A Trick of the Light by Ellie Thomas
Summary:Kenneth Taylor has bright plans for a future as an engineer. In the summer of 1957, as soon as he returns home to Bristol from two years of National Service in the Royal Signals, a furious row with his dad means he’s thrown out of the house, and his prospects are in jeopardy.
He finds lodgings in the hilltop, bomb-damaged suburb of Kingsdown, determined to be independent and juggling night school with his humdrum day job. He soon meets Gino, the good-looking son of a local cafΓ© owner and is thrilled when the attraction proves to be mutual. As their romance blooms, Kenneth finds unexpected encouragement from an apparition in the mirror who inhabited the house in the late 18th century.
When the ghostly vision of Kit also appears to Kenneth in his dreams, it seems they have much in common when Kit reveals his dilemma at a similar age, concerning his growing attachment to a young man, Ned. Past and present intermingle as Kenneth faces parallel and difficult decisions. But can he trust Kit? Or is it all merely a trick of the light?
Original Review August 2023:
Ellie Thomas is a new-to-me author which can cause trepidation in some but not me, it adds another layer of anticipation and adrenaline to my reading experience. Not only am I feeling those emotions that come with a fresh read but also heightens them with questions of "Can this author keep me hooked?" "Will this lead me to check out their backlist creating huge new numbers on my TBR list?".
Well I was and it didπ.
Historical ✅
Paranormal ✅
Friendship ✅
Family drama ✅
Romance ✅
Cheering for MCs ✅✅
Heart ✅✅✅✅✅
A Trick of the Light by Ellie Thomas ticked so many of my boxes and seeing as it's a novella that isn't always easy to do or happens often. How could I not like this great little ditty?
I really loved Kenneth and Gino and talk about wanting to wrap a character in bubblewrap & huge Mama Bear hugs until they smile and know everything is going to be okay. Kenneth has so many around him that supports his path but his dad is so set on him following in his footsteps that he can't see what he's pushing away. One thing that I especially found amazing was the support from Kenneth's mom, whether she is able to make her husband have a change of heart is something you have to discover for yourself but standing up to him and openly supporting their son is not often seen in that era. Don't get me wrong, women weren't as subservient as many would have you believe but they weren't always openly forward either and certainly not in fiction. So to show that level of Mama Bear in the 1950s, quite honestly lifted this book from great to brilliant for me.
As for the paranormal element? Perhaps it's not as prevalent as one might think from the blurb, at least not in page time but those scenes are very powerful. The figure in the mirror offers Kenneth a glimpse of what could be missed which in turn gives him an extra layer of courage to stay true to himself.
A Trick of the Light may not be big on quantity but it's overflowing on quality. A real gem and I definitely look forward to checking out Ellie Thomas' backlist, my TBR List may not thank me but I can only follow where my reading mojo takes me and the author's backlist is definitely in my journey.
Summary:
Haunted Souls #6
Psychic Copeland Forbes is still recovering from a gunshot wound that nearly ended his life. Back at work for the first time since the shooting, Jude and Cope interview a potential client who claims he’s being haunted by an ex-boyfriend. A man, they discover, that is missing and presumed dead. Making matters worse, Cope can’t connect with the man’s spirit.
Ghost Detective Jude Byrne is torn between working the case and insisting Cope stay home to recover. After almost losing him once, Jude doesn’t want to take any chances with the second chance they have been given.
As the suspect list continues to grow, so do incidences of phantom chest pains for Cope. Convinced he’s not crazy, Cope enlists the help of Madam Aurora to make contact with the reticent spirit.
Can Jude and Cope find the killer or will the next ghost pain finish what Cope’s gunman started?
Summary:
Sons of the Fallen #1
Simon just wants to run his antique shop in peace.
But then he finds a small mysterious box that’s (probably) haunted, and his shop is broken into by the hottest man he’s ever seen who then steals said creepy box. Now demons are after him and his only hope is to trust the tall, muscled, combat-boot-wearing thief who claims to be the son of a fallen angel.
Galen is charged with protecting humanity from dark forces. Cursed with Wrath, he’s hot-tempered and spends his days fighting demons and trying not to kill his six brothers when they irritate him.
His number one rule? Never fall in love. But then he meets Simon, a clumsy human who asks way too many questions and is—unfortunately—a total demon-magnet, and he starts breaking his own rules.
What’s inside the box, and why do the demons want it so badly? One thing is for sure… Simon can kiss his peaceful, ordinary life goodbye.
Book 1 in the Sons of the Fallen series. A low-angst urban fantasy MM romance featuring a grumpy half-angel and the human he swears he doesn’t like (he’s lying), seven warriors representing the deadly sins, a seaside mansion where they all live, banter, a snarky demon, and a HEA.
Summary:
Read by Candlelight #3
This ghost has no intention of resting peacefully…
Is an inheritance worth risking supernatural misfortune?
Wiremu King arrives in England, intending to answer his tyrannical grandfather’s summons on his own terms. Warned of Jarvis’ grasping nature and amused at the rivalries of his embittered relatives, Wiremu does what he does best: cause trouble. But one person sees through his ignorant colonial act–his grandfather’s downtrodden secretary.
O’Connor is the last man alive to attract Wiremu’s attention. Prudish, meek and scared of his own shadow–but bold enough to call Wiremu’s bluff. Too late, Wiremu realises that O’Connor is a greater threat to his plans than any amount of conniving cousins. And then, there’s the matter of the ghosts: a poltergeist with increasingly violent tendencies, and an invisible man who shares Wiremu’s bed…
Wiremu’s arrival has set supernatural forces into motion. Can he put aside his pride–and O’Connor his fear–to save the Jarvis family? Or has Wiremu’s meddling doomed them all?
The Haunted Bedchamber is a historical paranormal novella, third in the Read by Candlelight series of loosely connected gothic romance standalones. It is not necessary to read any other books in this series before enjoying this one.
Misfits of Mistvale #1
Devon has waited years for his mate. Ollie is puzzled by the concept of romance.
Devon
I've waited patiently for Fate to make my paths cross with the man who would be mine. I never expected it to be another small-cat shifter, let alone someone who had spent his whole life believing himself to be a pet cat.
With the help of a dragon, I broke the curse stopping Ollie from shifting, though the warlock who cursed him was still out there and I didn't know if I was strong enough to protect him.
Ollie
I spent my whole life in a cat's body, knowing the world around me through my cat eyes. Until I met Devon. He introduced me to a world of magic and love, and I couldn't believe my luck when he found me.
With Devon, I finally had my forever home. If only I could convince him he wasn't weak just because he was small. If only I could learn to be human.
Tags:
Devon wants his mate to hurry up and find him, Ollie just wants a forever home, Fate makes sure their paths cross, Cam and Micah bomb the pack school, no really, OKAY it's an air freshener bomb, they highjack the book for moment, cat shifters are ADORABLE, the dragon breaks a curse, Ollie is a clueless human, Noel introduces Ollie to EDUCATIONAL videos, Devon teaches him ALL THE THINGS, Ollie wants to learn romance, Mistvale family to the rescue.
Claws is a 55k words gay romance starring a snuggly cat shifter who doesn't understand humans, a graysexual bobcat shifter who will slowly realize small doesn't mean weak, and a found family who will support them every step of the way.
Claws is the first book in the Misfits of Mistvale series and each book in this series can be read as a standalone, though this series chronologically falls after the Mages of Ravenshire series. A complete reading order can be found on the author's website.
A Trick of the Light by Ellie Thomas
Kenneth got in the habit of dropping into the cafΓ© when not in a rush for the bus. It wasn’t only the charms of the waiter but the hospitable atmosphere of the family-owned establishment that helped him pine less for his mum and sister.
Despite unprepossessing beginnings, his room on Kingsdown Parade was starting to take shape. The hilltop area might be a bit worn and battered, but he had all he needed nearby and was grateful for the convenience of the Co-op store at the top of the road. Also, his mum had sneaked a few items to give to Pamela to pass on to him, so his digs looked a bit more homely.
But as autumn began, he had to admit he was cold. He only switched on the two-bar electric fire for a short while in the evenings as he couldn’t afford to keep the electric meter ticking over too fast. One blustery Saturday afternoon, when his fingers nearly froze as he sat at the desk in front of the draughty windows trying to complete his homework, he decided he needed a change of scene.
Grabbing his bag of dirty washing to take to the launderette, he snagged his satchel and required textbooks and headed off down the hill. Once his laundry was in the machine, and the woman on duty kindly promised to put the wet load into the drier, he crossed the road to the cafΓ©. He hoped that by now, he was enough of a regular customer to get away with ordering only the milky coffee he’d acquired a taste for.
He’d missed the lunchtime rush and was glad he’d had a sandwich at home beforehand since the scent of hot food was always tempting. Instead of the waiter, it was a girl who served Kenneth today. She looked young enough to still be in school, most likely expected to help out at the weekends, the resemblance to her brother evident in her dark eyes, olive skin, and wide smile.
She didn’t quibble at his order of coffee, so Kenneth arranged his books on the table and started to study. He was so focused on his calculations that he was taken aback when a voice asked, “Would you like a top-up?”
He looked up from his exercise book to see the waiter smiling down at him. Hesitating, he started to scrabble in his pocket for any change remaining from his trip to the launderette when the waiter said, “It’s alright. It’s on the house.” With another smile, he took the cup and saucer, allowing Kenneth to admire his departing backside.
When the waiter returned, he seemed inclined to chat further, asking, “What are you studying, then?”
“Engineering,” Kenneth replied. “Well, the bare bones of it anyway.”
“Smart fellow,” the waiter retorted, raising his elegantly arched eyebrows. “Dad would like me to study,” he said with a nod to the man behind the counter. “But I’m flat-out here most days, and anyway, I'm not brainy enough,” he added with an eloquent shrug of his shoulders. It seemed unfair to Kenneth that someone so attractive and personable should lack confidence in his ability. Without pausing to feel self-consciously tongue-tied, Kenneth replied, “If you can remember every order and give the right change all day, every day, then you must be savvy. There’s plenty of education growing up and working in a cafΓ©."
“Maybe so,” the waiter agreed with that charming smile.
He seemed about to continue the conversation when a call came from the counter. “Gino, service for table two!”
“Speak of the devil,” he said. His smile deepened as he lingered.
“Doesn’t your dad need you?” Kenneth asked. As soon as the comment was out of his mouth, he wished he hadn’t spoken aloud.
“Nah, my sister’s helping too, so there’s no rush,” Gino replied. “Dad would soon let me know if it’s urgent. And anyway, I’m not usually in the habit of dawdling at the tables chatting up pretty boys, so I’m sure he’ll let me off this once,” he added with a dazzling grin as Kenneth felt a blush rising over his face to his hairline.
“Arrivo, Papa,” Gino called over his shoulder, before sauntering back towards the counter with a distinct sway of his hips.
Ghost Pain by Pandora Pine
PROLOGUE
Jacoby
Dinner smelled heavenly. It should, it was from Lobster Charlie’s. Jacoby had ordered seafood alfredo loaded with scallops, shrimp, and, of course, the restaurant’s signature lobster. The homemade rolls were still warm from the oven and the house dressing for the salad was double wrapped in tin foil and cling wrap to keep it from spilling.
Jacoby Ellis did not cook. Jacoby Ellis did not do dishes. It wasn’t that he was afraid of burned food or dishpan hands, it was that he had been served his entire life. He saw no reason to change.
Born the only child to Reginald and Cecile Ellis, he’d grown up in Boston’s ritzy Back Bay. His father was a criminal defense attorney and partner in Carbone, Ellis, and Stone, while his mother spent her days lunching with the richest women in the city or at the salon. If there had been a Real Housewives of Boston, Cecile Ellis would have been queen bitch on the block.
Reginald had pushed his only child to follow in his footsteps. Jacoby dutifully obeyed. There had been four years at Phillips Exeter Academy in New Hampshire, followed by four years at Brown University. After Brown, he’d gone to law school at Penn State, and failed the bar exam twice before finally passing it on his third go around. According to his father, the third time was definitely not the charm. He’d called Jacoby worthless on more than one occasion and in front of other partners at the firm.
Jacoby didn’t see what the big deal was. He had his fancy degrees on his corner office walls along with his certificate from the Massachusetts Bar Association. It might have taken him three times to pass the damned thing, but he was licensed to practice law in the Bay State, same as any lawyer who’d passed the bar on their first try.
Law school and the bar exam were now far in his rearview. He’d made full partner two years ago, based on his winning trial record, not on the fact his father’s name was on the door. With that elevation in status, he’d been able to buy a house in Salem. At least here in the sticks he was out from under his father’s direct influence. Reginald looked down on the suburbs and the people who chose to live there.
Jacoby didn’t know why he’d been thinking about the past tonight. Old ghosts, he guessed.
Along with dinner from Lobster Charlie’s, Jacoby was catching up with the Kardashians. He didn’t know what the hell was so fascinating about this show, just a bunch of rich bitches bitching about their fabulous lives. After a seventy-hour work week, this was exactly the sort of mindless drivel he needed to decompress.
While he listened to Kim whine, he started cutting the tail off a jumbo shrimp. There was a certain way to do it, so you didn’t lose that last piece of succulent meat. As his knife glided horizontally against the back end of the prawn, he heard a noise coming from his office.
It sounded to Jacoby as if papers had slipped off the desk and fluttered to the floor. He didn’t know how that was possible. The central AC had been turned off, and since it was early October, the heat wasn’t on yet. He absolutely refused to turn it on before November first. There was no way possible papers could have been blown off his desk.
Not that it mattered anyway. It was Friday night and he’d already worked enough hours for one week. Hell, he’d already worked enough hours for nearly two weeks. Those were words he would never say to his father or to the other managing partners in the firm. According to them, there was no such thing as too many billable hours.
Letting out a deep breath, Jacoby turned his attention back to the warring Kardashian sisters. Spending too many hours in the office had been the greatest downfall of his personal life. At least three relationships over the last ten years had gone belly up because he’d spent more time working than he had on this very couch watching this sort of nonsensical television. How odd was it that Jacoby was doing the very thing his former lovers had wanted him to do most?
He was about to pop a piece of lobster claw into his mouth when he heard another noise coming from his office. It sounded to him, over the roar of the television, like something was in there scuttling around. The logical side of his brain knew it was impossible. This was an expensive place to live, with his large mortgage and chic zip code. There was no way vermin could have gotten into the house. Just in case there was a way, Jacoby whispered a prayer.
Hitting the pause button, Jacoby got up from the couch and shuffled quietly toward his office, which was just off the kitchen. His heart was beating a mile a minute in his chest. Thoughts of Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees, and that kid-eating clown from one of Stephen King’s books flashed through his mind. He might be a powerhouse criminal defense attorney working for a top Boston law firm, but at heart, he was nothing but a scaredy-cat.
From the hallway, Jacoby could see there were no lights turned on in his office. It was pitch black in the room. A shiver of fear passed through his entire body, making his fingertips burn with adrenaline. Reaching blindly inside the door, his hand slid up the cool wall until it met the light switch. Relief surged through his body when the room lit up.
His relief was short lived. Nothing in the office was out of place. There were no papers on the floor. Every book was in the case, but for the one lying closed on the green desk blotter. Jacoby had left it there last night before he’d gone to bed. Call him crazy, but there was no way the sounds he heard could have come from this room. Maybe it was just a background noise from the television.
Jacoby turned to walk out of the office when he heard the sound of papers rifling again. He’d hit the mute button on the television before he’d gotten up to walk into the office. Fear like he’d never experienced in his entire life slid down his spine in the form of cold sweat. He didn’t want to turn around, but knew he had to.
Taking a deep breath, he spun around. The office looked like it had a minute ago with nothing out of place. “Who’s there?” Jacoby’s voice shook. He knew there was no one here, but that didn’t stop his heart from hammering.
“Jacoby…” a voice whispered.
Maybe he was losing his mind. He was standing alone in his office and could have sworn he heard someone say his name. Worse, he would swear on a stack of Bibles he knew whose voice it was whispering to him.
“Sugar bear…” the voice sing-songed.
There was no doubt in his mind whose voice it was. “Lucien?” His ex-boyfriend Lucien Gates was the only man who ever called him that ridiculous name. He was the only one who would have dared tag him with a nickname at all.
Straining his ears, Jacoby heard no reply to his question. Of course it couldn’t be Lucien. He’d moved out six months ago, heading back home to his family in Manchester, New Hampshire. Jacoby had done everything in his power to get over his ex. To be honest, none of it was working.
When Lucien moved out, Jacoby had the locks changed, just in case. In case of what, he wasn’t sure. The alarm had been armed when he’d gotten home. He’d also changed the access code and the contact information with the monitoring company after the breakup. There hadn’t been any alarms at the house or calls from the company. In short, there was no way Lucien Gates could have gotten into his house.
Why would he want to anyway? He’d been the one who’d broken up with Jacoby. He’d been perfectly happy in the relationship, until that last night when Lucien was packed and ready to walk out the door.
“Jacooooby?” the voice called out again.
“I’m not hearing this!” Jacoby shouted at himself. He was just tired from a long week at work and his imagination was running away with him. Flustered, he turned and marched out of the room, leaving the light on, just in case.
A familiar laugh followed him down the hall. Spinning around, Jacoby caught a flash of movement before his feet tangled with each other. His hands reached out to steady himself, but only scrabbled uselessly against the walls. The last thing he heard before his head struck the hardwood floor were the words, “I’m home…”
Blackness took him.
Galen by Jaclyn Osborn
Prologue
Galen
Many Years Ago
The demons swarmed like a fire carried by a strong wind, scorching everything in their path. Villages burned. People burned. Screams filled the night as flesh melted from bone and lungs inhaled thick smoke. Only then, when the flames had consumed them, did the screaming finally stop.
We were too late.
My brothers and I walked through the ashes of another destroyed village. Another place where innocent lives had been lost. Taken. The scent of burning flesh was one not easily described, for there was no comparison. It filled the senses, smelling of rot and death. Men, women, children… all slain.
“This must end,” Alastair growled. He knelt and retrieved a cloth doll from the ruins, one now without a little girl to hold it tight. My brother clenched it tightly in his fist before dropping it back to the ground. “It has to end.”
Ever since Lucifer began his quest for power, this had become the norm. Death and chaos, followed by even more death.
The flapping of wings filled the air as Lazarus arrived. His pure white feathers were a stark contrast to the dark night and the surrounding burning embers of the small village. Yet, his beauty had no effect on his ferocity. As leader of the celestial army, he struck down anyone who dared challenge him.
“Preparations have been made,” Lazarus said, eyeing each of us. “We must act now while we still can.”
Alastair bowed his head before releasing his wings, the feathers midnight black, just like the rest of ours.
We were the sons of the first seven fallen angels who rebelled against the celestial realm and joined forces with Lucifer. Angel blood ran through our veins, but we were half human as well. Nephilim. Yet, we were also cursed, bearing the sins of our fathers so that we’d never forget their crimes.
Each of us represented the seven vices of humanity, the evils that tainted the soul. The reasons why our fathers abandoned their brothers in the heavens and fell to earth.
I was Galen, avatar of Wrath. The anger coursing through me screamed to be released. I wanted vengeance for all the lives lost since Lucifer brought destruction to the earth.
As Lazarus flapped his wings and shot into the sky, the rest of us followed.
The time had come to stop Lucifer once and for all.
The Haunted Bedchamber by Gillian St Kevern
1
Scarhill House wasa brisk half hour carriage ride from the Newton Abbey railway station. A pleasant introduction to Dartmoor's distinctive scenery and very comfortable, but the stationmaster sounded dubious even as he spoke. The driver took one look at his prospective customer and remembered he was booked.
Wiremu was savagely amused. Amused because if he wasn't, he would be very, very angry. He had not come all the way to this god-forsaken collection of rocks and grass and sheep to be angry. He had come because between his brother and himself, he had the coolest temper, and he'd promised his father he would keep it.
Scarhill House was a two-hour walk if one meandered, an hour and a half at a brisk pace. Wiremu vented his temper striding across the moors. In a little over an hour’s time, the grey towers of Scarhill House rose above the rocky tors.
The sky was as bleak as the moors themselves, unrelenting grey from horizon to horizon. Despite the utter inclemency of the weather, Wiremu heard the click of teacups as he approached the house. Swerving to one side of the main entrance, he found a recently trimmed lawn where a collection of well-dressed people played croquet. A woman of middle years in an old-fashioned black gown poured herself a cup of tea with an anxious glance at the sky. The croquet players did their best to ignore the biting wind. Both men and the boy were red in the face, as was the butler, standing at attention beside the tea things.
An image flashed into Wiremu's mind of a party he'd once guided. In the midst of primeval forest, surrounded by trees older than their beloved Empire, the British insisted on stopping to boil a billy of water and steep the bark of the mΔnuka (they called it tea-tree). Their dedication to their customs existed in perverse relationship to the difficulty of following them. Were it a fine afternoon with no breeze, would any of these people be playing croquet?
The gentleman caught sight of Wiremu and straightened. A handsome man, with gleaming dark brown hair and features not altogether ruined by the Jarvis nose and his sulky mouth. "Hello, what have we here?"
The butler intercepted Wiremu. "This is private property."
"I'm here to see Mr Jarvis."
The butler pursed his lips, fixing Wiremu with a stare more judgemental than any parson's. "Mr Jarvis does not receive uninvited visitors."
"I have a letter from the old man himself." Wiremu made to pull it from his pocket.
The butler sniffed. "Go to the back door and someone will attend you." His tone suggested Wiremu was lucky to receive that much.
Just as well his father had sent him and not Hemi. Wiremu's mouth twisted at the thought. Hemi, who put such stock in his tailor, would not stick being sent to the back door. He would have lost his temper, and with it, all their chances. Wiremu walked towards the back of the house.
He got a good view of all three croquet players and they him. The sulky gentleman didn't hesitate to size him up. Neither did the brat, a boy of about ten, with the same fair hair as the woman and a scowl that would have served him well performing a haka. The third man was so pale as to be ghost-like except for his bright red hair, almost shocking in its vivid hue. His eyes slid away from Wiremu's, a flash of pink flooding his pale cheeks. He was conscious of staring, if none of his companions were.
As Wiremu approached the corner of the house, the sulky gentleman spoke. "What a brute! A tramp no doubt, peddling his wares."
"He mentioned a letter..." The ghost murmured so faintly as to be almost inaudible. Wiremu smirked. Fitting. The shadow of a man had only a shadow's voice.
"Why would a tramp come here?" The boy spoke with the thoughtlessness of youth, not bothering to lower his voice.
His mother shushed him at once. "Be extra careful locking up tonight, Rose."
"Naturally. And a word or two with the local farmers would not go amiss..." The butler was instantly reassuring.
"We'll soon sort him out if he starts any trouble." The sulky gentleman considered the matter settled. "Come on, O'Connor. Your turn."
"He looks," said O’Connor, "like someone who's travelled a long way."
Longer than he had any idea. Wiremu congratulated himself on keeping his temper. A sad thing indeed to lose it this close to his journey's end.
A rough path led the way to a prosaic kitchen garden, stone walls protecting the produce from the bitter winds. Fruit trees rose above another fence, a line of stables and a few rough sheds. Rounding the corner, he came across a stone courtyard where a maid, wringing laundry, blanched at his unexpected appearance. He thumped on the sturdy wooden door.
The woman who flung it open sized him up with a measuring glance. She said nothing, but waited, drying her hands on her apron, face as impassive as the tors that dotted the moorland. A native? This harsh, rocky land would breed people with hearts of stone.
"I'm here to see Mr Jarvis."
"He summoned you?"
"Would I be here otherwise?"
She snorted and turned her back. "Come on, then." He followed her through the stone kitchen, copper pots boiling away on a great coal range. The kitchenmaids stopped work to stare. Wiremu grinned at them, showing his teeth. They flinched back. Lord, what frightened mice! The wΔhine of his mother's tribe would have laughed. Do you think you are a taniwha with your wide mouth and sharp teeth? Be off with you before we give you something to chew on, Wiremu King.
"Here," said the uncompromising woman, as they reached a narrow room. "He'll send for you."
"How will he know I'm here?" Wiremu asked, but she'd already vanished back into the steaming recesses of the kitchen. He sat on a chair, looking about him. The desolate moors were hard to beat. The room rose to the challenge, so gloomy he squinted to make out the other end of the long table.
Bells sounded at uneven intervals within the house, maids and the occasional manservant bustling off to answer them. The stiff butler went in and out, sneering as he saw Wiremu waiting. He did not ask his business or for the letter.
Wiremu scowled at his back. Had he spent ninety-three days in the cramped hold of the Peeress, and two days shuttling between railway carriages and uncomfortable hotels to be put off now? He leaned back in the chair, spreading his legs wide across the narrow passage, and shut his eyes.
A housemaid, laden with freshly ironed linen, stepped into the rooms, faltering as she realised Wiremu blocked her path. She dithered, and then backed out through the door.
Wiremu kept his face impassive, but inwardly exulted. If at first you don't succeed...make the problem someone else's. Would she go around him or complain to the butler?
Perhaps a half hour later, O’Connor glided across the narrow room to knock at the kitchen door. "Mrs Simester? Mr Jarvis wishes to dine downstairs tonight." The cook's reply was inaudible, but the man flinched away from the door. "I apologise for the inconvenience..."
The door slammed.
O’Connor jerked back. He let out a slow breath.
Wiremu had assumed that he was part of the family, but no cook, even one hewn from granite, would talk that way to gentry. "Mr Jarvis doesn't make life easy, I take it."
He flinched. As his gaze fell on Wiremu, he relaxed. "No—and neither does anyone else in this wretched house."
A servant—no one else would be so miserable. "That butler's a proper tyrant."
"Rose takes after his master. This is less a household, more a collection of feuds."
Wiremu barked in amusement. "Mr Jarvis must be quite the man."
He cocked his head. "You've not met him?"
Wiremu shook his head. "He sent a letter."
"And no one's told him you're here?" He glanced toward the door, weighing his actions against the butler's displeasure. "Give it to me. I'll see he gets it."
Wiremu took it out of his pocket. He'd kept it on him the entire journey, the white paper now a smudged and faded yellow.
The man winced as he saw it. "Mr Jarvis often takes fancies...and he changes his mind with the weather." In other words, don't be surprised if he refuses to see you.
Wiremu's smile was the cat with the bird in its sights. "He'll see me."
He turned the letter over. "I hope you're wrong. He's not a man, he's a spider. Once you're caught in his web, that's it. You can't leave." He spoke with venom. "No one here can leave."
Wiremu raised his eyebrows at that, but a bell sounded deep within the house. Tucking Wiremu's letter into his jacket, O’Connor scuttled out.
A spider? Wiremu leaned back. A spider with a long web to reach across the globe as far as the Antipodes. He smirked, making himself comfortable. There were no flies on Wiremu King.
Claws by Stella Rainbow
Chapter One
Devon
“You know you can call me anytime, right?” I asked as I turned down the street that led to Birch’s place and glanced at my best friend.
“I know, Dev,” Westley said. He sounded the slightest bit exasperated. He was the only person who called me Dev—the only person I allowed to call me that—and it was clear I’d asked the question one too many times.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying not to be overbearing,” I apologized, wrapping my braid around my palm. Westley had this aura around him that brought out my protective side, and I was having a hard time losing another friend to his mate. Don’t get me wrong, I was delighted my friend had found his mate, but a part of me also envied him.
“It’s okay. I know you care about me.” Westley shot me a sweet smile, and I relaxed. I did care about him. When I’d first met him, he’d seemed almost…fragile. Sure, he was bigger than me, but he was more of a cuddly teddy bear than a grizzly. It always seemed like he needed someone to protect him, to keep him safe, and I’d tried my best to do that for him until he’d found Birch.
Birch was his mate and his Daddy. He took care of Wes in a way I never could. I was happy for him. I was. I just wished I could find my mate soon. Hell, Wes was human, and he’d still found his mate before me.
I was surrounded by happy couples. My other best friend, Caleb, had the perfect mate in Noel, and almost all our friends in Mistvale were mated. It was hard not to feel jealous of them. And now, Westley was off to live happily ever after with his mate too.
I shook my head, knowing I shouldn’t think about it like that. My friends deserved to be happy. And who would want a mate like me anyway? Even my own family had never wanted me, never cared for me enough to try to stop the pride from training me so I could be a strong shifter.
“We’re here!” I declared, and Westley’s door opened before I’d turned off the engine. A second later, he was out of the truck and had his arms wrapped around his mate.
I smiled ruefully and got out, shaking my head at them. “Oh, I see how it is,” I teased. “I’m just the chauffeur now.”
Westley turned to look at me immediately, eyes wide, and I wanted to take back the words. “Oh, no, Dev. I’m so sorry!”
“It’s okay, Westley. I was just teasing you,” I said before he could worry himself too much. Today was a happy day for him, and I didn’t want to ruin it. “Let’s get your stuff out of the truck.”
Once we’d moved everything into Birch’s living room, Westley turned to me. “Would you like to stay, Devon?”
One look at Birch, and I knew the man had plans for his boy. No way would I interrupt that. “No, I can’t stay. I have the day off, so I’m going to help Rebba with some things since Caleb is taking Noel on a date and she’ll be short-staffed. I’ll leave you be so you can start christening your new house. I bet your Daddy has some plans for you.” I winked at him as I forced myself to stop the verbal diarrhea. A simple no would’ve sufficed, Devon.
Taking a deep breath, I walked over and pulled Wes into a hug. I didn’t usually hug people, but Wes was an exception. Plus, I would miss seeing his adorable face around the pack land every day. I was about to pull away when a scent trickled into my nose, a scent so alluring, so good, that I strained to find its origin.
I pulled away and turned to Birch. The scent was denser around him. I leaned in and took a deep breath. Mate. Mate. Mate, the scent called to me. It couldn’t be. Had Fate finally heard my plea? Was it time?
My eyes widened as the realization sank in, and I looked up at Birch and demanded, “Where did you go today? Before we got here.” The scent wasn’t anywhere else in the room, so I had to assume Birch had caught it from somewhere.
Birch shot Wes a glance before answering me. “Um, I visited The Happy Place this morning. Rebba was holding a…package for me.”
The shelter? Shit, I needed to hurry. A lot of people came and went from there. What if he was already gone? Mistvale wasn’t a big town, but what were the chances I’d find him again if I missed him now?
“Is everything okay, Devon?” Birch asked, and I nodded as I pulled my phone out of my pocket. Alpha Rebba would know what to do.
“I’ll see you around, okay?” I said with a nod to Westley. Before he could answer, I had my phone to my ear and was heading back to the truck. I couldn’t waste a moment. The scent of my mate was still burning through me, and I needed to find him before it managed to slip away.
Rebba picked up quickly, and I started speaking before she could say anything. “Hey, Rebba. Is anyone in right now?”
“At the shelter? No, it’s just me,” she answered, voice curious.
“What about a delivery guy? Janitor? Anyone?” I demanded as I peeled out of the driveway, my speed definitely too fast for the narrow street, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered more than finding him.
“Uh, no. There’s no one. What’s wrong?”
“I’ll be there in fifteen,” I said instead, and hung up.
Please, Fate. Please don’t let him leave.
Ollie
This place was nice, but I knew it wasn’t my forever home. I’d been in places like this before. They were like the hotels I saw on TV, stopping places where any animal could stay but none of them belonged.
I wanted to belong somewhere. I wanted to belong to someone.
I’d found many owners over my life, but no one had stuck. They passed me off for one reason or another. Sometimes it was because they needed to focus on their family, sometimes their jobs. Everything else was always more important than me. It was just the way life was.
My last owner, Sylvia, had been a nice, kind woman. She’d had me for five years, but then she died. Her children couldn’t keep me, so they gave me to the shelter in their town. That shelter had already been full, so they’d sent me to a different town. My life was just like any other cat’s, but I knew I wasn’t like them. I thought differently, and I think I even spoke differently than everyone else. I didn’t know why that was. I’d grown up with an older one of my kind, and she’d taught me everything I knew.
And yet, with each day, I found myself drifting further and further away from my own kind. It was confusing, to say the least. Most days, I understood my owners much better than other cats, and wasn’t that funny?
I looked around the room the kind woman had left me in. There were other cats there too, but they seemed to shy away from me like they sensed I was different.
I didn’t want to be different, though. I wanted to be just like them, wanted to talk to them and share my stories with them. But they didn’t talk, not like I wanted to. They just glared and huffed and ignored me. They always ignored me.
I sat back in the corner of my room, staring morosely at the door as I waited for something interesting to happen. My life was mostly about eating, napping, and the occasional hunting trip if my owners allowed it. But I wanted more. I itched for more.
The room was full of scents, and I cataloged them one by one for something to do. The thickest scents were other cats, cat food, scented litter…things I’d smelled my whole life. There were other scents too. A wet dog scent that made me twitch my nose in disgust. I disliked dogs. While the other cats usually just shied away from me, the dogs seemed to know I was different too, and they weren’t as wary.
The last time I’d shared a home with a dog, he’d hounded me all the time. He would bark at me and growl if I came too close like he thought I could harm him. It made no sense because he’d been easily three times my size, but he still acted like I was dangerous.
I shook off the thought as another scent caught my nose. It was a crisp scent like trees and the outside. I liked that one a lot. It was soothing.
Another scent drifted through my senses, and I stilled, breathing in deep to pull more of it in. It smelled like grease and oil with a hint of fur and catnip underneath. I’d never smelled anything so good. I scanned the room—as much of it as I could see from my crate—and tried to figure out where it was coming from, but I couldn’t. I wished I knew what smelled so good.
The locket on my collar—the one with my name on it—clacked against the ground as I lay down, and I glanced at it. I’d had it around my neck for as long as I could remember. No one had ever been able to remove it, though they’d definitely tried. One of my owners’ children had almost cut my neck trying to get it off before his mother found him. Then, instead of punishing him, she’d left me at one of the shelters instead. How was that fair?
I huffed softly and closed my eyes, my whiskers twitching. Life was the same boring, monotonous thing, and I wished something would change.
With my eyes closed, I daydreamed. I imagined a new person had walked into the room and fallen in love with me—that’s what the owners said when they really liked something—and decided to take me home. I dreamed they would feed me, pet me, and tell me I’d be theirs forever.
That was all I wanted, a place to belong. A forever home.
After all, what else could a cat wish for?
Ellie Thomas lives by the sea. She comes from a teaching background and goes for long seaside walks where she daydreams about history. She is a voracious reader especially about anything historical. She mainly writes historical romance.
Ellie also writes historical erotic romance under the pen name L. E. Thomas.
Sick of the slogging rat-race of her 9-5 job, Pandora Pine put pen to paper (literally!) to make her ambition of becoming a romance novelist a reality. She cut her teeth in the dog-eat-dog world of fan fiction, still dreaming of the day when she would be a published author.
In her spare time, Pandora fancies herself an amateur nature photographer. She enjoys mucking around in swamps, hiking through the woods and crawling around on her hands and knees in her backyard seeking out the perfect shot. Pandora is a fan of roadside seafood shacks and always thinks Mexican food is a good idea at the time.
Some of Pandora's favorite things are chocolate, writing longhand with purple pens, and handsome men falling in love with each other.
When not writing, Jaclyn can be found binging anime and reading manga. The men in her head never leave her alone, but she doesn’t want them to. Writing is her passion and she’s thankful for each day she’s able to live her dream.
All types of genres in the gay romance world interest her. She has written contemporary, medieval fantasy, paranormal, and historical.
As a teenager, Gillian St. Kevern was frustrated that the characters in the stories she read never did what she wanted them to. Now she’s an author, they still don’t. Gillian writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance, YA, vintage mystery, and contemporary comedy. Her stories reflect a variety of LGBTQIA experiences. Gillian is a member of RWNZ and co-founder of New Zealand Rainbow Romance Writers.
Read By Candlelight is a collection of stories loosely inspired by the works of M R James, J S Le Fanu, Anne Radcliffe, and other writers of gothic literature. If you’d like to learn more about Gillian’s writing, visit her website.
Stella Rainbow is the pen name of a twenty something woman from India. Her heart is too full of rainbow colored stories to be limited by the lack of awareness in her home country.
Stella spends her days cuddling up with her cat, typing out new stories, daydreaming and reading all the books she can get her hands on.
She loves talking to her readers and other book lovers, so don't hesitate in contacting her on any of her socials or emailing her at authorstellarainbow@gmail.com.
Ellie Thomas
Pandora Pine
Jaclyn Osborn
WEBSITE / NEWSLETTER / AUDIBLE
EMAIL: authorjaclynosborn@gmail.com
Gillian St Kevern
A Trick of the Light by Ellie Thomas
Ghost Pain by Pandora Pine
Galen by Jaclyn Osborn
The Haunted Bedchamber by Gillian St Kevern
Claws by Stella Rainbow
