prowling around the tree.
“Don’t you dare!” I snapped at him.
“What?” His body was long, lean and lupine, but the eyes were all mischievous bad boy.
“Piss up that tree,” I hissed. “I’ve seen you do it before, remember?”
“That other household wouldn’t have noticed.” Wulf yawned, his bright, white canines reflecting the twinkling tree lights. “Didn’t look like they’d cleared anything away from the previous Christmas. And did you see what their own dog left on top of the TV remote control? A delightful nugget of steaming—”
“Enough!” This was only the beginning of a long, long night, and I was already losing patience with the pair of them.
And then the guy walked into the room. We all stopped dead, him included. He looked to be in his early twenties, blond and blue-eyed. Mussed hair, barefoot, and dressed in loose jeans and a thin T-shirt that showed off some modest muscle definition and a couple of really tight, luscious nipples. One had the shape of a tiny metal bar threaded through it.
My mouth went dry.
“Bollocks,” Wulf growled, his hackles rising.
“Hush. Maybe he won’t see us.” Zilith’s best baby-girl voice tinkled in my ear.
The guy looked from her to me, to Wulf. And then back to me, probably because I was the one nearest his own height. The bowl of popcorn in his hands dropped to the floor with a crash.
“Pass on that, princess,” Wulf growled to Zilith.
The guy swallowed really, really hard and took a step backward. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans.
“He has a gun!” Zilith squeaked.
“Please don’t call the police,” I said quickly.
“Or post a photo on Facebook,” Wulf muttered at my side.
The guy’s mouth opened—a very cute, full mouth it was, too—and then closed again. Words obviously failed him. But he slowly removed his hand from his pocket and, presumably, his phone.
“Consider this just a bad dream,” I said. I was searching my mind for the instructions on Stacy Street. Had I missed the number of children at number 36? This guy was surely too young to be the dad of a toddler and an eight-year-old, but too old to be… another child? I tried the mind-meld thing. I did a couple of courses in Enhanced Hypnotism last summer while I was… you know… indisposed indoors. “You’ve had a few drinks too many. Things have been very stressful at work.”
The Shackles that Hold Us by Michele Notaro
Sure enough, a minute later, I heard Cosmo bounding up the stairs. I knew it was him because of the way the bond around my heart reacted. The door burst open with way more force than necessary, and Cos rushed to me, dropping to his knees beside the bed and pulling me into a hug.
His arms were around my neck—avoiding my sensitive back—so I wrapped mine around his waist and realized he was shaking.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” I whispered.
He tucked his face into the side of my neck and shook his head.
“Talk to me, honey.” I made a disgusted face at the endearment that accidentally came out of my mouth. But I didn’t take it back—progress.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Sure doesn’t seem that way to me.”
He sighed, nuzzled into me, and breathed deeply. “I needed to see you.”
“Okay…”
“I’ve been… uh, worried.”
“Why? Did something happen at work?”
“No. I’ve just been worried… about you.”
“Oh.”
He waited a beat. “That all you have to say?”
“Uh, yeah. Not sure what else there is to say.” I shrugged against him, then winced from my skin. Goddess, how long was it going to be sore?
“You could try making me feel better.”
“How?”
“By admitting you missed me, too.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I might’ve missed you a teeny tiny bit. Like so miniscule it was hardly noticeable.”
He snorted. “Prickhole.”
I smiled and rubbed his back, then turned my face toward him so I spoke for his ears only since I knew Jude and River were eavesdropping. “I did miss you, you know.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, Cos, really.” I waited a few seconds. “You make the best pillow, and you’re so warm that I’ve been freezing since you left.”
He barked out a small laugh. “I can always count on you to keep me humble.”
I snorted, then gripped him tighter and tucked my face farther into him. “I do miss you when we’re apart, kitty cat.”
A small rumble started vibrating his chest, and I smiled as I sighed. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw River and Jude walk out of the room, but I didn’t pay them any attention, not when I had a sweet and sexy lion in my arms.
Cos leaned back and captured my mouth with his, kissing me as tenderly as he held me, and I let him. Sometimes his gentleness was almost painful in its sweetness, but it was a hurt I wanted to feel.
His tongue caressed mine, taking its time and exploring my mouth like we had all the time in the world. It made my heart race and my chest warm and my belly fill with a thousand butterflies all at the same time.
When he broke the kiss, he nudged my nose with his, smiling when I opened my eyes, and he whispered, “Hi.”
I blinked a few times, staring at those golden eyes. “Hi.”
He pressed a lingering kiss to my lips before meeting my gaze again. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”
“Really? Or is this one of those times when you’re acting like you’re okay even though you’re not?”
I scowled at him. “I said I’m fine, which means I’m fine.”
He gave me another peck.
Whispering Fields by Sammi Cee
Kingston
Sleep tugged at me, trying to pull me under, even though it was hours from my normal bedtime. I hadn’t been getting enough sleep at night, but in the months since my best friend Jetty’s boyfriend Chance and his family had banished the specter haunting Beckoning Pond, who was killing innocents, my dreams had gotten stranger and more confusing. In the past, I at least knew the places my dreams took me. Or, at the very least, I recognized the countryside surrounding me, but lately, I’d been dreaming of a field, and it seemed to be calling out, wanting.
“Kingston, you need to get some rest tonight, son,” came the crackling voice of my grandmother.
I pushed back from my computer, turning toward the door where she leaned on the door jamb. “I will. I promise.”
She tutted and shuffled into the room in her favorite slippers, which were a rub away from falling apart. She wore an old white night dress that had seen better days on her frail body, with a black knit scarf draped over her hunched shoulders. Her gray hair, which still had a few strips of its original black, framed her face in a tangled mess, hanging down to the middle of her back. When I was a small child, she’d been known as the town eccentric. There’d been a lot of speculation that she was a witch. To me, she’d been grandmother, mother, and father. She was the only person I could rely on. The only one who treated me as if I had any value or showed me any love after my parents died. Granted, she was a little kooky, but she never hurt anyone, and it wasn’t like she purposely tried to scare people.
The days of her leaving the house were a thing of the past now, though. The last time she’d gone anywhere was when I graduated from high school. I tried getting her out of the house, but she refused to go or tell me why. It worried me. The glazed absence in her eyes scared me. I didn’t know how I’d survive without her. But hadn’t I been losing her for a while, anyway? She’d become a shell of herself, and I had no idea how to help her. “Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you, my little prince.”
I grinned at the old nickname she’d bestowed on me when my parents named me Kingston. I’d been a preemie, and she’d insisted that such a little guy needed a better name, so I’d become her little prince. She only called me that now when she was worried about me. Seeing as how I’d grown up to basically be a giant, well over six foot, it didn’t really fit anymore. Shrugging, I sagged back into the kitchen chair that I’d confiscated years ago to use at my desk. We didn’t have a lot, and most of what we had was old, but I splurged on the various computers I’d bought through the years. It made it easier to do the necessary research that came with having my sleep plagued by dreams of other-worldly things. “It’s nothing, really. Just not sleeping as well as I’d like.”
Her mouth formed a thin, tight line. “Your dreams,” she stated. She’d known before I’d found the words to express to anyone else the confusing visions and glimpses of people I’d never met and places I’d never been. They weren’t necessarily scary to me. Not until recently, anyway. Even now, I wouldn’t call them terrifying, but they were certainly disconcerting enough that I fought sleep, while it seemed to beckon me more and more.
“Yeah, they’ve been a little weirder than normal.” I hadn’t told her about what had been going on out at Willowhope Manor. When I’d first mentioned that Jetty had started working out there, she’d become agitated and spent the next several days in bed. Since then, I’d avoided any mention of the property. All I’d told her was that Jetty had a boyfriend now and that I spent a lot of time with them. What I’d failed to mention was that his boyfriend, Chance, had inherited the property and also just happened to see ghosts. Grandmother’s stance on the town of Willowhope being haunted had always been a little unclear to me. The rambling messages she used to give people seemed to suggest that she absolutely thought we shared our small beachside town with those who’d passed on, but when I brought it up at home, she’d merely smiled and changed the subject.
“Hm. Well, weird dreams call for my special hot chocolate, I think.” She turned and shuffled back out of the room while I stifled a groan. The scoop of hot chocolate mix she put into the tepid milk didn’t cover up the odd flavor of whatever else she added to it or the thick texture of some form of root or weed that she chopped up into it. Quite honestly, it was terrible. She’d given it to me often as a child when the dreams had first started, but less as time went on, and I’d figured out how to find the places I’d dreamed of and went exploring.
My phone chimed with a text notification, and my heart skipped a beat. There was a time when the only person I heard from on a social level was Jetty, but with him dating Chance, my social circle had somehow grown. Chance often reached out to me himself when a ghost came his way and needed information about what had happened to family members. With my job with the township, it was easier for me to find out than it would’ve been for him. I enjoyed helping him, too. It felt more important than what I actually got paid to do. Oftentimes, the lonely spirits he encountered crossed over once they realized how long they’d been wandering this plane and that there was a strong probability that they had descendants already waiting for them on the other side if they’d just go. Even though he owned a now prospering B&B, he didn’t hesitate to stop what he was doing to help them move on.
But that wasn’t why my heart was currently skipping like a stone across a pond. Nor was it because I thought it might be Chance’s parents or our new friend, Scotty, all of whom liked to get together or just check in on me. It was the possibility that it might be Chance’s best friend, Sky, who'd followed him from the big city. Sky, who twisted me up so badly I didn’t know up from down or right from left when he was around. Sky, who was vibrant with life and hummed with energy. I couldn’t figure out why he tried so hard to be a part of my life. I understood that our besties were dating and all, but that didn’t mean he had to give me the time of day, no matter how much I actually wanted him to.
Jetty used to defend me in school because people teased and mocked me for being big and goofy, for being different. I’d appreciated his friendship and loyalty, but he’d been fighting a losing battle. It was all true. Years of dreaming about things I shouldn’t know, couldn’t possibly know in the natural world, had created an obsession about all of the supernatural activity in town. If we weren’t talking ghosts, I had little to offer to any conversation, and no real idea how to converse even if I did. Yet Skyer treated me like I was one of his favorite people, like talking to me made his day. Hearing from him definitely made mine.
After checking my phone, my heart stopped abruptly for a beat before galloping away like a horse that had been spooked by a gunshot. It was Sky.
Sky: Heyyyyyyy. Whatcha doing? I’m bored. Wanna come over?
Glancing at the clock, I saw it was already 8:30pm, and I had work tomorrow. Normally, that wouldn’t matter that much, but with my lack of sleep, I didn’t even think it was safe for me to drive out to Jetty’s old place where he was living. Chance’s mom, Elyse, trained him in all things witchy—not that they referred to it that way—so he spent a lot of time at the B&B, but even that was too far. I rolled my eyes at myself. How did I tell him I couldn’t tonight without sounding like a boring old man instead of only being in my thirties?
Me: Sorry. My gran is making us hot chocolate right now.
Sky: Booooo. If you’d just let me come over, I could be having hot chocolate with you two.
I didn’t know why, but he’d been begging me relentlessly to come meet my gran. I couldn’t let him come over. She’d want to know how we met, and he’d get excited and start babbling away, and then she’d find out all about what I’d been up to lately. Would she approve? Who knew? But I couldn’t let her ask me not to go out to that property because I wouldn’t be able to help myself. Willowhope Manor and its property had given me access to all the things I’d been obsessed with my whole life, like seeing ghosts.
Me: Someday.
Sky: Yeah, yeah. You say that every time I ask.
Sky: Will you be here tomorrow night?
Skyer: Mr. Harry said he’s making lasagna rolls because they’re your favorite.
How in the world did he text so fast?
Me: Yeah, I’ll be there. Tell Mr. Harry when you go over that he doesn’t have to go to any trouble on my account though.
Sky: LMFAO.
A gif came through from him of a panda bear rolling down a hill. He sent that to me often with a LOL or a LMFAO or a Bahahahaha, but I didn’t know why. I’d have to ask Jetty.
Sky: Did you fall and knock your head on something? Are you concussed? There is no way I’m going up against Mr. Harry. Not even for you, Kingston. Sorry not sorry, but I love my life, and I’m too young to be haunting the manor.
Sky: Although, if I was a spirit, then I could come see you whenever I want. You wouldn’t be able to keep me out.
Perplexed, I stared at his message, unsure what to say to any of that. He had a point about Mr. Harry. Willowhope Manor’s butler had inhabited the home for well over a hundred years. No one knew that house or what it had been through better than him. At one point, when he was still alive, he’d even gone from butler to being the owner. These days, he helped Chance run the place.
I heard Gran’s shuffling steps, so I pushed down the idea of asking Sky why in the world he’d want to haunt someone as boring as me.
Me: My gran is back. I’ll see you tomorrow. Please tell Mr. Harry thank you.
That would have to do for now.
Sky: Alllllright. I guess that means you can’t at least talk on the phone. I’ll see you tomorrow, King. Sweet dreams.
I ignored the way his calling me King felt as special as Gran calling me little prince and set my phone face down. Getting up, I met her at the doorway and took the hot chocolate from her trembling hands. Once I had it, she reached up and patted my cheek. “Get ready for bed before you drink this, my little prince. It’ll put you under pretty quickly.”
I bent down and kissed her paper-thin, weathered cheek. “Okay, Gran. Are you going to bed, too?”
“I’ll stay up until I know you’re peaceful. In case you need me.” She smiled serenely, then left the room. She often said cryptic things like that, and I really had no idea what she meant. It wasn’t like she sat at my bedside.
Suddenly, I was back standing in the same field I’d been in countless nights during dreamtime. It didn’t take me long to realize it was different this time. Before, there’d only been silence, but now I could smell the salt from the ocean. Was I still in Willowhope? I didn’t recognize this spot, and the beaches down the coastline either had boardwalks or homes. I couldn’t think of one place where a field stood close enough to the ocean that I’d even feel the breeze from the water as I did now. Without thought, my feet began leading me deeper into the field. I’d be alarmed if I wasn’t so curious about where I was or what was drawing me like some magnetic force that I had no power to resist.
After walking at least half a mile, in the distance, a large looming house appeared. A mansion rising three stories into the air. Unlike Willowhope Manor, which had been renovated and occupied more often than not, this place was ancient and dark, gloomy and shadowed in darkness, yet eerily beautiful. I moved closer, transfixed. But as I neared the lone structure, I saw a slight of build, long-haired blond standing in the third-floor picture window. He stared out across the fields with that huge smile on his face that made him look like he’d never seen something so wonderful or been as happy to be right where he was at that moment. Sky. I’d seen that look time and again, and still, my breath hitched, and my stomach dropped like I was plunging down the side of a rollercoaster. He was breathtaking.
Why was he there? How had he ended up in one of my dreams that were generally of ghosts and spirits who’d either been left behind or…
Movement to his right caught my attention, and I moved my gaze, following it, trying to figure out who he was with. Instead of taking in the captivating view like he was, a little girl with stubby blonde pigtails stood gazing up at him. With her body half-turned, I couldn’t tell if she was talking to him or if she was merely watching him, but he was being very un-Sky-like, ignoring her instead of engaging her in conversation. Sky was such an extrovert—unlike me—and generally so good with people. Then she turned, her gaze finding mine, like I’d called out to her. The initial blankness on her face disappeared in favor of childlike glee. She jumped up and down at Sky’s side, and I realized with horror that he couldn’t see her. Had no idea that she was even there. That child wasn’t alive.
We’d had firsthand encounters with malevolent spirits since Chance took over Willowhope Manor, and since the mansion in front of me was obviously old, there was no telling how long she’d been there or why she was still there. It was entirely possible that she was like Mr. Harry, unwilling to leave the home he’d served and then passed on in. But what if it was something else? What if she was trapped? Unmoored and angry? My legs pumped as I waved my arms, trying to get Sky’s attention, needing to warn him that he wasn’t alone. But as long as my legs were, I got no closer to the dwelling in the middle of the fields. The same distance remained as I ran through the fields, and childlike voices began to whisper in a chorus, “He’s going to play with me now…”
Black Moon by Sam Burns & WM Fawkes
If you’ve never driven the side roads off Virginia highways, let me tell you, you’re missing out on a whole bunch of fields. Hours and hours of trees and farmland. Endless, mundane hours.
Before I even got to Grovetown, I lost patience with the audiobook I’d been listening to, slammed it off, and turned on an old Blink-182 album, shouting along with lyrics worn familiar by a youth spent pissed the fuck off.
Finally—fucking finally—I wound my Prius up hilly roads, passing what looked to be an apple orchard with a sign out front that said, “Grove Apple Grove.”
Right, the Grove pack had been founded around an orchard, wolves rushing in from the coast back in ye olden times and settling where they could grow fruit plentifully.
Sounded kind of nice, all those sweet apples. A whole pack’s hopes and dreams growing deep with tree roots in soil.
Hey! Maybe apples were the key to overcoming the Condition. An apple a day and all that shit. You never know, but I was already looking forward to heirloom apples and cider donuts.
Whatever the case, I was surprised by how much I liked the sound of a pack with a place to belong. There was, of course, a pack in DC. Dad was alpha, but we were spread out through the whole district, and everybody had drives and intentions outside of the good of the pack. There wasn’t much communal about it, just, if two wolves had a problem, if an alpha got out of hand, Dad was expected to delegate someone to handle it.
That was the kind of pack I was used to, not the kind who looked after each other, settled in close to their neighbors, and worked together.
As idyllic as it sounded, it was just a nice thought. Like the drive through the countryside, there was no damn way that kind of life wouldn’t bore the ever-loving shit out of me the second I was done writing about the Grove pack’s weird traditions and backward habits.
A Veiled & Hallowed Eve by Hailey Turner
1
SOA Special Agent Patrick Collins woke up before dawn on a Tuesday in October with his hands wrapped around his lover’s throat.
“Fuck,” Patrick rasped out, body shaking as he jerked his fingers away from Jonothon de Vere’s warm skin.
Jono, his own hands already locked around Patrick’s wrists, didn’t let go. In the dull gray darkness of their bedroom, Jono’s wolf-bright blue eyes reflected what little light was coming through the edges of the curtain.
“It’s all right,” Jono said, his voice quiet and calm.
Patrick could barely hear him over the pounding of his heart. Leaning over Jono, the blankets twisted around them and pulled up from the mattress, he had no recollection of moving, of reaching for Jono.
Of choking him.
The cold sweat sliding down Patrick’s skin made him shiver as he tried to pull away, the lingering traces of his nightmare still trying to take root.
“The fuck it is. I’ve hurt you enough.”
Jono made a wordless sound that vibrated through his chest. He let go of Patrick’s left wrist to reach for the small lamp sitting on his nightstand. Switching it on illuminated their bedroom with a soft glow, and Patrick blinked hard, turning his face away from the light. Jono gently pulled Patrick closer. He stiffened, unwilling to be moved, but Jono was nothing if not determined. Patrick soon found himself lying on his side, wrapped up in Jono’s arms, trying to calm his breathing.
“You had a nightmare,” Jono murmured, searching Patrick’s eyes.
“No shit.”
“You didn’t hurt me.”
Patrick barked out a harsh laugh, dragging a hand over his face to wipe away some sweat. “I had my hands wrapped around your throat.”
“Barely. You couldn’t hurt me like that, and you didn’t, so stop bloody thinking you did something wrong.”
Patrick shifted in Jono’s arms to lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Jono settled his right hand over Patrick’s scarred chest, fingers splayed wide. He could only feel portions of Jono’s touch, the scar tissue and nerve damage inflicted by a soultaker all those years ago never healing all the way despite Persephone’s intercedence.
Fucking demons.
Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and carefully curled his hand over Jono’s—the one Andras had blown off with an attack spell. Jono could argue all he liked that it wasn’t Patrick’s fault, but it had been his magic the Great Marquis of Hell had used. Jono wasn’t an amputee solely because of the werevirus running through his veins.
He took a breath, then another, trying to steady his nerves and shove the traces of that horrible nightmare where Andras was in control to the back of his mind. Less than a day spent with that fucking demon, and the fallout of it was insidiously subtle. Emotional wounds were a lot harder to heal than physical ones sometimes. His VA-assigned therapist kept reminding him of that, but Patrick knew he wasn’t really in the headspace to hear it right now.
Patrick didn’t think he’d ever stop feeling guilty for what he’d perpetuated against Jono, even if he knew, rationally, it wasn’t his fault. But rationality had no place in matters of the heart, and Patrick didn’t know how to not carry that guilt.
“Hey, look at me.”
Patrick turned his head to the side and looked Jono in the eye. Jono tugged his hand free from Patrick’s grip, shifting so he was the one leaning over this time. He dipped his head, lips brushing over Patrick’s, the touch gentle, nothing like the horror of the nightmare taking up space in his head.
“I’m right here,” Jono murmured. “And so are you.”
Patrick chased after Jono’s mouth, getting a longer, deeper kiss for his efforts. “Not for much longer.”
He had a flight to catch to Washington, DC, at 0900, and Jono wasn’t coming with him. He’d wanted to, but things were still a mess with all the packs in New York City. One of them needed to stay behind to handle anything that came up. Samhain was two and a half weeks away, and they were scrambling to shore up their defenses.
“Stay out of the Library of Congress this time,” Jono said as he pushed himself to a sitting position.
“Like I have time to read these days.”
“Pat.”
“Okay, okay. No going back to the scene of the crime.”
Back in August, he and Sage Taylor, their god pack’s dire, had gone with Captain Gerard Breckenridge to locate and steal a book Ashanti had left behind in some other century. They’d found it, but then soultakers had found them, and they’d only escaped with the help of gods.
Somehow, Patrick hadn’t been blamed by the public for that mess.
Patrick ran his tongue over the back of his teeth. He wanted to get the taste of morning breath and toxic guilt out of his mouth. Whiskey would help.
“I’ll get your coffee started,” Jono said, as if he were reading Patrick’s mind.
Patrick grunted and rolled out of bed. He needed to shower off the nightmare and make himself mostly presentable for the joint task force meeting ahead. Since it had been agreed by multiple agencies that Patrick was a designated target of Ethan Greene and the Dominion Sect, he wasn’t obligated to wear a suit. He wasn’t going to do a media walk in front of cameras when he got there, and suits weren’t the best kind of clothing to fight in. The one he’d worn to the Library of Congress had gone into the trash.
Patrick hauled himself under the spray of hot water in the shower and scrubbed himself clean. He didn’t take long because he wasn’t looking forward to waiting on standby with a teenage dragon if they missed the flight out. Airport food was usually disgusting, always expensive, and Patrick only had so much money in his bank account right now to keep Wade Espinoza fed. At least they had pack tithes coming in every month now to help with that.
After he finished washing up, Patrick quickly got dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt that wasn’t too wrinkled. He strapped his gods-given dagger to his right thigh before holstering his semiautomatic HK USP 9mm tactical pistol, shoving his badge into his back pocket.
The weight of the handgun wasn’t something he thought he’d get back. The handgun and his SOA badge had been taken from him when he’d been accused of Youssef Khan’s murder. The return of his job still felt temporary, and Patrick was bracing for the day he’d be relieved of his duty. He didn’t know what he’d do when that happened.
Maybe finally take that vacation that was owed to him if he survived.
Once he had his combat boots laced up, Patrick headed for the kitchen, where Jono was pouring just a little cream into a mug for him. Jono had his own mug, that of strong black tea, but he passed over Patrick’s coffee with a smile.
“Feel better?” Jono asked.
Patrick didn’t have his shields up, so he couldn’t lie, but he honestly didn’t want to. “Getting there.”
Some days, going through the motions was all he could do. Unfortunately, he couldn’t be anything but sharp once he got to DC.
Jono tugged him closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. They stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, leaning against each other and sipping their respective drinks. Their quiet moment together was interrupted by the sound of keys jangling in the lock to their apartment’s front door. The only people who had access to the brownstone in Chelsea was their pack, so Patrick didn’t immediately move.
“Do I smell coffee?” Wade asked as he came inside. “I want some.”
“I thought we were picking you up?” Patrick asked as he and Jono disentangled from each other and left the kitchen.
“I was playing video games all night, and then I got bored, so I decided to come over. I texted the group chat.”
Patrick groaned. “You’re not talking to anyone when we get to DC.”
Wade shrugged as he hurried to the kitchen to get some coffee. “Like I want to talk to any of the people there.”
Patrick couldn’t blame him.
“When is the meeting?” Jono asked as he sat on the couch.
“The afternoon,” Patrick said.
“The afternoon?” Wade exclaimed. “I could’ve been sleeping right now!”
“Sleep on the plane.”
“That’s barely a nap.”
“Then maybe next time you’ll know not to play video games so late before I need to make face time with the government.”
Wade walked out of the kitchen, slurping at his coffee. “Why are we getting there so early if the meeting isn’t until the afternoon?”
“I need to look over some files at the SOA headquarters first, and then I need to stop by Arlington.”
Jono eyed him. “Arlington?”
Patrick smiled wanly. “I have respects that need to be paid. I’m overdue.”
“Steer clear of the bars, yeah?” Jono asked gently.
“Not looking to get drunk.”
He had in the past, but that was then, and Patrick needed to be clearheaded today. Besides, Jono had taught him better habits over time.
Jono stared at him, not backing down. “Please?”
“No bars,” Patrick promised.
“There better not be any zombies,” Wade muttered before swallowing half his coffee in one burning gulp that didn’t bother him.
“Don’t tempt fate.”
“They’re assholes anyway.”
“Exactly why you shouldn’t tempt them.”
Wade scrunched up his nose before setting his coffee mug on the low table by the couch so he could tear open his packet of Pop-Tarts. “When are we leaving?”
“Soon.” Patrick eyed Wade’s jeans and T-shirt. “Where’s your jacket?”
“I don’t need one.”
“It’s October. Go grab a jacket from the closet in the guest bedroom,” Jono told him.
“I’m not cold,” Wade protested.
“You get to pretend it’s cold.”
Wade groaned but still went to get one. He and Sage had clothes stashed in their apartment for occasions like this. Wade being a fledgling fire dragon had to be reminded to act human some days. He was growing into his heritage and had come a long way emotionally from when he was rescued last year. Therapy and the support of the pack had slowly taught him to trust again, though that trust was limited to exactly three people.
Wade came out in a light jacket that had his favorite hockey team logo patch over the left chest area. His wavy, dark hair peeked out from beneath a beanie he’d found and was now wearing.
“Do they serve breakfast on the plane?” Wade asked.
Patrick sighed. “No.”
Jono quirked a smile at Patrick. “Let’s get you to the airport. You can feed him there.”
“Great. My wallet thanks you.”
Patrick drank the rest of his coffee in two big swallows and went to get his leather jacket with its embedded magic. The police had located it in the old god pack’s former territory in Hamilton Heights on their crime scene sweep after the challenge fight in Central Park. These days, Patrick wore the charmed jacket like armor, but the best protection he had was his pack. For all the uncertainty ahead, Patrick knew he wouldn’t face it alone.
It only took a few minutes to clean up and leave the apartment. Jono was driving, and it was early enough that traffic wasn’t too much of an issue. When they finally made it to the passenger drop-off zone in LaGuardia, Jono leaned across the console to kiss Patrick goodbye.
“I love you,” Jono said when he pulled away.
Patrick responded the only way he ever did these days. “I’ll come back.”
It was a promise he refused to break.
Clare London took her pen name from the city where she lives, loves, and writes. A lone, brave female in a frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home, she juggles her writing with her other day job as an accountant.
She’s written in many genres and across many settings, with award-winning novels and short stories published both online and in print. She says she likes variety in her writing while friends say she’s just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, she’s happy. Most of her work features male/male romance and drama with a healthy serving of physical passion, as she enjoys both reading and writing about strong, sympathetic, and sexy characters.
Clare currently has several novels sulking at that tricky chapter-three stage and plenty of other projects in mind… she just has to find out where she left them in that frenetic, testosterone-fuelled family home.
Clare loves to hear from readers, and you can contact her on all her social media.
Michele is married to an awesome guy that puts up with her and all the burnt dinners she makes—hey, sometimes characters are a bit distracting, and who doesn’t plot when they’re supposed to be cooking? They live together in Baltimore, Maryland with two little monsters, a three-legged fiend, and a little old man (aka their two sons, their cat, and their senior dog). She hopes to rescue another cat soon, and if her hubby wouldn’t kill her, she’d get more than one… and maybe a few more dogs as well.
She loves creating worlds filled with lots of love, chosen family, and of course, magic, but she also likes making the characters fight for that happy ending. She hopes to one day write all the stories in her head—even if there are too many to count!
Sammi Cee was raised in a family of readers. Summer vacations consisted of a good book while sitting lakeside from as far back as she could remember. After growing up and having her own children, her appreciation of how the written word could transport you on an adventure, bring you to tears, or give you hope, took on a whole new meaning.
These days Sammi is watching her children develop into fine young ladies while doing the things she enjoys most: drinking coffee, eating chocolate, and writing her own stories.
These days Sammi is watching her children develop into fine young ladies while doing the things she enjoys most: drinking coffee, eating chocolate, and writing her own stories.
Sam lives in the Midwest with husband and cat, which is even less exciting than it sounds, so she's not sure why you're still reading this.
She specializes in LGBTQIA+ fiction, usually with a romantic element. There's sometimes intrigue and violence, usually a little sex, and almost always some swearing in her work. Her writing is light and happy, though, so if you're looking for a dark gritty reality, you've come to the wrong author.
W.M. Fawkes is an author of LGBTQ+ urban fantasy and paranormal romance. With coauthor Sam Burns, she writes feisty Greek gods, men, and monsters in the Lords of the Underworld series. She lives with her partner in a house owned by three halloween-hued felines that dabble regularly in shadow walking.
Hailey Turner is big city girl who spoils her cats rotten and has a demanding day job that she loves, but not as much as she loves writing. She’s been writing since she was a young child and enjoys reading almost as much as creating a new story. Hailey loves stories with lots of action, gritty relationships, and an eventual HEA that satisfies the heart.
Clare London
EMAIL: clarelondon11@yahoo.co.uk
Michele Notaro
EMAIL: michelenotaro.author@gmail.com
Sammi Cee
EMAIL: sammiceediverseauthor@gmail.com
Sam Burns
EMAIL: sam@burnswrites.com
The Shackles that Hold Us by Michele Notaro
Whispering Fields by Sammi Cee
Black Moon by Sam Burns & WM Fawkes
A Veiled & Hallowed Eve by Hailey Turner
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