The Witchy Wolf and the Wendigo Book 2 – Eluwilussit
Blurb:
An ancient hatred seethes in pastoral Wisconsin. Denied access to the White spirit world of the ancestors, ancient shaman Eluwilussit finds himself in the Red Realm and receives a terrible gift from the forsaken spirits who dwell there. Blaming Ash for this misfortune, as well as Aiyanna’s death, he vows to be rid of the other shaman once and for all.
Meanwhile, Ash declares his love to Livie and reveals the truth of his existence as a Witchy Wolf. Warned that Eli is coming for him, Ash sends Livie north to the reservation hoping John’s family will keep her safe. In the inevitable confrontation to come, either one shape-shifter will live, or both shall die.
Setting the stage ~ In this scene, Ash visit’s his mentor Nawkaw in the White spirit world, and learns of Eluwilussit’s horrible new ability.
“There is more than what you see here, Ash. Eluwilussit has struck a terrible bargain. He went to the forsaken realm and traded himself for a gift.”
“Traded?” Ash shook his head, not understanding. His mind filled with the gut-wrenching image before him.
“He became a slave to the desires of those in the forsaken realm. He was given a gift for his submission.”
Cold-blooded murderers dwell in the Red Realm of the forsaken. They were cursed to live dismal lives in that broken wasteland for all eternity. Ash’s mind filled with questions. What gift could they have given him? The forsaken had nothing. “Please, tell me all as you know it.”
“You know he was denied the White World after he murdered me?”
“I did not know he took your life until you told me. But I know murder goes against Sky Father’s plan.” Ash recited what he’d learned from Wynono. “Murder is an abomination and outside the life the Manitou has given us. There is no seat beside Sky Father for a murderer.”
The Witchy Wolf and the Wendigo Book 1 Ashkewheteasu
What does an immortal Native American shaman do when the grave he’s sworn to watch over for all eternity disappears under urban development? His purpose of guarding his wife’s burial mound is gone, Ashkewheteasu seeks to end his immortal existence. In his despair, Ash assumes the form of a wolf and steps in front of a moving car and into the life of Dr. Olivia “Livie” Rosalini. The veterinarian saves the animal’s life, and in the process saves the man within. Livie has no idea the wolfish dog she’s taken into her home and grows to love is a magical being seeking to win her heart as a man. While Ash is learning a new world filled with new love, friendship, and happiness, an old menace makes plans to steal it all away; just as he had 3000 years before. And here’s the true root of the story at USA Today — The Witchy Wolf and the Wendigo
Stop by my satellite blog for a full excerpt. I’m taking part in The Romance Reviews 2nd Anniversary Party!
Lots of prizes and one from me too.
Learn the details here:
It’s day two of the Swept Away Valentine Blog Hop!Follow this link to over 140 authors and the prizes given away on each of their blogs. As always, be sure to leave your email address when you leave comments.
My prize is anauthorgraphed copy of my most recent release The Witchy Wolf and the Wendigo – a tale about an ancient Native American shaman who finds love in the modern world.
So what better to sweep you away than a kiss?
Here’s my favorite PG kiss from my first novel Hermes Online. Vivienne describes a kiss for her penpal. After hopping with all of us, hop on over to Amazon and take a peek inside: Hermes Online
I closed the Word document and absently twirled my hair, lost in thought. There was so much of me in there, even the decorations in the house said much about me. The fact that Lily looks identical to me was rather Freudian too, come to think. I laughed out loud at the thought. It’s funny how our subconscious mind tells us what’s what sometimes. The subconscious mind intuits what the conscious mind misses at first glance. Yes, the story was a whim, and who would have thought six years later, it would help me find my way back to myself? I wished in that moment my pen pal stood right here so I could say thank you. I’d thank him for lighting the match that eventually relit the candle of my self-confidence. I’d kiss him for real.
I pressed my fingers to my lips, imagining this curious and compelling green-eyed, chestnut-haired, large-handed, well-endowed man kissing me. And unbelievably, my panties got soaking wet. I flexed my fingers and crafted a scene from the sizzling phantom fire playing over my lips.
Having experienced amazing kisses in my life added just enough realism to the blend of movie kisses. I told the screen, “So, you want a kiss, eh? Then what will you think of this?”
S,
There is so much more to kissing for the first time than meets the eye. The would-be lovers laugh and smile and delight in each other’s company. They talk, getting to know each other, trying to find the choicest morsels of their life and personality to share. They might hold hands for hours as they wander here and there. And when they sit side by side, perhaps on a bench at a museum, they’ll look in feigned interest at the passersby, glance again and again at the exhibit, but not really seeing it. First, one will turn inward, the movement slight, barely noticeable. And then with no clear knowledge of doing so, the one will magically mirror the other. Their knees may touch, and one set of clasped hands might rest innocently upon a knee. And then a noise, a temporary distraction, might take their attention for a second, and both heads will turn to the sound, inadvertently closer now than before. When one turns back, their faces will be mere inches apart. Their eyes, green and gray, will hold each other’s gazes, darting from one sparkling pupil to the other. They might unfocus to drink in the entire face for a second, perhaps lingering on the person’s smile before meeting the gaze once more, a gaze noticeably warmer than a moment ago.
One face may turn a little, and in mirrored image, the other follows, only slightly tipped in the opposite direction. And the eyes ask the silent question as two thoughts become superimposed — May I kiss you? Will you kiss me? The answer is subtle, missed by nearly everyone passing by, everyone save the smiling elder couple holding gnarled hands and assisted by their canes. Perhaps they, too, once shared a kiss sitting there, or plan to again later. But locked in their own world, they don’t notice the elder pair walk by.
They are aware now only of each other, aware of little things, the flush on her cheeks, the gleam in his eye, the color of her moist lips, the imperceptible flare of his nostrils as he subconsciously reminds his body to breathe. They touch now. The kiss is at first soft, the lips asking permission for the firmness they crave. Another kiss grants this and another and another as faces turn to fit around chins and cheeks and noses. And then loose and pliable, those lips part now to make way for tentative tongues. These too begin their searching, gently at first then becoming bolder as they instinctively react to the warmth of each other’s mouths and thrust as hands cup cheeks and arms wind around shoulders, drawing each other ever inward into the private space that shuts the waking world out and lets the dream begin. V
Little did I realize when I began this kissing scene that I would abandon the amalgamated movie kisses. I stopped and read those words, my words, my kiss. That kiss had been real, as had the love behind it. My eyes filled with tears, but I sent it on. Feeling alone, I rose from my chair and walked away.
Ah Cupid, you busy little fellow.Today begins the Swept Away Valentine Blog Hop! Follow this link to over 140 authors and the prizes given away on each of their blogs. As always, be sure to leave your email address when you leave comments.
My prize is an authorgraphed copy of my most recent release The Witchy Wolf and the Wendigo – a tale about an ancient Native American shaman who finds love in the modern world. You’ll find the trailer further down in this post.
So let’s talk Cupid.
Depending on which mythology you ascribe to, this pudgy little deity is the immortal son of Venus (Aphrodite) and Mars (Ares) – an allegorical blending of love and war. Because he was the uniting power of love and therefore the bringer of order and harmony to the universe, some mythic tales make him a fundamental contributor in the formation of the world. A little known detail that gets overlooked as the lover’s holiday approaches: Cupid carries two arrows in his quiver – one of love and another of hate.
To the Orphic and Greek philosophers, he was the son of Nyx (Night) and Boreas the North Wind – the first complete manifestation of Divinity. In other depictions, Cupid is considered a primordial god – an old one who came before Zeus and even before Zeus’ grandparents Gaia and Uranus. From the very beginning, even before the fabric of the universe was woven, Cupid personified love.
As his Roman counterpart Eros, he was known far and wide as the god of passionate love, and fertility cults, among other things, rose in his honor. Some tales even have him with multiple heads, four eyes and various animal attributes. In other mythic versions, Cupid is blindfolded, and only the truest hearts will draw his blindly shot arrows. I had no idea Cupid was such a multifaceted little amorino.
When I met the love of my life, it was literally love at first sight for us both. I wasn’t looking, he wasn’t looking. It was fate. The arrow struck us both and it was totally unexpected. I write that love in my romances. I can see Cupid in my mind’s eye… his arrow notched on his bow. He’s tucked behind a tree or rock, poised to let his charmed arrow fly at just the right moment. When it hits, it’s totally unanticipated. It’s fate. Sometimes love is like that. Sometimes love waits in unexpected places.
It’s the second week of a new year and I’m still hopping! Thanks for stopping by my blog for day 1 of the Something New, Something Naughty Blog Hop. Authors Jennifer Wright and Lizabet Sarai have put this together and opened it to a handful of authors. Including me! Thanks Jen and Lizabet. One lucky winner will receive the grand prize of a $60 gift certificate to EdenFantasys (adult store) and two other winners will receive a $25 gift certificates to their choice of the following book sites:Amazon, All Romance eBooks, Barnes & Noble, or Total-E-Bound
>>>o<<<
To participate in this themed hop, I’m supposed to talk about new (as in new year) or naughty. Or even a combination of the two! New is self explanatory, but what is naughty exactly? Dictionary.com says several things about the word, everything from not eating your vegetables naughty, to mischief naughty, to vulgar naughty. The sister site Thesaurus.com offers a lot more from A to Z – well almost to Z. I found Aberrant to Wicked and a crazy amount of nuanced meanings in between. There are shades of naughty!
So, armed with a load of naughty variants, I’ve decided to offer several shades of naughty in my writings. I’m also offering insights into new things I’m up to in 2013.
As far as new goes, today I have a post in the Life section of the USA Today in the Happy Ever After Blog. There I explain how I came to write The Witchy Wolf and the Wendigo — a story inspired by the urban legend of the Wisconsin wolf man. Here’s the link for a quick peek:
And…
Here’s a “playful” naughty snippet from book 1 of The Witchy Wolf and the Wendigo. I won’t go into what happened prior to this scene, but Olivia still doesn’t know the wolfish dog she’s petting on her bed is a 3000 year old immortal native American shaman. She thinks he’s simply the dog she hit with her car — a dog whose severe injuries miraculously healed in a matter of days…
…they found her brother Jack already there with her car. To Olivia’s surprise her brother was trying to get the wolf-cross to chase a stick. The dog wasn’t having any of it.
“Hey look at you! Nice lump you’ve got there, Sis.” Jack smiled and hugged her.
Olivia gave the dog a cursory once-over. He looked fit as a fiddle. Turning to her brother she said, “Yeah, I do. Though it’s better than yesterday. Thanks for bringing my car home. Where’d you find my dog?”
“Your dog?”
“Mine, temporarily. We haven’t found his owner yet.”
“He was waiting at the door. Does he have a name?”
“I’m sure he does, but I don’t know it.”
Jack petted the wolf-cross’s big head. “I’ll take him, if no one comes for him. He’s a good dog. Aren’t you, big fella?”
Ash’s eyes never left Livie. She looked well, beautiful in fact, despite the bandage she wore. He wagged his tail and lolled his long pink tongue. He’d lived the equivalent of sixty lives of men and not once in all that time did he think of anyone but his wife. In the past few days he’d been thinking of this woman almost to the exclusion of all else. He found it curious.
She looked at him, not knowing what to think. The fact of the matter was he’d been seriously injured just four days before. The compound fracture alone should have taken weeks to heal, yet here he was with no sign whatsoever that the jagged leg bone had pushed through the skin and necessitated surgery. Somehow he managed to chew off his bandages and run away the first chance he got. Just thinking about it made her head throb. That’s all she remembered. The dog ran off and she drove after him. She must have driven off the road and hit her head. Maybe a deer ran in front of the car.
Her family saw Olivia fed, settled in bed, and set up with a stack of garden magazines.
Her father asked. “What else can I get for you, Pumpkin?”
She smiled at him. “Would you mind opening the window a crack? After that stuffy hospital room, I need some air.”
“Sure.” Appraising the old ill-fitting panes, he added, “I’ll come by next week and we’ll see about putting up some insulation. This old house is too drafty and winter is coming.” When her mother came in with a large glass of water and a new bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol, Olivia knew they must have sent Jack to the store. It was confirmed when her mother said, “Take these if your head starts hurting. Be sure you drink enough. Your brother picked up juice and popsicles, too.”
Jack said from the doorway, “Yeah, prune juice, and all green ones.”
Olivia laughed, then winced. When they were kids, the green popsicles were everybody’s least favorite choice. Needless to say, that was often all that was left.
Her brother patted the furry animal beside the bed. “Your dog never leaves your side, does he? I bought him a can of dog food but he wasn’t hungry. He wouldn’t even eat a piece of cheese.”
Olivia looked at the wolf-cross sitting there, watching like he fully understood their conversation. “He’s kind of picky. After I nap, I’ll make something for both of us.”
Not the sort to take “no” for an answer, all three tried valiantly once more to convince her she’d be better off at home. They even offered to take the dog, too. She thanked them, kissed them goodbye, and sent them on their way by assuring them all she was going to do was sleep. Alone now, Olivia patted the bed beside her. “Come up here, big guy.”
Ash leapt onto the bed and lay beside her. He stared at her expectantly.
The small movement bringing that painful ache to life in her temple, she pressed a knuckle into her throbbing eye socket. “God, my head. Listen, I have no idea how I got this lump on my head, but no more running away. Understand me?” His tail thumped the bed.
Olivia rubbed his ears and patted him and smiled when he rolled over on his back. Her fingers gently combed through the thick fur to the pink skin underneath. No sign of his recent stitches. She felt his foreleg from shoulder to toes. No swelling. She moved it carefully with one hand while pressing her palm flat where the bone had been broken. No grinding bone on bone. For all intents and purposes, this dog had never been in an accident nor had surgery. It defied logic. She absently rubbed his belly, her mind on every implausible detail since she’d run him over.
Ash closed his eyes to Livie’s caress. Her hand swept up and down from his neck to just below his navel and he found his soul awakening to it. His body stirred too.
This was a very happy male dog. It was impossible not to notice, with the telltale evidence making an appearance. Olivia leveled a look at him. “You will not lick yourself on my bed, buster.”
Ash rolled side to side, his tail wagging and teeth bared. Livie laughed, and it made him pause. He’d heard her laugh when she talked with Jenni, but he hadn’t heard her laugh like this, and never for him alone. The sound was merry and genuine and it made him happy. To his surprise, he wanted more. He craved her touch. He craved her. He nuzzled his nose under her hand. Touch me Livie.
“How did you heal so quickly? This just doesn’t make sense.”
Ash knew she spoke more to herself than to him but listening to her eased him. Heal? Yes, that’s what’s was happening. He felt the flutter in his chest and knew it for what it was. His heart was healing. He’d loved his wife with his heart’s every beat. He’d loved their precious child with his every breath. He always would. But because of this gentle, caring woman, he felt his shriveled heart expand for the first time since that monster stole his family from him.
After a while her hand stopped its gentle caress and Ash knew she had fallen asleep. Listening to Livie’s regular breathing, he crawled up beside her and laid his heavy head across her chest. He closed his eyes and let her heartbeat lull him.
Was it so? Did he have room to love another? He needed to seek the Manitou. He must know if this were meant to be. But more than that, he needed to visit Aiyanna in his dreams again. A short time later he dreamed his life, dreamed of falling in love, dreamed of every memory of his wife he owned. Then of his own doing, he took his dreams to the very last day they shared…
fun huh?
Tomorrow I’ll share a different shade of naughty from another book.
I harbor a lifelong love of learning, but I didn’t enjoy school. In fact, I could count on three fingers those times I was actually inspired by a teacher. I say that because I can only remember three.
The twinkle of a notion that I could write stories appeared long ago, and it all started in school with a J.R.R. Tolkien book in my high school English class. We were to read The Hobbit and then write a short story in Tolkien’s style. It was the very first time a class assignment was more than a regurgitation of rote facts and dates. It was also the first time I put imagination to pen. I wrote about an emerald-scaled dragon waiting for her egg to hatch. I’d been inspired so I really got into it. It’s amazing what a little inspiration can do for creativity.
The next day, the teacher held me back after class to praise my story one on one. She asked if she could keep it or have a copy. Of course I said yes to her keeping it. In the days before Xerox, I wasn’t about to write it all out again! She left me with this thought. “You’re good enough to be published one day.” I shelved that idea for fourteen years before I took her compliment to heart. And with disappointment, I tabled it again as an impossible undertaking when manuscripts sent didn’t get a nibble. That was nineteen years ago. All told this trip has taken 38 years. I’m glad I tried again and was successful, but wish I’d started sooner. It’s not for the reason you might think.
I’ve long determined there aren’t enough hours in the day to accomplish the often overwhelming pile of things authors have to do to establish a solid footing in the publishing world. Years ago, the only thing an author needed to do was write a book and send the manuscript to a publisher. If they accepted it, the publisher did all the work and that included promoting.
It’s not enough now to simply write the book. You have to put on hats! Of course you must wear the writer’s hat, but there’s also the publicist’s trunk full of hats to wear — the blogger hat, social media hat, and the webmaster hat. Then we have the personal assistant’s hat and all the smaller hats that go with it. If you self-publish, there’s far more than one publisher’s hat to wear! There are days when i feel buried under hats. lol
The publishing world is the vertical slope. To make a success in his business is metaphorically like climbing K2. It’s not impossible, but boy it’s not easy with that column of hats balanced on your head!
There’s still time to visit the participating blogs and leave a comment and your contact email on that day’s post. Be sure to visit every blog on the list and comment today to increase your chances of winning the grand prize: a $100 Gift Card to EdenFantasys.com (an adult toy store), and a 10-book bundle of ebooks.
Every author is offering additional prizes on their blogs. My offering is an ebook copy of Loving Leonardo –An unusual polyamorous, bi, Victorian love story with a touch of interactive art history. This part one in a two-book story. Loving Leonardo — The Quest comes out soon. Scroll down for a peek at part two.
So, over the past few days I’ve introduced you to my current novels. I hope you’ve enjoyed my book trailers and little peeks into each story. For news on what’s happening next, I invite you to subscribe to my blog. My entire author’s journey is in here. You never know what you might find!
And here’s what’s next:
Loving Leonardo — The Quest Nicolas, Ellie, and Luca take in their first night in Paris.
Blurb:
With Leonardo da Vinci’s book of love poems and sketches safe in their possession, lovers Nicolas, Ellie, and Luca discover the book harbors a secret – carefully disguised declarations of love from Leonardo to his long-time lover Salai. The trio begins a quest to follow the book’s clues to other hidden messages of love tucked into well-known da Vinci masterpieces now scattered across Europe. Their quest is cut short however, when a tragic turn of events reveals a terrible truth – Count Bruno lives and is bent upon revenge.
(unedited) Excerpt:
We left the theater an hour later. What a mistake that had been. While the play was entertaining and the theme interesting enough with its occult undertones, the ending had left a bad taste in my mouth. After finding their treasure, Axël the hero and his heroine Sara fall in love then decide their dream is far too magnificent to be fulfilled in the unimaginative reality of their lives. With no dream to live for, they killed themselves as the sun rose and the curtain fell.
Apparently unfazed, my companions discussed the story at length as we walked back to the hotel. I couldn’t help but draw a parallel to our lives though I was certain the dark thoughts were mine alone. It didn’t help that we passed a mortician’s window with the latest embalming on display as a macabre advertisement to the skill to be had there. Beside the door a glass frame filled with memento mori photographs. In general, I found the practice of posing the dead in life-like attitudes a disturbing one. Especially the staring facsimile eyes painted upon closed lids.
Seeking a distraction from my thoughts, I used the tip of Eiffel’s tower as a guide and led us across the street and down an alley. We passed a beribboned one-man music show reminiscent of a May Day mummer, a raucous game of Three-card Monte taking place on an upturned dustbin, and Luca received a blatant sexual proposition by a ponce seeking work for his whore. Turning the corner, we chanced upon two women, one either quite old or quite world-worn. Both were obviously Roma dressed as they were in colorful rustic clothing one might see on country folk. The younger of the two rocked a baby. The elder told us in heavily-accented English that her tarot cards held a message for Luca and me specifically.
Unused to Gypsies that peddled their wares across Europe, Ellie was enchanted by the idea. She tugged on my sleeve and encouraged a card reading. Luca shrugged and I found myself placing a coin on the scarf-covered folding table.
The elder’s smile revealed several missing teeth. She shuffled her worn cards and said, “The cards speak to you first, Englishman.” These she handed to me and I cut the deck into three piles as directed. I realized then, that this deck of cards was not only quite old, it was hand-painted. Restacking them into her hand, she dealt three cards – the three of cups, the six of swords and the Tower in reverse. I looked at the woman expectantly.
I felt Ellie’s eyes on me and I squeezed the hand she rested on my arm.
“Well madam, what do the cards say?”
“The cards call for caution, Englishman.” She tapped the three of cups with a gnarled finger. “You’ve gained fortune in love. But this card is your past.”
Ellie looped her arm through mine. I could feel her thoughts. As far as she and I were concerned, it was our present and future.
The old woman tapped the six of swords. “Your trip will be postponed and sadly there is nothing to be done for it.” She stared at the cards a moment then tsked. She shook her head and tapped the last. “The card sees imprisonment.”
Ellie looked at me with wide skeptical eyes that danced with mirth, the smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she tried to keep a straight face. Luca slapped me on the back in humor, and said, “You’d best watch yourself Nicolas.”
I chuckled, but inside my unsettled mind absorbed it.
She gathered the cards again and shuffled them. After Luca cut the deck into three piles, she laid them out as before. The first was the two of cups. “Your recent past shows harmony, man of Venice.” Luca nodded, apparently missing the fact the woman knew where he was from. I didn’t miss it. There was nothing in his accent that I was aware of that hinted a particular region of Italy. She set the next card beside the first. It was the eight of wands. “There is jealousy in your life now,” she told him.
He looked at me and then at Ellie. There was no jealousy between us. Proof again these mystic pastimes were nothing more than parlor games. The last card was the king of cups. She looked up into his face and for the first time I realized she had a glass eye that didn’t quite follow the other. The real eye looked him up and down, and the perusal made me very uncomfortable. I couldn’t say why that was, even if I’d been asked. She suddenly scooped up the cards and declared the reading completed.
Luca chuckled. “Madam, you’ve not read my last card.”
The baby fussed. The older woman turned to the younger and said something in a language I did not recognize but possessed rounded syllables found in the Latin languages, Romanian perhaps. The young woman nodded and replied, then bared her breast to suckle her babe. The old woman turned back to us. “The king of cups tells of a powerful man…” The younger woman said something that effectively stopped the elder mid-sentence.
How strange. We looked at one another. Ellie dug into her reticule and set a coin on the table. “I’d like my fortune read too, if you please.”
The old woman shook her head.
“Why not? I’ll pay…”
Chuckling, Luca set another coin on the cloth. Obviously deliberating, the old woman stared at the coins and pursed her lips. In the end, the prospect of more money won out. She shuffled the cards and set the deck on the table. Her one eye moved from person to person at last settling on Ellie. She told her, “One card only, lady.”
Ellie turned over the single card and set it on the scarf. The lovers in reverse. The old woman said, “Separation,” and quickly scooped up the deck and scarf and snapped the folding table closed. The card reading was officially over.
“Wait, what does that mean?” Ellie asked obviously confused.
I hooked my arm in hers and said, “It means nothing my dear, it’s merely a game.”
The gypsy cackled. “A mistake many make.”
I tugged Ellie away. “Come love, let’s see about our dinner.”
۞>>>>۞<<<<۞
And… The Witchy Wolf and the Wendigo book 2
Still working on the blurb. Here’s what I have so far:
After revealing his true nature as an ageless shape-shifting shaman to Livie, Ash is overjoyed to find she accepts him as he is. But within his new-found happiness lurks an ancient enemy, with a new terrible power and the singular intention of taking all Ash holds dear. Certain his lover and friends would be safer on the reservation, Ash sends them north and plans to meet his adversary head on. Eli’s hatred was set in motion nearly 3000 years before, and now two magical shaman face an inevitable confrontation.
Excerpt:
Winston’s tail thumped on the floor a moment before the screen door opened with a squeak.
Knowing all the sounds in the house, especially those made by her husband and sons, Mayweather announced from the kitchen, “Jo is here.”
Coming around the corner at the mention of his name, Jo kissed his mother’s cheek before grabbing for a hot biscuit. “Good Morning Ma.”
“Ssst,” she hissed her disapproval at him and playfully slapped his hand. “Where did you leave your manners today, maji?”
Jo laughed. He loved that she still called him a little devil. “I am a bachelor, Ma. The only time I eat good food is at home!”
She grinned. “I made extra for you to take back to the station. None of you boys eat well.”
“Jo needs a good wife, Auntie May,” Cora commented matter-of-factly.
Jo spun around, and quick as a shot gave Cora a squeeze that lifted her off the floor, making Winston bark playfully. Jo told her, “I need a nice waabiingwe girl like you. Maybe Livie, hey? Did you bring her with you?” He peeked over the top of her head hopefully.
With her red hair, Livie certainly was a pale girl. John said Jo’s crush on Livie was obvious, and seeing that hopeful look in his eye, Cora knew it was true. But unfortunately for Jo, Livie’s heart was now occupied. When they’d been in the bookstore waiting on John to have his talk with the shape-shifting dog — Livie had confessed falling head-over-heels for Ash. Ash was the dog. Not in a million years did she see that coming. Despite no proof in this bizarre set of circumstances, Cora responded to Jo honestly. “I’m afraid Livie’s heart has been stolen away, just like mine was, by a wily Indian.”
Disappointment flickered in his eyes. “She’s seeing a red man?” At her nod, he grabbed her and made her squeal. “Then maybe I’ll have to steal you from John!” Lifting her, he made to run out the door. The women laughed and seeing opportunity for fun, Winston ran to get his ball.
John came into the kitchen followed by his uncle. He said, “Are you trying to steal my wife again, Jo?”
“Yeah, you’re too citified. Cora needs a wilder Indian. What do you say Cora? Wanna see my wigwam? Ow! Hey Ma! I was just kidding!”
“Do not be rude.” Mayweather spun her dish towel again, an action akin to recoiling a whip. She loved Cora too much to let her cheeky son innocently insult her. Having grown up on tales of the Indian schools, you never knew what white folks took seriously. While her nephew’s sweet-natured wife was different than most, with scant few exceptions, in her experience mostly they were a breed apart.
John chuckled, “Smack him again for me, Auntie!”
“Ow! Ma!”
“Put her down, maji. Go get some jam from the cellar, please.”
“Yes ma’am. Come on Winston, you can look for mice down there.” The dog, happily wagging his tail, followed him out.
Abbie laughed. His wife steered her boys with a dish towel as accurate as a mule driver’s whip. After his sister-in-law Rosa’s long illness and death, and the tragic mistake that killed his brother Hank, he’d raised John and his Fay as his own beside his three boys. With his twin sons at college and Fay away completing her internship, the house was far too quiet. He took the oven mitt and lifted the large steaming coffee boiler from the stove. “Grab some cups. I want to hear Johnny’s story.”
Twenty minutes later, Jo exclaimed, “John, you are shitting me!” No sooner did the words come out of his mouth than did he feel his mother’s ire. He quickly said, “Sorry, ladies.” Mayweather shook her head at him and pushed the biscuits and jam his way, as if to say, fill your mouth, do not speak with it.
“It’s true,” John continued, “I saw him change right before my eyes. One minute he’s a wolfish-looking dog, the next he’s a naked man on my floor. It blew my mind.” He shook his head. “Absolutely blew my mind.” He relayed much of his conversation with Ash, adding he’d taken him to the Wal-Mart.
Abbie asked, “And you are certain this Midewi is Ashkewheteasu?”
“He confirmed it. He was amazing, Uncle. So confident and sure of who and what he is. I was in awe.”
Mayweather put her fingers to her lips in wonder. “And he calls you friend. My goodness John, such an honor.”
John nodded. “It is, Auntie. It’s a great honor to help him.”
“So he knows about the legend now?” Abbie asked. “He is okay with that?”
“I told it to him. I’m not as good as Old Edgar, but I remembered enough details. He said much of it was true.”
Abbie smiled. He’d always believed the old stories had literal truth in them.
John ran a hand across his face. “But there’s so much he needs in our world, I don’t know where to begin. I bought him clothes and shoes, sure. But what now? What do I do now? He’s going to need help.”
This was huge. Jo’s mind filled with legalities. Ash would need I.D., for starters. He suddenly remembered there was more to this story. He looked at John. “What about the Spider? Does he know the Spider is coming?”
“He knows. That’s why he sent us up here, where we’ll be safe while he handles the Spider. He wants to bring Livie too.”
Understanding filled Jo. He looked at Cora with wide eyes. “Ashkewheteasu is Livie’s new beau?”
Cora nodded.
Halting the conversation with his hand, John cut in, “We don’t know if she’s okay with that yet. But even if she’s not, Ash said she’s still in danger. Spider wants to take everything from him. All that will matter to Spider is Ash’s feelings for Livie. Not whether she returns them.”
A wave of unease washed over Jo. This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.
Abbie said, “Ash is going to need papers. He cannot just come into this time and not have them.”
Cora said. “You’re right, Uncle. You never know what might come up and he has no way to explain who he is that won’t make him sound crazy and get him locked up or worse.”
Mayweather shook her head. “Maybe you could convince him that he should live here, Johnny. You know the laws are different on the rez.”
John nodded. “Yes they are, Auntie. But no. He made it clear to me that he plans to stay in my area.”
Considering his cousin’s words, Jo let out a long breath. “He should be here with his people. You know we would welcome him with open arms. There is so much he could teach us and so much we could learn—”
John interrupted, “Jo, he’s an elder. The elder. It’s not for me to tell him anything. I can suggest, but that’s all I can do.”
Cora said, “He wants to stay near Livie, Jo. He’s in love with her and last night she told me she’s in love with him.”
The words gave Jo a pang. “But what kind of life can he offer her? From all you’ve said, he doesn’t have even basic knowledge about the world we live in.”
John knew where Jo’s apprehension was coming from and he felt bad for it. From what Cora had said, Livie was clearly head-over-heels for Ash. If last night went well and she wasn’t freaked out by the truth of him, then she wouldn’t be opposed to Ash’s affection. “I don’t think this is something we need to worry about. His mind is amazing. In just the few hours we talked last night, his understanding and comprehension grew right before my eyes. He told me the ability to learn all situations quickly was part of the Manitou’s gift. If we help him, it won’t take him long to assimilate. I have no problem offering him a place in the clinic if he likes. From what Cora and Livie tell me, he’s remarkable with animals, too. ”
Cora agreed. “He is. I’ve never seen anxious animals calm so quickly.”
Feeling that there might be a stable future for Livie, Jo nodded. “Okay. I’ll see what the tribal council thinks about forging documents. There are enough babies born on the rez with two birthdays — the actual birth date and the legal date on the paperwork. How much different can it be?”
“Three thousand years, give or take.”
Not realizing the age of the legends Ash was a part of, they all looked at John in wide-eyed surprise. Jo laughed. “Oh, boy. Well, they’ll either think I’m crazy or you are!”
Abbie said, “You do know the tribal elders will want to meet him first, hey?”
John nodded. “Like Auntie said, helping Ash is a great honor. They should meet him.”
I’m aiming for late January – February release dates for the final installments of both stories. Aiming…
To recap: More than 200 authors are taking part in five days of fun and prizes. Visit the participating blogs and leave a comment and your contact email on that day’s post. Be sure to visit every blog on the list and comment each day to increase your chances of winning the grand prize: a $100 Gift Card to EdenFantasys.com (an adult toy store), and a 10-book bundle of ebooks.
Don’t have a Kindle but still want those ebook prizes? Get a free Kindle for PC download and read ebooks on your computer. Free Kindle for PC download
You could walk away from the Hop with a lot of prizes. Every author is offering additional prizes on their blogs. Mine is an ebook copy of Loving Leonardo –An unusual polyamorous, bi, Victorian love story with a touch of interactive art history. This part one in a two-book story. Loving Leonardo — The Quest comes out sometime late January or early February.
~~~~~oOo~~~~~
I’d like to introduce another book — Hermes Online — my very first novel, and a CataNetwork Sensual Reads Reviewer’s Choice Award Winner of 2011 To take a peek inside the book, go to Amazon. http://www.amazon.com/Hermes-Online/B004W8E8HM
Here’s the blurb:
Imagine if you will a story begun in the halls of Mount Olympus long before this modern tale was conceived. It was a time when the god Hermes flew on his winged sandals and carried messages from the gods to the mortals below. And between that time and this, couriers became postmen and handwritten letters became bytes. It is said the gods still speak to those who listen… Left bruised and brokenhearted after a cruel breakup, Vivienne Bennet finds herself mired in a world of self-doubt. To her surprise, she receives an email that challenges her to rediscover the sensual woman she once was. Together Vivienne and the enigmatic man known only as S embark upon the world of anonymous Internet communication where suggestive emails lead to erotic chat, where cybersex leads to Skype, and C2C sends both into the arms of a love they’d believed lost forever.
::Fun Fact:: When I came up with the name for this novel, the only thought I had in mind was the Greek myth of Hermes delivering messages from the gods. Flash forward to today, and emails magically appear in our inbox. Add to that the fact my character Vivienne went to Greece as a student and I was quite pleased with my unusual title. Notice I said was. The title has been a source of a few chuckles along the way. First off, just about everywhere I’ve guest blogged about this book, the host tells me they’ve had a tremendous amount of hits on their blog for that day. That’s nice. I’m also signed up for Google Alerts , and that tells me when my title is mentioned on the internet. In theory that should work. To date I’ve never received notice of this book being anywhere. But I do get a DAILY notice of who’s selling Hermes handbags, purses, and clutches online! lol I suspect the uncharacteristically high volume of hits on all those blogs might have been from people hunting down handbags. Every once in a while, a perplexed reader will wonder where the Greek gods are in the story.
FYI: The gods are there, but it’s not their tale.
::My Favorite Quote by Vivienne’s Penpal::
Allow me to pay homage to the goddess you are. Let me begin at your little feet. Feel me lightly kiss, and yes, you will feel me bite ever so slightly, for the need to devour you is great. Reply lover. I await. S
>>>>oOo<<<<
Excerpt. Can you *feel* a written kiss?
I closed the Word document and absently twirled my hair, lost in thought. There was so much of me in there, even the decorations in Jonathan’s house said much about me. The fact that Lily looks identical to me was rather Freudian too, come to think. I laughed out loud at the thought. It’s funny how our subconscious mind tells us what’s what sometimes. The subconscious mind intuits what the conscious mind misses at first glance. Yes, the phone sex story was a whim, and who would have thought six years later, it would help me find my way back to myself? I wished in that moment my pen pal stood right here so I could say thank you. I’d thank him for lighting the match that eventually relit the candle of my self-confidence. I’d kiss him for real.
I pressed my fingers to my lips, imagining this curious and compelling green-eyed, chestnut-haired, large-handed, well-endowed man kissing me. And unbelievably, my panties got soaking wet. I flexed my fingers and crafted a scene from the sizzling phantom fire playing over my lips.
Having experienced amazing kisses in my life added just enough realism to the blend of movie kisses. I told the screen, “So, you want a kiss, eh? Then what will you think of this?”
S,
There is so much more to kissing for the first time than meets the eye. The would-be lovers laugh and smile and delight in each other’s company. They talk, getting to know each other, trying to find the choicest morsels of their life and personality to share. They might hold hands for hours as they wander here and there. And when they sit side by side, perhaps on a bench at a museum, they’ll look in feigned interest at the passersby, glance again and again at the exhibit, but not really seeing it. First, one will turn inward, the movement slight, barely noticeable. And then with no clear knowledge of doing so, the one will magically mirror the other. Their knees may touch, and one set of clasped hands might rest innocently upon a knee. And then a noise, a temporary distraction, might take their attention for a second, and both heads will turn to the sound, inadvertently closer now than before. When one turns back, their faces will be mere inches apart. Their eyes, green and gray, will hold each other’s gazes, darting from one sparkling pupil to the other. They might unfocus to drink in the entire face for a second, perhaps lingering on the person’s smile before meeting the gaze once more, a gaze noticeably warmer than a moment ago.
One face may turn a little, and in mirrored image, the other follows, only slightly tipped in the opposite direction. And the eyes ask the silent question as two thoughts become superimposed — May I kiss you? Will you kiss me? The answer is subtle, missed by nearly everyone passing by, everyone save the smiling elder couple holding gnarled hands and assisted by their canes. Perhaps they, too, once shared a kiss sitting there, or plan to again later. But locked in their own world, they don’t notice the elder pair walk by.
They are aware now only of each other, aware of little things, the flush on her cheeks, the gleam in his eye, the color of her moist lips, the imperceptible flare of his nostrils as he subconsciously reminds his body to breathe. They touch now. The kiss is at first soft, the lips asking permission for the firmness they crave. Another kiss grants this and another and another as faces turn to fit around chins and cheeks and noses. And then loose and pliable, those lips part now to make way for tentative tongues. These too begin their searching, gently at first then becoming bolder as they instinctively react to the warmth of each other’s mouths and thrust as hands cup cheeks and arms wind around shoulders, drawing each other ever inward into the private space that shuts the waking world out and lets the dream begin.
V
Little did I realize when I began this kissing scene that I would abandon the amalgamated movie kisses. I stopped and read those words, my words, my kiss. That kiss had been real, as had the love behind it. My eyes filled with tears, but I sent it on. Feeling alone, I rose from my chair and walked away.
Hello! Welcome to the last day of the Secret Santa Blog Hop.
Necessary to repeat: Follow this link to the rules and explanation on how the hop works. It’s all about answering simple questions on the participating blogs and you have three ways of adding entries: Following the blogs. Leave a comment. And answer the question each author has on their blog. The grand prize for this fun tag-along event is a 7” Kindle Fire HD.
Every author in the hop is adding extras to the fun. If you stop by each participating author’s blog and leave a comment on that day’s post, you could win even more goodies. Winners are chosen from among the comments so be sure to leave your contact email and comment daily. Strike up a conversation. Authors love to chat!
I’m giving away an ebook copy of Hermes Online – a Sensual Reads Reviewer’s Choice Winner 2011. If a Kindle is on Santa’s list but you can’t wait, you can get a free version for reading ebooks on your computer.Free Kindle for PC
Here’s my question. Answer Yes or No — Is mistletoe edible?
My Secret Santa Giveaway is an ebook copy of Hermes Online –a Sensual Reads Reviewer’s Choice Winner 2011.
S, my man of mystery from Hermes Online can really turn a phrase. Here are a few of my favorites taken from his steamy emails to Vivienne:
“I want to make love to you until the lines between us blur and you take my soul completely.”
“Feel me lightly kiss, and yes, you will feel me bite ever so slightly, for the need to devour you is great. Reply lover.”
“You ask if I want you? How can you ask? You fill my every waking thought.”
“Take my mind where my body would follow.”
“Ah, my beauteous sensual lover, yes, make it so. My body is yours to explore. I give my all over to your waiting hands. What will you do with free rein I wonder? You must fill my mind with details.”
You’ll LOVE Reading Rose…see the trailer first, then enjoy an excerpt!
Loving Leonardo – An unusual polyamorous, Victorian love story with a touch of interactive art history
(R) Excerpt:
The clock below stairs chimed once, then twice. Miss Elenora Schwaab would arrive at any moment. Sure enough, the bell rang in the front hall and shortly after, I met the woman in my library where Mrs. Fletcher had deposited her.
In a color scheme that would have inspired Pierre-Auguste Renoir to fetch a blank canvas, she wore a cream-and-blue cotton confection accented by a blue-and-cream rose-bedecked bonnet, reticule, and parasol. Excitement shone brightly in eyes the pale turquoise-blue of a clear autumn sky. Ripping off her cream lace gloves, she jumped from her chair to thrust her hand at me. “Sir Nicolas! Thank you for receiving me on such short notice.”
Americans. Chuckling to myself, I bowed over her smaller hand. “Miss Schwaab, what a pleasure to see you again.” They had the oddest mannerisms. Not rude, exactly; rather forthright without the stodgier affectations of the Empire. On the whole, Americans reminded me of impressionist artists. The artists violated the rules of academic painting, and Americans violated the rules of conventionality. As a student of nuance, I very much liked it.
Mrs. Fletcher entered with the tea. Addressing my guest she said, “I wasn’t sure if you’d like lemon or milk, Miss, so I’ve set the tray with both.”
“Why, thank you ma’am.”
The housekeeper turned to me with a smile sparkling in her eyes. I could tell the sparkle came from being addressed formally when she considered herself only a housekeeper. She said, “And that bread is warm from the oven as you like it, and the butter’s fresh from the dairyman this morning. Is there anything else, Master Nicolas?”
“No dear, this is quite fine. Thank you.”
Alone now, I buttered my bread and addressed the lady busily adjusting her tea to taste. “So Miss Schwaab, you say you’ve a venture in mind…”
“Please, Sir Nicolas. Call me Ellie as all my friends do.”
I smiled at what she implied. I could certainly see us as friends. “Very well, how can I be of service, Ellie?” I took a bite and nearly choked at her next words.
“To be blunt Sir, I’m in need of a mandrake. I need you.”
My mind raced. The chit was declaring me homosexual. “I beg your pardon?”
She smiled a rather unsettling sentient smile. And in those pale intelligent eyes, I could see her thoughts forming like clouds before a rainstorm. In fact, I could almost smell the ozone in the burning machinery of her mind. When she spoke, her thoughts were perfectly ordered.
“I’m not one to beat around the bush, Sir Nicolas. Not being forthright wastes time, and time may very well be short. Last June, I overheard a rather intimate verbal exchange between you and another man. I didn’t see who he was exactly, but I did see you.”
I felt a hollow sensation in my chest. In it, I could hear the echo of my up-tempo heartbeat. “Miss Schwaab, I—”
She held up a hand to interrupt me. “Please, hear me out. I consider myself to be a progressive. You see, I don’t care what adults do behind closed doors. An individual’s nature and sexuality form the most intrinsic core of their person. And who are we to take issue with another’s nature? Only a fool would see one path to human intimacy. We are naked apes after all, and apes have no issue with homosexuality.”
I couldn’t fault her logic. “So, what do you propose Miss Schwaab? Blackmail?” Though my obvious concern wasn’t humorous in the least, she laughed merrily.
“Please, call me Ellie.”
“Ellie. I believe that was a reasonable question.”
The same smile was back and with it, sparkling eyes. “I want you to marry me.”
Completely dumbfounded, I just looked at her. “You can’t be serious Miss…”
“Ellie.”
“You can’t be serious, Ellie.”
Her laugh was filled with mirth. “Oh, but I am!”
Finding that impish gleam in her eye irritating in that moment, I set my plate aside. In my mind, this meeting could go one of two ways — she’d out me for a sodomite if I didn’t do as she asked, or I’d be saddled with an insane wife. While Parliament abolished the death penalty for deviants like me years before I was born, my truth wasn’t fodder for the masses. “You have me at a disadvantage, madam. What madness would spur you to make such an outlandish proposal?”
She set her cup down and leaned forward as a man might when sharing an inside stock tip. I found myself oddly attracted to her forthright and almost mannish American attitudes. Looking me square in the eye, she said, “You are an authority on Leonardo da Vinci, correct?”
“On his artworks, I am.”
“Then I assume you are familiar with Gian Giacomo Caprotti da Oreno?”
I suppressed a smile at her halting Italian. Gian Giacomo Caprotti was da Vinci’s protégé. Affectionately called Salai or the little devil by the master himself, it was said when Leonardo painted nudes and phalluses, they were modeled by his young lover Salai. The most telling of these — the sketch called Angelo-Incarnato or Angel Incarnate, which depicts the little devil himself with a substantial erection. On the back, da Vinci wrote out his turbulent feelings for the young man in Greek: astrapen, bronten, and ceraunobolian. His metaphoric choices literally translated: lightning, storms, and thunderbolts. I nodded.
She smiled. “And I assume, although not in your field of expertise, you must also be aware of such erotic artworks as Japanese pillow books and the Kama Sutra. One chapter of which was so recently translated by your celebrated orientalist, what’s the fellow’s name?”
Field of expertise? I took her question to mean I was unaccustomed to erotic works depicting women. Beyond my proclivity and given profession, of course I knew of these ancient works of erotica. I named the man for her, “Sir Richard Francis Burton—”
She cut in, “Yes, that’s the man!”
“And yes, I am aware of such books.” It was obvious when her pretty smile widened that she could see she’d hooked me like a trout. In fact, I had the impression this woman had somehow studied me at length. Though my interest was piqued, I couldn’t fathom what she was driving at, nor could I see a connection between ancient Asian renderings and da Vinci’s longtime lover… let alone a connection to a proposal of marriage to me. “And what does Salai have to do with these works?”
She smiled that smile again and this time I was met with a sense of familiarity I couldn’t quite identify, like there was more to it than what was seen upon the surface. My focus redirected when she explained, “My father is in the American Consul, you see. And now with my elder sister Luise Marie wed to Jean-Paul, I’ve become my father’s hostess when he entertains here. I don’t mind it, though listening to men talk trade and commerce mostly bores me. Anyway, enough about that.” She waved her hand and shook her head, as if determined not to go off point. “The other night my sister and her husband joined us when we entertained an Italian merchant and his relation by marriage. The former, a Signore Ambrosini, deals in raw fibers such as cotton and jute from India and is seeking business relations in the New York textile industry. I found him a likeable man. The latter… well, there was just something not quite right about him. His name is Carlo Posateri. He…”
My mind could barely keep up with the twists and turns Miss Schwaab’s mind was wont to take. Then too, I was somewhat surprised that this conversation was being piloted by a woman at all. Women of my acquaintance steered clear of most sexual topics, though every one of them would perk if the focus of conversation leaned in that direction. Sifting through her rambling recount of that night, I learned this Signore Posateri hated all things homosexual in nature, including the works of the masters. Apparently the man took pride in influencing Pope Pius IX to castrate the statues in the Vatican for the homosexual thoughts they provoked. Out of sight out of mind, I’d say, or a gloss on the phrase Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet: The man doth protest too much, methinks. In my experience, them that had the most to say against a thing often coveted that very thing. Her next words pulled me from my contemplation.
“To put it simply, I plan to steal it.”
I stared at her dumbly having not fully listened to what preceded that statement. Eyeing me suspiciously, her pretty bowed lips took on a frown when she reproached, “Oh fiddlesticks. You weren’t even listening. Have you no concept how important this work is to humanity?”
Chastened that her winding road of a tale had lulled my mind, I ate the crow. “Forgive me Miss… ” — her eyes narrowed, causing me to amend — “Ellie. My mind was lost on the man’s contribution to the Vatican’s defiled statues. Please, if you would, back up a bit and explain it again.”
She took a breath. I was struck by the curious glint of sympathy shining in her pale blue eyes and the faint blush that signaled ire or embarrassment. Unacquainted with her as I was, I stabbed in the dark and took the blush for the latter. My thought was proved right when she said sincerely, “I know I ramble when my head is so full of details, and I apologize. I really do. But please, bear with me if you will.”
“You’ll have my undivided attention, I assure you.”
Ellie brightened and launched into it again. “Alright then. Signore Posateri boasted of his measures to rid the world of artworks created by the greatest artists of the Renaissance. Jean-Paul got him to admit he buys them from private collections and destroys them, you see. When asked about pieces that were not purchasable, he said he ‘has his methods,’ which I take to mean he steals them or has thieves in his employ, the sanctimonious cur… ” Her words trailed off.
I stared at her expectantly.
Exhaling sharply in what could only be annoyance, she continued, “At this very moment in Venice, somewhere in his palazzo, he has in his possession a previously undiscovered book written and illustrated by Leonardo da Vinci’s own hand.”
Of all the things I thought she’d say, that was not one of them. “Oh?”
She nodded. “Yes, created by da Vinci for Salai. It’s a book of love, Sir Nicolas — a pillow book that managed to remain hidden for four hundred years!”
Knowing the mind and desire of the artist like I did, I could almost see this book. “Such a thing is entirely possible.”
My words brought about her effervescent smile. She asked, “Wasn’t Salai with him a long time?”
“At least twenty-five years. Salai inherited many of da Vinci’s works. How did you come upon this information? Surely they didn’t discuss this topic in your presence?”
She dug through her reticule and scoffed, “As if they would. No, when I left the men to their brandy last night, I stood just outside the door adjusting the strap on my shoe under the pretense I’d lost a button, you see. I chanced to hear Signore Posateri speaking of this book.” Pulling a folded paper from her bag, she read, “And I quote, ‘Although unsigned, in breadth and scope, there is no question this was Leonardo da Vinci’s book. It is clearly the work of a sodomite. The disgusting words of his twisted affection made more foul by the accompanying sketches.’ Galling, his hatred.”
Needing more to fully comprehend, I urged, “Go on. What else did you overhear?”
“In the conversation that followed I could tell Signore Ambrosini was put aback by his companion’s rabid fanaticism. Then I heard Jean-Paul ask him what he intended to do with it.” She read from her notes, “He said, ‘After I study it to better know the minds of these repugnant artists, I will burn it with the rest, of course.’”
She met my eyes, her fair cheeks flushed in her pique. For reasons unclear, John Opie’s oil painting of Boadicea Haranguing the Britons came to mind. She said, “Burn it! Can you just imagine the loss, Sir Nicolas? Jean-Paul was beside himself over the idea; he even offered to buy it. But the man said he’d never sell it at any cost.”
After I study it… The man’s words confirmed my earlier opinion. Signore Posateri was himself a homosexual — if not in deed, then certainly in desire. I nodded, “I agree. It would be terrible loss.”
“That is why I have plans to steal it.”
I stared at her and she suddenly laughed. “Oh you think me mad, don’t you? You do. I can see it in your eyes!” She leaned forward and looked at me with interest, as if she half expected me to admit that I did indeed question her stability. How quickly she went from John Opie’s warrior queen to James Tissot’s Young Womanin a Boat. The astute little imp made me smile despite myself. “I admit I do. And where exactly do I fit into this insanity?”
“I’ve come here because time is of the essence. Signore Posateri will be leaving for Venice at the end of the week. And if we leave tomorrow, the day after, at the latest—”
“I still don’t see my presence in this scheme of yours.”
Ellie sighed. Her earlier words about wasting time came back to me. I wasn’t trying to be obtuse but for the life of me I just didn’t see it. I asked her to explain how she figured I fit her plan.
She said, “You have your influence, being an Earl and all. You’re in the House of Lords. We can use your academic standing and income to save these precious artworks from being destroyed by this fanatic, for surely he is in possession of more than one. You know Leonardo da Vinci’s works. You’ll know at a glance if Signore Posateri is correct in his assumption that this is indeed Salai’s pillow book.” When I didn’t comment she added, “Look, I know you barely know me, but I know you, and I’m completely alright with it.”
“Alright with it?”
“Yes.”
She reached across the distance between us to briefly place a small warm hand over mine in a comfortable gesture which I recognized as sincerity. I had an idea of what she meant, but needed clarification. It wouldn’t do to guess wrongly. “You’re referring to my particular predilection?”
“Yes.”
I rubbed the point between my eyes.
She asked, “As a friend, may I leave your title aside and call you Nicolas?” At my nod she continued. “Nicolas, I’m no fool. For all that I’m a progressive woman: I live in a man’s world. And while society may change in the future, I’m hindered in the here and now. It would be difficult to travel on my own, and certainly tracking down homoerotic artworks would be next to impossible for a woman. I wouldn’t even know how to ask about them; trained proficient I’m not. Were we to marry, I see advantage for the both of us outside this venture.”
“Advantage?”
“Yes, you’ll be free to love who you will without society casting rude speculations your way. And aside from my being free to be who I am, I’ll benefit by a social standing that will allow me to affect change from within society.”
I considered her a moment. Miss Elenora Schwaab was an extremely pleasant-looking young woman with her wise blue eyes and cinnamon hair. She was fit and fashionable, and without a doubt a highly-educated and intelligent person. Her ready humor and matter-of-factness were also quite appealing. Yes, I could see myself enjoying this woman’s companionship if nothing else.
Running down a list of potential advantages of marrying someone not shocked or repulsed by my nature, I surprised myself by finding her proposal no less than brilliant. Many marriages started with far less. Still, there was one bit that must be addressed. It had always been my understanding that one day I’d be pressed to marry and sire children. When one inherits the title of Earl, especially a Halstead Earl, there are responsibilities one must naturally live up to. But until that hourglass ran out, I considered myself free to love and enjoy whom I would. To be fair she’d have to be told. “I must tell you that I have obligations to my title and estate. These obligations would necessitate my producing an heir in the future.”
My wording was met by a brief frown. I could see she hadn’t considered such an intimacy between us were we to marry as she proposed. This was confirmed by her next words. “But wouldn’t that be imposs… that is to say… I mean… oh fiddlesticks. But you don’t enjoy women that way.”
Summoning my straight-faced composure, I said, “We British are nothing if not dutiful. Perhaps with the lights off.” Her expression priceless, I laughed. “I’m teasing you, my dear. Actually, I’ve never attempted to make love to a woman. And truth be told, I don’t see that happening for a good many years yet.”
Something akin to relief shown in her eyes, suggesting if she had say in the matter it would be a long ways into the far-distant future. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it but didn’t have too much time to contemplate my curious reaction to her relief, for next she blurted, “Then lights on or off, we’ll cross that bridge as it comes. Let’s marry straightaway.”
My earlier opinion fortified. The unflappable Ellie Schwaab, late of America, was indeed bold-as-brass. There was no denying this outrageous proposition made sense. For one, it negated the need for an awkward conversation with a future wife, for surely Ellie was one of a kind. I’d be, as she said, Free to love whom I will. I found myself liking the idea very much. If nothing else it would stop the parade of marriageable young women thrust my way at every social gathering. I nodded. “It does make good sense doesn’t it?”
“It does, and I assure you I’ve come to this opinion from every angle.” She gave me a brilliant smile and laid her hand back on mine. This time she left it there. I covered it with my own. And that’s exactly how Grannie found us when she walked into the room.
“You’ve obviously something to tell me, Nicolas,” my grandmother said without preamble, an unmistakable glint of joy in her albescent eyes.
Rising, I brought Ellie to stand beside me, hooking her arm in mine in what I hoped would be a convincing display of affection. I said, “Grannie, may I introduce my fiancée, Miss Elenora Schwaab, daughter of Mitchel Schwaab, the American Consul to her Majesty. Ellie, may I introduce you to Countess Lady Augusta Halstead, my grandmother.”
Her hand thrust forward in that very American gesture and had my grandmother bubbling with charmed delight. To my surprise, Ellie not only had a fair working knowledge of me, she knew about my family. When my Grannie incorrectly deduced our love began at Lady Margaret Eastlake’s garden party a year ago, neither of us dissuaded her. The cover was brilliant, and I was once more taken with Ellie’s quick intelligence. In short order I’d become quite fond of her. This might work out well after all.
Somewhat surprised to see an expression that was at once both delighted and relieved, I met Grannie’s eyes over my recently acquired fiancé’s head and winked at her. I could almost see the visions of babies forming above the dear old woman’s very large hat.
Hello again!
It’s day 3 of The Hot Winter Nights Giveaway Hop
Follow the Hop! We’re giving away prizes valued over $100 (an ebook package and $60 in eGift Certificates: $50 Amazon gift card and $10 Bookstrand Bucks) And every author is in on the fun and offering more prizes on their blogs too. Stop by each and comment on that day’s post — more comments = more chances to win goodies. Winners are chosen from among the comments so be sure to leave your contact email when you do. Ask questions, be chatty. We authors just love reader participation! Here’s the link: Hot-Winter-Nights-Giveaway-Blog-Hop
Scroll back to see what’s been offered here in the past two days. The following how-to is one of the many gifts I’ve made over the years. Sorry I don’t have pictures, but I’ve made the steps as detailed as possible so you should be able to follow along. You’ll see. Cute and easy.
Snowmen vs. Santas Checker Set ~ A friend of mine drinks different types of beer and saves bottle caps of all colors and brands for me. A few years ago I thought up a twist on an old standard game – checkers.
You’ll need:
24 bottle caps. Be sure they’re not bent or sharp.
1 bottle of clear Diamond Glaze (check your craft store) or two or three bottles of cheap dollar store clear nail polish
12 pictures of Santas and 12 pictures of Snowmen thought really it could be anything as long as there are 12 of one and 12 of the other. I cut mine from a catalog with vintage pictures but you could also check the dollar store for inexpensive holiday greeting cards. It’s possible to cut the small circles (bottle cap size) by hand by tracing a quarter. Or buy yourself a nice quarter-sized hole punch. I eventually did that. Much easier and super fast.
Glue
Once you’ve assembled your supplies, dab a dot of glue inside the bottle cap and carefully center the picture inside. Smooth out any bubbles and lumps. Allow to dry then slowly fill the bottle cap with Diamond Glaze or nail polish. I found simple checkerboards at my local dollar store and used those to go with my games. You can easily make your own. A search online will show you the exact count of squares needed. The completed project really is adorable. You could even mix is up for other holidays or themes — jack-o-lanterns vs. skulls, bunnies vs. chicks, moons vs. stars, cats vs. dogs, Edward vs Jacob…ok now I know I’m out of ideas. lol
About those ebook prizes ~ Need a Kindle to read your ebook prizes on? Here’s a freebie to use right on your computer. And all the books you accumulate there are transferable to your future hand-held Kindle. Free Kindle for PC
I’ve giving away an ebook copy of Dreamscape as my prize in the Hot Winter Nights Giveaway. Written in homage to Agatha Christie, Dreamscape is a haunting, a murder, a mystery, and a love story that transcends time. Above all, this sensual tale is a reader’s Easter egg hunt in the truest sense. Peppered throughout are hints suggesting a story behind the scenes. Will you find them all before it ends? It’s not necessary to the telling of the tale, I put them there just for fun. I’m a sneaky author that way.
Here’s what readers say about Dreamscape:
5-Stars ~
“I wondered as I read this how the lovers were ever going to solve that problem, but was totally surprised at how Anderson arrived at the HEA ending I was hoping for, as I read far into the night. Great read with a surprising twist ending.” 5-Stars ~ “There is no doubt in my mind that this is one heck of a novel, one that had me introspective and thoughtful when I finished, a kind of wonder that someone could have crafted such a wonderful book.” “So readers who love erotic romance wrapped in the mists of dream and fantasy and time-travel will find this to be a delightful reading experience, an entertaining way to spend some time, and an exercise of the mind and imagination. This novel is already on my favorites list as well as my “to read again” list.” “This is not a story that should be missed. I feel it has been a true delight and privilege to read this tale.” 5- Stars ~
“Dreamscape is phenomenal! I will rant and rave about this novel’s amazingness because it is rocks in all aspects of writing style, character development, plot, and story line. Rose combines history, mystery, romance, intrigue, and sensuality seamlessly and beautifully in Dreamscape.” 5- Stars ~
“Every once in a while you read a book that is so well written and the story so real that when you finished reading it, you almost want to cry because the story is over. This book is one of those. It seamlessly combines it all, history, romance, mystery and sensuality. Without a doubt, this was one of the BEST books I’ve ever read.”
Scroll back two posts to read the blurb and see the book trailer and leave your comments — you just might win!
Hello, I’m Rose Anderson, the author of these scorching romances:
The Witchy Wolf and the Wendigo, Loving Leonardo, Dreamscape, and Hermes Online.
You can find me just about anywhere these days. I’d love if you’d stop by my various social media sites listed below. Check out my books or just say hi.
Take a peek inside the book for the entire first chapter on Amazon!
After the burial mound is excavated. Excerpt:
Cora called to the others, “See you in the morning guys. We’re starting at six to beat the heat. Don’t forget to drink water tonight to rehydrate, and eat a pretzel or something like that. You’ll need the salt.” Her words were met with nods and good byes. Alone now, Cora crouched beside the opened mound and carefully unrolled the last sheet of plastic canvas. Before she turned and walked away she spoke softly, as if the bones could hear. “I’m so sorry we’re disturbing your peace. I wish I could have stopped all this, but I’m powerless.” With that, she left.
A large curious field mouse scurried over the top of the burial mound. He watched the people, his gaze pulling time and again first to the fire-haired young woman leaving with the others, then to the slightly older woman who’d stayed behind to spread a blue covering over the soil with obvious care.
Sensing the people were gone, the mouse drew a deep breath. Suddenly his form changed from mouse to rabbit, from rabbit to fox, and then from fox into a wolf with unusual black markings on its face. This higher vantage allowed him to check the area before continuing. Confident he was alone, his legs lengthened as he slowly shifted from wolf on four legs to a wolf on two. His muzzle shortened, as did his ears. A moment later he stood as a man.
His throat tightened as he walked amongst the tables and pails. A small bone caught his eye and he bent to pick it up. He stared a long while, seeing but not seeing the hand it belonged to so long ago. It was his task to watch over this resting place, and his task alone. Coming here later than usual today, there was nothing he could do to stop the white man’s destruction. His eyes filled with tears as his fist closed around the finger bone. Slumping to the ground, he sobbed in anguished sorrow.
There was no sense to this. What kind of people disturb the dead? Couldn’t they see this was sacred ground, a resting place? Composing himself, he wiped the tears from his eyes before reverently setting the small bone back in the opened mound.
Twilight fast approaching, he faced the setting sun, his palms held up to the sky. He hadn’t spoken for a very long time and doing so now, his voice sounded dry and strange to his ears. “Sky Father I have failed, I beg your forgiveness!”
Kneeling, he pressed his hands to the ground. “Earth Mother, I beg forgiveness. I have failed in my task…”
Rising, he turned his back to the sun and held his arms out wide. “Wind Spirits of the East, I beg forgiveness for this failure.” Turning, he croaked, “Wind Spirits of the South, I beg…”
He rasped his plea to the remaining directions and the spirits who dwelled there, and then addressed the mound and the body that lay within, “Aiyanna my love, my heart. I have watched over you through time but I can watch no longer. Please forgive me, I have failed you….” His throat choked close. Swallowing hard, he whispered to the earth that half-covered his wife, “Again.”
Kneeling beside the dirt-encrusted bones, he pulled the cover away to expose them fully. The small bones of the baby he knew laid with its mother had dissolved in the acids of the soil. Gently digging through the loam between the exposed rib bones, his fingers found the bird stone, its cord long since returned to the earth. Holding it now, he remembered…
As a reader, I enjoy unusual love stories. As a writer I get a kick out of stretching my creativity to come up with a story that will please the reader I am. My recent release, Loving Leonardo, began this past summer in response to hateful topics in media news. The thing is, they were OLD topics — whom we could love, women’s rights to control their destiny, prejudices and hatred. Before I knew it I’d crafted a Victorian love story and wouldn’t you know, the same issues fit right in. The average person can’t control everything in our world and make it right, but writers can! I find I enjoy shaking the snowglobe. Muahahahahaaaaa!
Here’s the book trailer for part one of Loving Leonardo.
Collectors of Romance Memorabilia, I have Rose Anderson Goodies for you!
Would you like some soon-to-be-famous author swag? *grin*
Scroll back to yesterday’s post to see what I have,
then send me an email with your address and I’ll mail your choice. roseanderson4858(at)yahoo(dot)com
And…
Join me and more than 300 authors and publishers for a month of goodies at The Romance Reviews’ big Year End Splash Party. Discover new authors and read hundreds of excerpts and grab your chance at over 300 prize! Like I’ve mentioned before, I’m there the week of December 9th. To see my part in the whole thing, I need to send you to my satellite blog. Rose Anderson’s Satellite blog on blogspot.com There you’ll find an excerpt of my recent release — Loving Leonardo.
The week of December 9th my question will be posted on The Romance Reviews site. Simply find my name on the participant list. Follow the link given to my excerpt posted on my satellite blog, read it, then go back to answer my multiple choice question on The Romance Reviews site. Play the other games and amass more points and you’ll have a pretty good chance to win an ebook copy for yourself!
See you tomorrow for Day 4 of the Hot Winter Nights Giveaway Hop!
Once again, I’ve set out a teaser — six evocative sentences from my newest release Loving Leonardo. Being hitched to the Six Sentence Sunday site has been a fun tag-a-long that’s broadened my web exposure immensely. I’m sad to see this weekly event coming to a close.
Compatibility growing comfortably in the close confines of the ship, Nicolas, Ellie, and Luca share an afternoon discussing Leonardo da Vinci.
My Six:
I believe we were all aware of a sexual tension growing in the intellectual-rich loam. There were little things at play now: the way Ellie moistened her lips and looked at us with eyes that lingered from one to the other. The way Luca’s irises had darkened from snow shadow to moon shadow as he looked upon her. The way I’d catch myself with a reminder to breathe as my eye was drawn to these small distinctions. Like da Vinci’s sfumato, our mutual attraction hung in the air, and I was struck by the notion that the smoky quality depicted in his art was desire. Desire like this.
Bound by limits dictated by society, Art Historian Nicolas Halstead lived a guarded life until a tempest in the form of Elenora Schwaab blew into his world. At first Nicolas can’t decide if the audacious American is simply mad or plotting blackmail for not only does she declare knowledge of his homosexuality, she offers him a marriage proposal.
After Ellie tells him of a previously unknown work of Leonardo da Vinci, a book of erotic love poems and sketches dedicated to the artist’s long-time lover Salai, Nicolas joins her in a race to save the book from destruction. Along the way they encounter Historian Luca Franco and discover a comfortable compatibility that comes to redefine their long-held notions of love. The trio embarks on an adventure of sensual discovery, intrigue, and danger. Little do they know Leonardo da Vinci’s book is far more than meets the eye.
Tempted? I hope so!
Check out the other talented authors taking part in Six Sentence Sunday.
You just might find that next great read. http://www.sixsunday.com/
~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOoOoOo~~oOo~~oOo~~oOo~
Find my books at Barnes&Nobel, Books-a-Million, and at many online booksellers
You can also buy Rose Anderson books on Amazon.com
The Witchy Wolf and the Wendigo
I’m aiming for late January – February release dates for the final installments of both stories. Aiming…
