EXCERPT TIME! “Wormwood”

Hey kids!  I have been a bloggin’ fool this week.  I’m probably just feeling guilty because I haven’t done it in so long.  I thought tonight that I’d put up a little excerpt that’s way different than my normal fare.  The story is called “Wormwood” and it’s from an anthology called “A Chimerical World: Tales of the Seelie Court.” The setting is the antebellum south, a place where one might not expect to find faeries.  But one would be wrong, because Robin Goodfellow shows up and helps our heroine get even in a grotesque way straight out of Shakespeare.  I hope you like, kiddies!

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“Are you going to sit there like that all night? Don’t you know it’s nearly midnight?” Freedom’s head snapped up at the unfamiliar voice. She looked up and a blurry figure stood before her, leaning on one of the gnarly old oak trees. She rubbed her eyes to clear them of the grit that tears sometimes leave behind. “Well?” the voice said again, a touch of impatience tempering its tone.

“Who are you?” she croaked, pulling her knees in tighter. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

The shadow came forward into the moonlight and Freedom gasped. The most beautiful creature she’d ever seen came fully into view. It was a boy, but not a human boy. For a moment she thought he might be an angel. Of course, no angel would have such a mischievous grin. His skin nearly glowed with the light of the moon and his features were fine. His jet colored hair fell in careless waves over his brow and he had a long, slim pipe perched between his lips. The smoke from the end curled around him like a plume of silvery feathers. His only clothing was a pair of mossy green trousers that fell low on his hips, almost a part of the skin underneath. Most amazing were his wings. They looked like skeletal twigs covered in dewy spiderwebs that sprang from his back. They flapped so quickly in the still air as he lit on the branch just over her head. They hardly looked to be moving at all. “I am Robin Goodfellow. And you are Freedom Jenkins,” he replied matter-of-factly, taking a long pull of his pipe. “And now we’re not strangers.”

“How you know my name?” Freedom asked, standing up quick.

“Your sister told me.”

“You know my sister?” He seemed to ignore her question and jumped down to the ground. As he began to pace, Freedom watched him back and forth, unable to tear her eyes away. Was he even real? His silvery skin and almond eyes were like nothing she’d ever seen before and she sat there transfixed. “What are you?” she blurted, not considering her rudeness.

“Me? Well I’m a creature of the forest. Your kind call us woodfolk or sprites…”

“A fairy? You’re a fairy!” Freedom cried, for a moment forgetting about her predicament.

Robin gave a perturbed scowl and turned his nose up snottily at Freedom. “I prefer Fae, for I am, in fact, the prince of all Fae. A most cunning sprite and knavish Puck, at your service.” He gave an exaggerated bow and nearly fell over, making Freedom giggle in spite of her sadness. He stopped and looked up at the girl, his mouth curled into a thoughtful sneer. “You are so very sad, just as your sister said.” He shook his head and inhaled deeply on his pipe again. This time when he exhaled, the smoke formed a sparkling, silver bird that fluttered toward Freedom. Just before it lit on her nose, the bird blew apart into an entire flock that fluttered around her head for a moment before dissipating. “No little child born of the Fae should be so sad as you. It isn’t natural.” With a graceful leap, he alighted on the low bough of the oak and squatted there. “You have a touch of our magic, of course. You and your sister.”

“What kind of root you got in that pipe, Suh?” Freedom asked, her eyes bugging. “If’n we had magic, we be out of this place long ago.” She sighed miserably and put her head in her hands. “It’s hopeless, Robin. Me and Ady gon’ die here and that nasty old Gerald Wilkins is goin’ to git away wit’ his mischief.”

The sprite had a roguish grin that was almost too large and Freedom couldn’t help but return it. “Sometimes magic is hard to see, but it was magic that brought me to you. If you hadn’t called, I wouldn’t have come. What do you think about that, Freedom Jenkins?”

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Like it?  It’s one of my favorite pieces.  If you like it too, the whole book full of faery stories is available from Seventh Star Press!  You can click on the picture above or here!

SEXCERPT Time– Hellsong by Alexandra Christian

Yes, I did spell that correctly.  Time for a little sexy excerpt (see what I did there?) from my #newrelease from #EllorasCave!  Uggh… I hate hashtags, but some genius computer person thinks they’re necessary.  Whatever.  Here’s a sexy little excerpt from Hellsong.  I do believe in taking a test drive before you buy the car…

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Hellsong_EC

She shuddered, feeling dizzy at the warmth of his breath. She could feel his eyelashes against her cheek and she turned her head slightly. He took this as an invitation and brushed his parted lips against her temple, kissing her eyes, then the crest of her cheek and down the narrow path of bone to her lips. She couldn’t help herself from opening her mouth to him, letting his tongue delve inside to play against her teeth.

She sank deeper into his embrace, arching her body upward to offer more of her mouth to his fevered kiss. His arms wrapped around her tighter, his hands resting on the corners of her hips, then drifting lower to the rounded flesh of her bottom. She groaned softly when he squeezed, using the leverage to press her body tighter against his. “What are you?” she whispered against his lips.

“You know what I am,” he growled, forcing her against the window frame, pinning her between the rough wood and his body.

“This can’t be real,” she gasped as his mouth found the hollow of her throat.

“Say it,” he ordered, his voice gravelly with arousal. He twisted his fingertips into her hair, pulling her head back to bite at the overheated flesh. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Angel,” she whimpered, getting lost in the feel of his mouth traveling over the contours of her collarbone and shoulders. “Angel,” she repeated in a breathless whisper. “You must be…” She groaned, cradling his head against her chest. His hair slipped through her fingertips like late summer corn silk and she twisted the strands around her fingers.

Saraqael smiled in a way that conveyed utter relief as he fell to his knees before her. He rested his hands on either side of her waist, his thumbs digging in to the fleshy hips, keeping her still above him. The sloppy, button-down shirt she wore was open, showing a hint of the concave of her belly just over the waistband of her jeans. He used the tip of his nose to open the folds and press his lips to her skin. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to stifle the moan when his tongue delved into the hollow of her navel suggestively. “Fallen?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Not yet, but I’m sure you’ll work harder, Daemon. I used to be the Archangel Uriel,” he whispered, brushing his generous lips over the curves of her hips. “And when I was sent to Earth, I became the Grigori.” He watched her reactions, taking in each nuance as his fingertips trilled over her skin—higher and higher the crept. Her breath came in short gasps, her skin prickling at his touch. When his fingers reached the smooth satin of her bra, she felt a jolt of fire between her legs. And when his palm found the center, she feared that the flames would devour her.

“Perhaps it is you who is the demon,” she groaned.

He smiled and ran his hand over her sternum. “Perhaps I’m seducing you for my own sport.”

“Not very angelic, Grigori.”

He did not respond but straightened to his full kneeling height. With a careless gesture, he pulled the shirt open, letting the buttons fly carelessly. The cool night air from the window made goose bumps pop out all over, pulling her skin taut. Before she had time to complain about it, the warmth oozed over her body as his hands found their way under the satin barrier covering her breasts. His rough, calloused palm scratched against her nipple, making it harden immediately. She whimpered with the sudden heaviness and arched her body toward his.

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Damn.  I love that Saraqael.  He’s just… rawwrrr… He’s one of three “men” in that book that are just… rawwrr.  Have I mentioned I like men?  A lot?

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Thursday Thirteen #2: Dollface

Hey kids!  I decided to share 13 sentences from my backlist today.

Dollface” is the story of Caroline, a plain Jane, small town Southern girl who just happens to be a funeral home cosmetian. Everyone in town likes Caroline,
though they’ve always felt that there was something not quite right about her.
For years Caroline has pined in silence for the funeral director’s son, Scott
Bauer. Scott has always been kind, but never returned her affections. Her world
comes tumbling down when she discovers that Scott is to be married and will
leave her forever. She can’t let that happen and will go to unnatural lengths to
keep him.

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“Alright, Mrs. Marshall, this won’t hurt a bit,” Caroline said as she began scraping the fine grained sandpaper over the scarring on her forehead.  “Just a little smoothing to make the foundation go on easier.”  She always talked to them—her clients, as she liked to think of them.  It made her feel better about it andmaybe it would help them on their way to resting in peace.  “You wouldn’t believe all the people in town who are just devastated over your passing.  People really loved you, you know.”  It was true.  Almost everyone in town knew Mrs. Marshall and thought very highly of her.  She leaned down and examined the wound closer before brushing away the dried skin that had flaked off.  “Almost,  Mr. Bauer did an excellent job with these sutures.  They shouldn’t be hard to cover at all.”  A few more passes with the sandpaper and Mrs. Marshall was done.    Caroline  rummaged through the collection of jars in her box until she found a small jar of modeling wax.  “A little of this should be just the thing.”  She smoothed a bit of the wax over the scar and began blending it with her fingertips until the scar was little more than a slight indentation.  “There now, good as new.”  Caroline stood back and admired her handiwork.  She’d managed to cover the bruising and remove most of the blood from Mrs. Marshall’s hair.

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Did I mention it was a straight horror piece???  Oh… sorry. For the really creepy stuff, you’ll have to buy the book.  Just $2.99 on Amazon and Barnes and Noble !