Creatures of the Night and Santaâs Christmas duties donât 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 meâIrwin, the only vampire on Santaâs payroll, despite recent diversity initiativesâand 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. Itâs Santaâs Number One Ruleâno 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. Itâs 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 crushinâ on a shifter wasnât bad enough, I had to go and date one.
A mage and a shifter walk into a bar⊠No, thatâs the whole joke.
Magi and shifters donât 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 wouldâve ever thought?
Navigating our connection while trying to figure out whatâs going on in the world isnât easy. Trusting that Cosmo means forever when he says it? Even harder. But if thereâs one thing Iâve learned since meeting the Ono-Nais, itâs 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. Itâs 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 sheâs 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 littleâor a lotâof help from their families, both of origin and by choice, to free them from a spiritâs temper tantrum and bring peace once again to the beachtown of Willowhope.
In Whispering Fields, Kingston and Sky finally get their HEA, but it wonât make sense without first reading Beckoning Pond. The Secrets of Willowhope are fun and lighthearted reads, and like all Sammi Cee books, heartwarming. Thereâs only a touch of creepy in the books in this series, so if youâre looking for horror, I can promise you, this isnât it.
Summary:
Wolf Moon Rising #1
An apple a day wonât keep this doctor away.
Linden Grove has always known that heâs not destined to be the next pack alpha. That position belonged to his brother Aspenâbut 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 âdo no harmâ 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 countryâs only werewolf senator, Colt has grown up in the spotlight, and heâs 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 fatherâs 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. Thereâs no denying his past any longer, not after giving up the truth to save himself from a murder charge. But truth alone canât 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 isnât a guarantee, but heâs 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 theyâve 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 isnât 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 anyoneâbecause everything has a price, every debt always comes due, and itâs finally time for Patrick to pay his.
Random Paranormal Tales of 2023
Bite Night by Clare London
I WASNâT meant to be caught.
I mean, itâs Santaâs #1 Rule for Gift-Delivery Operatives. No visibility with the clients. Ever. Get in the house, deliver the gifts, eat the cookiesâor carrots, whateverâs there, get over yourself and any of your food fadsâand 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. Weâd 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 didnât rule them out. Pity: Iâd 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 peopleâs, 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 kidâs 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.
âIrwin?â came a harsh whisper from behind me, at the window. âYou eating all the cookies, you greedy bastard?â
I winced. That was another of the rules: no cursing or abusive behavior while on the clientâs premises. Guess at least one of my team needed refresher training. Or would Wulf start arguing semantics, that he wasnât 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. Heâd leaped the fence and approached through the back garden. I could only hope heâd kept his claws sheathed: they wreaked havoc with clientsâ lawns.
âI donât eat cookies,â I said to him. âAs you very well know. The food is for you, and the milk or juice for Zilith.â
âAny sherry?â The mention of her nameâand the promise of boozeâhad 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.
âDrinking on the job must be moderated,â I quoted from Santaâs handbook. Did I love being Mr. Human Resources, or what? Or maybe that should have been Mr. Inhuman ResourcesâŠ. âYouâve had three sherries and a whiskey already from this street. Luckily, thereâs only milk left out here.â
Zilithâs disappointed sniff expressed her opinion of the word âluckyâ.
âArtificial tree. Huh. Itâs a modern disease.â Wulf had finished the plate of cookies alreadyâan expensive, organic brand, I noticedâand was prowling around the tree.
âDonât you dare!â I snapped at him.
âWhat?â His body was long, lean and lupine, but the eyes were all mischievous bad boy.
âPiss up that tree,â I hissed. âIâve seen you do it before, remember?â
âThat other household wouldnât have noticed.â Wulf yawned, his bright, white canines reflecting the twinkling tree lights. âDidnât look like theyâd 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 steamingââ
âEnough!â 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.
âBollocks,â Wulf growled, his hackles rising.
âHush. Maybe he wonât see us.â Zilithâs 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.
âPass on that, princess,â 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.
âHe has a gun!â Zilith squeaked.
âPlease donât call the police,â I said quickly.
âOr post a photo on Facebook,â Wulf muttered at my side.
The guyâs mouth openedâa very cute, full mouth it was, tooâand then closed again. Words obviously failed him. But he slowly removed his hand from his pocket and, presumably, his phone.
âConsider this just a bad dream,â 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. âYouâve had a few drinks too many. Things have been very stressful at work.â
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 neckâavoiding my sensitive backâso I wrapped mine around his waist and realized he was shaking.
âHey, whatâs wrong?â I whispered.
He tucked his face into the side of my neck and shook his head.
âTalk to me, honey.â I made a disgusted face at the endearment that accidentally came out of my mouth. But I didnât take it backâprogress.
âNothingâs wrong.â
âSure doesnât seem that way to me.â
He sighed, nuzzled into me, and breathed deeply. âI needed to see you.â
âOkayâŠâ
âIâve been⊠uh, worried.â
âWhy? Did something happen at work?â
âNo. Iâve just been worried⊠about you.â
âOh.â
He waited a beat. âThat all you have to say?â
âUh, yeah. Not sure what else there is to say.â I shrugged against him, then winced from my skin. Goddess, how long was it going to be sore?
âYou could try making me feel better.â
âHow?â
âBy admitting you missed me, too.â
I rolled my eyes. âFine. I mightâve missed you a teeny tiny bit. Like so miniscule it was hardly noticeable.â
He snorted. âPrickhole.â
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. âI did miss you, you know.â
âReally?â
âYeah, Cos, really.â I waited a few seconds. âYou make the best pillow, and youâre so warm that Iâve been freezing since you left.â
He barked out a small laugh. âI can always count on you to keep me humble.â
I snorted, then gripped him tighter and tucked my face farther into him. âI do miss you when weâre apart, kitty cat.â
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 didnât 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, âHi.â
I blinked a few times, staring at those golden eyes. âHi.â
He pressed a lingering kiss to my lips before meeting my gaze again. âHow are you feeling?â
âIâm fine.â
âReally? Or is this one of those times when youâre acting like youâre okay even though youâre not?â
I scowled at him. âI said Iâm fine, which means Iâm fine.â
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 hadnât been getting enough sleep at night, but in the months since my best friend Jettyâs 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, Iâd been dreaming of a field, and it seemed to be calling out, wanting.
âKingston, you need to get some rest tonight, son,â came the crackling voice of my grandmother.
I pushed back from my computer, turning toward the door where she leaned on the door jamb. âI will. I promise.â
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, sheâd been known as the town eccentric. Thereâd been a lot of speculation that she was a witch. To me, sheâd 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 wasnât 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 sheâd 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 didnât know how Iâd survive without her. But hadnât I been losing her for a while, anyway? Sheâd become a shell of herself, and I had no idea how to help her. âWhy donât you tell me whatâs bothering you, my little prince.â
I grinned at the old nickname sheâd bestowed on me when my parents named me Kingston. Iâd been a preemie, and sheâd insisted that such a little guy needed a better name, so Iâd become her little prince. She only called me that now when she was worried about me. Seeing as how Iâd grown up to basically be a giant, well over six foot, it didnât really fit anymore. Shrugging, I sagged back into the kitchen chair that Iâd confiscated years ago to use at my desk. We didnât have a lot, and most of what we had was old, but I splurged on the various computers Iâd 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. âItâs nothing, really. Just not sleeping as well as Iâd like.â
Her mouth formed a thin, tight line. âYour dreams,â she stated. Sheâd known before Iâd found the words to express to anyone else the confusing visions and glimpses of people Iâd never met and places Iâd never been. They werenât necessarily scary to me. Not until recently, anyway. Even now, I wouldnât call them terrifying, but they were certainly disconcerting enough that I fought sleep, while it seemed to beckon me more and more.
âYeah, theyâve been a little weirder than normal.â I hadnât told her about what had been going on out at Willowhope Manor. When Iâd first mentioned that Jetty had started working out there, sheâd become agitated and spent the next several days in bed. Since then, Iâd avoided any mention of the property. All Iâd told her was that Jetty had a boyfriend now and that I spent a lot of time with them. What Iâd failed to mention was that his boyfriend, Chance, had inherited the property and also just happened to see ghosts. Grandmotherâs 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 whoâd passed on, but when I brought it up at home, sheâd merely smiled and changed the subject.
âHm. Well, weird dreams call for my special hot chocolate, I think.â 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 didnât 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. Sheâd given it to me often as a child when the dreams had first started, but less as time went on, and Iâd figured out how to find the places Iâd 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 wouldâve 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 theyâd been wandering this plane and that there was a strong probability that they had descendants already waiting for them on the other side if theyâd just go. Even though he owned a now prospering B&B, he didnât hesitate to stop what he was doing to help them move on.
But that wasnât why my heart was currently skipping like a stone across a pond. Nor was it because I thought it might be Chanceâs 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 Chanceâs best friend, Sky, who'd followed him from the big city. Sky, who twisted me up so badly I didnât know up from down or right from left when he was around. Sky, who was vibrant with life and hummed with energy. I couldnât 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 didnât 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. Iâd appreciated his friendship and loyalty, but heâd been fighting a losing battle. It was all true. Years of dreaming about things I shouldnât know, couldnât possibly know in the natural world, had created an obsession about all of the supernatural activity in town. If we werenât 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? Iâm bored. Wanna come over?
Glancing at the clock, I saw it was already 8:30pm, and I had work tomorrow. Normally, that wouldnât matter that much, but with my lack of sleep, I didnât even think it was safe for me to drive out to Jettyâs old place where he was living. Chanceâs mom, Elyse, trained him in all things witchyânot that they referred to it that wayâso 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 couldnât 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 youâd just let me come over, I could be having hot chocolate with you two.
I didnât know why, but heâd been begging me relentlessly to come meet my gran. I couldnât let him come over. Sheâd want to know how we met, and heâd get excited and start babbling away, and then sheâd find out all about what Iâd been up to lately. Would she approve? Who knew? But I couldnât let her ask me not to go out to that property because I wouldnât be able to help myself. Willowhope Manor and its property had given me access to all the things Iâd 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 heâs making lasagna rolls because theyâre your favorite.
How in the world did he text so fast?
Me: Yeah, Iâll be there. Tell Mr. Harry when you go over that he doesnât 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 didnât know why. Iâd have to ask Jetty.
Sky: Did you fall and knock your head on something? Are you concussed? There is no way Iâm going up against Mr. Harry. Not even for you, Kingston. Sorry not sorry, but I love my life, and Iâm too young to be haunting the manor.
Sky: Although, if I was a spirit, then I could come see you whenever I want. You wouldnât 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 Manorâs 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, heâd even gone from butler to being the owner. These days, he helped Chance run the place.
I heard Granâs shuffling steps, so I pushed down the idea of asking Sky why in the world heâd want to haunt someone as boring as me.
Me: My gran is back. Iâll see you tomorrow. Please tell Mr. Harry thank you.
That would have to do for now.
Sky: Alllllright. I guess that means you canât at least talk on the phone. Iâll 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. âGet ready for bed before you drink this, my little prince. Itâll put you under pretty quickly.â
I bent down and kissed her paper-thin, weathered cheek. âOkay, Gran. Are you going to bed, too?â
âIâll stay up until I know youâre peaceful. In case you need me.â She smiled serenely, then left the room. She often said cryptic things like that, and I really had no idea what she meant. It wasnât like she sat at my bedside.
Suddenly, I was back standing in the same field Iâd been in countless nights during dreamtime. It didnât take me long to realize it was different this time. Before, thereâd only been silence, but now I could smell the salt from the ocean. Was I still in Willowhope? I didnât recognize this spot, and the beaches down the coastline either had boardwalks or homes. I couldnât think of one place where a field stood close enough to the ocean that Iâd even feel the breeze from the water as I did now. Without thought, my feet began leading me deeper into the field. Iâd be alarmed if I wasnât 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 heâd never seen something so wonderful or been as happy to be right where he was at that moment. Sky. Iâd 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 whoâd either been left behind orâŠ
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 couldnât 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 extrovertâunlike meâand generally so good with people. Then she turned, her gaze finding mine, like Iâd called out to her. The initial blankness on her face disappeared in favor of childlike glee. She jumped up and down at Skyâs side, and I realized with horror that he couldnât see her. Had no idea that she was even there. That child wasnât alive.
Weâd 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 sheâd been there or why she was still there. It was entirely possible that she was like Mr. Harry, unwilling to leave the home heâd 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 Skyâs attention, needing to warn him that he wasnât 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, âHeâs going to play with me nowâŠâ
Black Moon by Sam Burns & WM Fawkes
If youâve never driven the side roads off Virginia highways, let me tell you, youâre 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 Iâd 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.
Finallyâfucking finallyâI wound my Prius up hilly roads, passing what looked to be an apple orchard with a sign out front that said, âGrove Apple Grove.â
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 packâs 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 wasnât 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 wouldnât bore the ever-loving shit out of me the second I was done writing about the Grove packâs 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 loverâs throat.
âFuck,â Patrick rasped out, body shaking as he jerked his fingers away from Jonothon de Vereâs warm skin.
Jono, his own hands already locked around Patrickâs wrists, didnât let go. In the dull gray darkness of their bedroom, Jonoâs wolf-bright blue eyes reflected what little light was coming through the edges of the curtain.
âItâs all right,â 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 Patrickâs skin made him shiver as he tried to pull away, the lingering traces of his nightmare still trying to take root.
âThe fuck it is. Iâve hurt you enough.â
Jono made a wordless sound that vibrated through his chest. He let go of Patrickâs 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 Jonoâs arms, trying to calm his breathing.
âYou had a nightmare,â Jono murmured, searching Patrickâs eyes.
âNo shit.â
âYou didnât hurt me.â
Patrick barked out a harsh laugh, dragging a hand over his face to wipe away some sweat. âI had my hands wrapped around your throat.â
âBarely. You couldnât hurt me like that, and you didnât, so stop bloody thinking you did something wrong.â
Patrick shifted in Jonoâs arms to lie on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Jono settled his right hand over Patrickâs scarred chest, fingers splayed wide. He could only feel portions of Jonoâs touch, the scar tissue and nerve damage inflicted by a soultaker all those years ago never healing all the way despite Persephoneâs intercedence.
Fucking demons.
Patrick squeezed his eyes shut and carefully curled his hand over Jonoâsâthe one Andras had blown off with an attack spell. Jono could argue all he liked that it wasnât Patrickâs fault, but it had been his magic the Great Marquis of Hell had used. Jono wasnât 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 wasnât really in the headspace to hear it right now.
Patrick didnât think heâd ever stop feeling guilty for what heâd perpetuated against Jono, even if he knew, rationally, it wasnât his fault. But rationality had no place in matters of the heart, and Patrick didnât know how to not carry that guilt.
âHey, look at me.â
Patrick turned his head to the side and looked Jono in the eye. Jono tugged his hand free from Patrickâs grip, shifting so he was the one leaning over this time. He dipped his head, lips brushing over Patrickâs, the touch gentle, nothing like the horror of the nightmare taking up space in his head.
âIâm right here,â Jono murmured. âAnd so are you.â
Patrick chased after Jonoâs mouth, getting a longer, deeper kiss for his efforts. âNot for much longer.â
He had a flight to catch to Washington, DC, at 0900, and Jono wasnât coming with him. Heâd 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.
âStay out of the Library of Congress this time,â Jono said as he pushed himself to a sitting position.
âLike I have time to read these days.â
âPat.â
âOkay, okay. No going back to the scene of the crime.â
Back in August, he and Sage Taylor, their god packâs dire, had gone with Captain Gerard Breckenridge to locate and steal a book Ashanti had left behind in some other century. Theyâd found it, but then soultakers had found them, and theyâd only escaped with the help of gods.
Somehow, Patrick hadnât 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.
âIâll get your coffee started,â Jono said, as if he were reading Patrickâs 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 wasnât obligated to wear a suit. He wasnât going to do a media walk in front of cameras when he got there, and suits werenât the best kind of clothing to fight in. The one heâd 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 didnât take long because he wasnât 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 wasnât 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 wasnât something he thought heâd get back. The handgun and his SOA badge had been taken from him when heâd been accused of Youssef Khanâs murder. The return of his job still felt temporary, and Patrick was bracing for the day heâd be relieved of his duty. He didnât know what heâd 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 Patrickâs coffee with a smile.
âFeel better?â Jono asked.
Patrick didnât have his shields up, so he couldnât lie, but he honestly didnât want to. âGetting there.â
Some days, going through the motions was all he could do. Unfortunately, he couldnât 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 apartmentâs front door. The only people who had access to the brownstone in Chelsea was their pack, so Patrick didnât immediately move.
âDo I smell coffee?â Wade asked as he came inside. âI want some.â
âI thought we were picking you up?â Patrick asked as he and Jono disentangled from each other and left the kitchen.
âI was playing video games all night, and then I got bored, so I decided to come over. I texted the group chat.â
Patrick groaned. âYouâre not talking to anyone when we get to DC.â
Wade shrugged as he hurried to the kitchen to get some coffee. âLike I want to talk to any of the people there.â
Patrick couldnât blame him.
âWhen is the meeting?â Jono asked as he sat on the couch.
âThe afternoon,â Patrick said.
âThe afternoon?â Wade exclaimed. âI couldâve been sleeping right now!â
âSleep on the plane.â
âThatâs barely a nap.â
âThen maybe next time youâll know not to play video games so late before I need to make face time with the government.â
Wade walked out of the kitchen, slurping at his coffee. âWhy are we getting there so early if the meeting isnât until the afternoon?â
âI need to look over some files at the SOA headquarters first, and then I need to stop by Arlington.â
Jono eyed him. âArlington?â
Patrick smiled wanly. âI have respects that need to be paid. Iâm overdue.â
âSteer clear of the bars, yeah?â Jono asked gently.
âNot looking to get drunk.â
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. âPlease?â
âNo bars,â Patrick promised.
âThere better not be any zombies,â Wade muttered before swallowing half his coffee in one burning gulp that didnât bother him.
âDonât tempt fate.â
âTheyâre assholes anyway.â
âExactly why you shouldnât tempt them.â
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. âWhen are we leaving?â
âSoon.â Patrick eyed Wadeâs jeans and T-shirt. âWhereâs your jacket?â
âI donât need one.â
âItâs October. Go grab a jacket from the closet in the guest bedroom,â Jono told him.
âIâm not cold,â Wade protested.
âYou get to pretend itâs cold.â
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 heâd found and was now wearing.
âDo they serve breakfast on the plane?â Wade asked.
Patrick sighed. âNo.â
Jono quirked a smile at Patrick. âLetâs get you to the airport. You can feed him there.â
âGreat. My wallet thanks you.â
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 packâs 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 wouldnât 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 wasnât 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.
âI love you,â Jono said when he pulled away.
Patrick responded the only way he ever did these days. âIâll come back.â
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.
Sheâs 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 sheâs just fickle, but as long as both theories spawn good fiction, sheâs 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 makesâhey, sometimes characters are a bit distracting, and who doesnât plot when theyâre 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 wouldnât kill her, sheâd 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 headâeven 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. Sheâs 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
