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Circle….

26 Jun

Next up the GSP Legends promo we welcome Nick Harris.

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Nick Harris is the author of many published short stories, including ‘Old Lady’ (The Horror Zine) and ‘Rest In Peace’ (Welcome to Wherever). She is also the published author of a mystery novella under the pseudonym of Emma Pearce.

Her book we are highlighting today is Circle.

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Fairy Rings are harmless, right? Just innocent circles on the grass… Not for Nanna Fay, they aren’t! Trapped in a fairy ring as a young girl, she has always felt their pull and heard their call and until now, she’s managed to avoid them. But now Cora has come to stay and goes missing. There’s only one place to look…

Excerpt:

Circle

Nanna Fay wrapped her crocheted shawl around her bony shoulders and stepped out into the cold winds whipping round her cottage. Though it was September, the chill of winter swirled around her. Birds had flown south; leaves, browned and withered, had fallen from their branches, and the sun seemed distant and pale.

Normally, Nanna Fay would be inside on a day such as this, but normality was a thing of the past, now that Cora had come to stay.

Cora was her granddaughter, her only grandchild; Nanna, her legal guardian. Cora’s mother frequently stumbled into the depths of alcoholism, leaving Cora to fend for herself. At only seven years old, having a sometimes mother was not an option. The courts had stepped in when Cora accidentally set fire to the kitchen while trying to cook herself a hot meal. Neighbours had been keen to relay their own tales of how neglectful Cora’s mother was, and how often Cora was left home alone.

So now she was Nanna’s, and today was Cora’s first day at Elm Grove Middle School on the island where they now both lived. Nanna was eager to collect her and find out how it had gone.

The wind blew keener than she’d anticipated and when Nanna was halfway there, she regretted not putting on a proper coat. Too late for that now. The shawl would have to be enough. The school wasn’t very far from her home on Webb Lane, and she figured they’d be back soon.

When she got to the school, her first time ever within its grounds, she noticed, with horror and concern, the presence of a fairy circle in the school grounds. Perfectly round, its shape depicted by grass tinted darker green than that around it, the circle stood out clearly for her to see, beneath the trunk of a tree.

Oh, she knew what scientists and naturalists reckoned they were. Circles of fungi. A ring of mushrooms, common to the woodland, nothing more mysterious than that. But Nanna knew better. She’d been trapped in one before; enthralled by the fairy music playing there. Delightful music: it entranced the ear, heart and mind; ensnared the hearer; distracted her from the passing of time in the real world. The circles were traps laid by fairies, to capture mortals within them. The fairies could feed upon a mortal’s mind, stealing memories, thieving thoughts. Destroying the human, piece by piece—most people faded away into nothing when they were caught within the circles, invisible to passers-by in the real world, their minds dead.

Only . . . Nanna had been saved. Saved by her father who had entered the circle to come after her, a stout rope tied around his waist and anchored to a fence post, so he could pull himself and his beloved daughter back out. He’d only known she was there because he’d seen her disappear before his very eyes. . . . They’d never spoken again of the horror or of the state of Nanna’s mind when she returned! So many of her thoughts gone! So many childhood memories snatched away, consumed by the fairies who sat upon the mushroom tops, enjoying their feast, their banquet.

Links:

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/NickHarris.html#Circle

Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Circle-ebook/dp/B005NWRKB2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1372218551&sr=8-1&keywords=Circle+Nick+Harris

Journey……

15 Mar

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Today on the GSP Firefiles promo we welcome Sarah Deckard.

 

Sarah Deckard has been writing stories and poems since she could first string words together. Her love of Medieval fantasy has led to an interest in Renaissance Faires, Medieval Times entertainment, and the S.C.A. She graduated summa cum laude from U.T.C. with a Bachelor’s degree in English-Creative Writing. Her poems and short stories have been published over thirty times in magazines and anthologies. Miss Deckard has also published a compilation of short stories entitled Tapestry of Tales: Classic Fairy Tales Retold. Journey is the first in an e-book series called Rising from a Bower of Silk: Tales of Transformation authored by Sarah Deckard and published by Gypsy Shadows. She currently resides in Chattanooga, TN with her belovéd German Shepherds and Doberman Pinscher.

Please visit her website at www.sarahdeckard.com for more information as well as updates.

 

Her book that we are highlighting today is Journey

 

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Princess Victoria’s greatest joy is in Brendan, the prince whom she is to marry. However, she dotes on him so much that she loses her sense of self and this drives him away. Determined not to lose him and to rediscover herself, Victoria runs away from home.
     Disguised as a commoner, she learns lessons in self-reliance from a variety of people—her fairy guardian, a family of gypsies, a kind woodsman, a lonely ferryman, a baker-woman with a sad past, her daughter with an uncertain future, and a wise herbalist. Victoria grows in wisdom, will power, courage, and independence as she journeys. Still, the memory of her belovéd rises at time, testing her resolve. Is she developing her inner strength for herself or ironically because that’s what Brendan wants? Will she find her betrothed or perhaps someone else? Will she wander forever or find a place where she belongs?

 

Excerpt:

 

  Princess Victoria stood looking out the window of her bedroom high in the castle. Her eyes reflected the green of the deep forest upon which she gazed. A gentle rain began to fall.
     “Oh, I hope this rain doesn’t interfere with whatever plans my darling has made for us, today,” she said to Malinda, her lady-in-waiting.
     “I’m sure Prince Brendan will think of an alternative if that is the case,” replied Malinda, as she continued to brush Victoria’s long hair, which shone the golden-brown of a gryphon’s wing. “Perhaps you could suggest some activity?”
     Victoria wrinkled her nose. “Brendan doesn’t seem to like any of my ideas lately. So I just let him take the lead. You know how men are.” She shrugged and gave a little sigh. “Still, I wish he wouldn’t spend so much time outdoors. It’s always horse racing or hawking, fighting with one of a half-dozen weapons or wrestling in the courtyard with his companions. It’s never a dance or a tea or something we can do together.” She sighed again, this time with more longing.
     “You have no idea how tedious it is to watch the same events over and over. It’s not like the grand displays of pageantry at a tourney—the colorful banners, the knights in burnished armor, the mighty warhorses, the crowd cheering, Brendan with the best prowess on the battlefield ceremonially handing me the favor he has just won at a joust.”
     Her mind cast back to the days before her acceptance of Brendan’s proposal, before he had even come to live at the castle to press suit for her hand, before she had abandoned the simple as well as ornate pleasures of her life to become a mute spectator of all Brendan’s glorified but grubby daily pursuits.
     She remembered the first time she had seen Brendan in action. His armor gleamed in the sun—which had given its golden-tone to his skin as she would soon discover. The red plume crested his helm. His robust and fiery mount pawed the ground in anticipation of the first charge, while his tabard and trappings all gallantly presented his royal coat-of-arms. She noted his superior strength during the first few rounds of the joust. But her heart had not yet fluttered. For, he had not yet taken off his helmet, letting loose his flowing hair—the same golden-brown as her own—revealing the broad forehead and strong jaw line she had come to know so well. He had not yet turned his autumn-hued hazel glance in her direction. Nor had he smiled in that fetching manner to see her in all her finery, with her skin glowing like moonlight on silver maple trees and her calm face sparkling with delight upon seeing his countenance.
     Ah, but then . . . He had turned his high-stepping warhorse in her direction. Lowering his lance—tipped with the laurels won from the joust—to the level of her royal seat among the spectators, he offered Victoria his winnings with which to wreathe herself. All this before he had even discovered her name. He would later tell her that her smile had captivated him, drawing him to her, out of all the beautiful maidens and noble ladies at the tournament.
     “You were a pearl among the lovely seashells,” he had told her with his off-handed but gallant flair. “And though shells upon the beach may be charming, the rare gem is far more alluring with it subtle sheen than even the most lively colored casings that house no pearls.”
     Victoria reined in her thoughts to the present. How long had it been since he had given her such a winning compliment? The days seemed to grind by slowly without her usual pastimes of embroidery, weaving, teatime with friends, playing the psaltery, giggling with her ladies over feminine pleasures, or the rarer amusements of grand feasts and fabulous dances. These leisurely pursuits had all ceased in the wake of Prince Brendan. Not at first, of course. Rather, they had slowly evaporated from Victoria’s life as she invested more and more of her time and energy in her lover.
     Victoria was startled out of her reverie by Malinda’s voice. “I understand you must get bored of the daily activities of men, but your love for Prince Brendan is so touching. Only true love could engender such devotion on your part. I know I could not endure watching the man I love rolling with his fellow knights on the greensward getting dusty and sweaty each day. I have to retreat to my feminine diversions, but not you. You and the prince are practically inseparable. Everyone in the castle thinks you two are the perfect couple and we can’t wait for wedding.”
     The princess heard Malinda’s words. They confirmed for her that what she gave up to be near Brendan was not only worth her boredom, but also was the proper way to reverence her future husband and lord. She thought of how he had kissed her the day she had accepted his proposal. Not the exhilarating kiss they shared only moments after she had said yes, but the one later that evening at the celebration. The long tables were laden with roasted meats, tangy cheeses, and succulent fruits. The heady wine flowed copiously from pitchers to goblets to the mouths of the numerous guests assembled for her father’s official betrothal announcement.
     After the king had spoken, Brendan had offered a toast to his future bride. He took Victoria’s hand and she rose with him. He raised his goblet with the carelessness of a man well on his way to inebriation. A mouthful of dark red wine swished over the rim and splashed against the lace neckline of her pale beige evening dress. Victoria turned more towards Brendan to hide the spreading stain, though no one seemed to notice as the entire hall cheered the couple.
     Just when Victoria was about to sit down again and try to discreetly soak up the stain with a napkin, Brendan had grabbed her around her waist and pulled her to him for a full-mouthed, if besotted, kiss. There in the great hall, in front of her parents and her sisters, his knights and their squires, as well as an array of guests, Brendan kissed her unabashedly. Her surprised resistance faded along with the new-sprung blush on her cheeks. She found herself forgetting the dress and the spilled wine as her heart palpitated with the greatness of her love for him. She thought, “Well, a stained gown is only a small thing, even one as fine as this. I have plenty of dresses but only one true love. Besides, he didn’t spill wine on me intentionally. He was just caught up in the moment, in the thought of us, in his love for me.”
     Ever since that day, Victoria had rationalized away each part of herself that she gave up for Brendan’s sake in the same manner she had done with the stained dress. It was for him, for love, even if it was no longer for her too.
     Victoria remembered one clear morning in late spring. At breakfast, she had voiced a grand idea. “I am planning a banquet. Do you think we should serve rose pudding or Lombard slices for desert? I’ve put a lot of thought into possible decorations but I waited for your opinion.”
     Brendan stifled a yawn. “I am not the expert on banquets, which I find to be a frivolous sort of amusement. However, if you want to have a banquet, make the arrangements and I will attend.”
     Victoria lowered her head and sighed. Brendan didn’t seem to notice her disappointment. Instead, he bowed and took his leave. She did not even have to ask; he was headed for the lists. Victoria sat alone in their private breakfast alcove next to the window overlooking the gardens, gazing at the flowers blooming in rows of variegated gay colors. “Then why,” she wondered, “despite this picturesque view, does my heart feel so withered?”  

 

Links:

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/SarahDeckard.html#Journey

 

Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Journey-Rising-Bower-Silk-ebook/dp/B0046A9NF8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1363326596&sr=1-1&keywords=Journey+Sarah+Deckard

 

 

Secret of Wolf Island….

5 Mar

Today on the GSP Fireflies Promo we welcome Teel James Glenn.

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A native of Brooklyn, he’s traveled the world for thirty years as a Stuntman/ Fight choreographer/ Swordmaster, Jouster, Book Illustrator, Storyteller, Author, Bodyguard and Actor. He’s over two dozen books contracted and in print and sold poetry to T-Zero, Athena Sidhe, Blazing Adventures, Heroic Fantasy Quarterly and others.

He has choreographed action for over 300 plays, 50 Renaissance Faires and 60 films.

His greatest achievement however, is his awesome daughter Aislin Rose.

 

Learn more about Teel here: http://theurbanswashbuckler.com/

Teel’s Blog: theurbanswashbuckler.blogspot.com

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/teeljamesglenn

Twitter: Teel James Glenn 

 

Congratulations, Teel, for your Short Story collection Of Swords and Sorcery, in the top ten finalists of the 2010 Preditors and Editors Readers Poll!

 

His book that we are highlighting today is Secret of Wolf Island.

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Jonathon Shadows is a private investigator who specializes in undercover assignments. He learns his friend and former Marine Corps colleague Danni Shaw is dead in a mysterious accident on the island of the video game mogul Barret K Wolf.
     Danni worked for Wolf, portraying the Amazon warrior Suprema in highly successful video games shot at the island’s castle and jousting fields. Emily, Danni’s widow is sure there is more to it than a simple tragedy and comes to Shadows to ask him to find out what really happened.
     What follows is a twisted trip into a deadly medieval realm with the detective, like Alice, sliding down the rabbit hole, only with live ammunition and sharp broadswords!
     Can Shadows find out what the Secret of Wolf Island is before it claims him as another victim? 

 

Excerpt:

 

Stupid Chink Bastard,” Morgan, the tallest of the Aryan brothers said as he and his buddy Deek advanced on me. The third one, the fat one, stayed at the doorway looking out into the hall to watch for guards. “You had to know we’d find a way to get you to ourselves before you were sprung.” He grinned showing two missing front teeth.
     I’m a white supremist’s worst nightmare; an uppity breed Asian who won’t take their crap and who can pass. In that respect, I take after my dad at six foot four, just a bit shy of his height, but with his broad shoulders. He was of Scots and Norman French background, so I had his hand-me-down Viking features and premature silver hair with my mom’s dark eyes.
     A kid in grammar school once called me Race Bannon after the old cartoon character and I almost punched him out until I found out it was a compliment.
I’m a sort of all purpose ethnic––most people aren’t sure what mix I am––Mexican, Asian, Israeli, Eastern European . . . or something else.
     In fact, Mom was Korean-Japanese, though the Japanese community pretty much shunned her as a half-breed as well. I got a lot of my uppity from Mom. The rest was from Dad and The Corps, in that order.
     So when the three white brothers cornered me in the Rikers Island prison laundry room I was compelled to do a major uppity on them.
Morgan’s sidekick added his two cents with, “It was worth paying the guard to look the other way for ten minutes.”
     I grinned back at the two of them, and I could see this puzzled the Rover Boys considerably.
     “First off, “I said, “I’m not a whit Chinese, Morgan. Secondly, Mom and Dad were married five years before I came along; and thirdly, the only really smart guy in all this is the guard you paid. I paid him to give us a little privacy as well; double dipping bastard.”
     The dim-witted son of Arrays didn’t get the implications of my statement, even as he drew his shank and brandished it.
     The prison knife was made from a sliver of Plexiglas-glass sharpened to a needlepoint and wrapped with cloth and tape for a grip. It was purely a stabbing weapon and as such he had to extend it to do me any damage.
     Normally a shank is a backstabber’s choice, not a knife fighter’s; so I knew he was counting on his buddy Deek to occupy me so Morgan could stick me in the kidney.
     Not on my agenda, however.
     Deek circled left while Morgan waved his plastic poker in what he imagined a menacing way.
     Before Deek could get into position for the piñata party I did the one thing their race-clouded brains were sure an inferior would never do––I attacked.
I went straight at Morgan who reacted by trying to stab me in the left side of the neck.
     I double blocked with a left knife hand to a nerve cluster near the elbow of the hand holding the knife, my right striking and breaking his collarbone.
There was an audible snap and Morgan groaned.
     I wrapped my right hand behind his neck and pulled his face down at the same time I brought my right knee up to meet his nose. I heard a second, wetter sounding snap.
     From the chamber of my knee near my chest I shot back my right leg to ram my heel into Deek’s breadbasket. The blow was right on the money and knocked him out cold.
     Morgan was on his knees moaning, half out of it. I bitch slapped him twice to wake him up to full alertness, and then leaned in close to stare eye-to-eye with him. He had pretty blue eyes and if hate could kill, his gaze would have incinerated me.
     “Listen good, you anachronistic piece of crap,” I said, “I could kill you and you know it, but I’m not going to; not now, not ever. You know why?
He stared at me and said nothing so I slapped him again, this time hard enough to leave a hand print on his face.
     “I asked you a question, you pecker-wood loser. Do you know why I won’t kill you?”
     “No,” he hissed. Blood was cascading from his shattered nose. “Why won’t you kill me?”
     “Because, like my old Hwa Rang Do instructor used to say, if I kill you, you won’t suffer anymore. So here’s the deal instead; if you or any of your White bread monkeys ever bother me again inside or out of this can, I––or one of my mother’s family who specialize in this sort of thing––will find you and with a carefully aimed blow to your seventh cervical vertebrae, leave you paralyzed for life.” I smiled that evil smile my ex-wife used to hate when I was playing pool with her.
     “Think about it, Morgan, A nice long life lying in your own waste with a catheter up your ever limp dick. Nothing to do but think about what a total wash-up you are as a human being, and what a waste of flesh your useless body is.”
     I stepped away from him and let my words sink in. I watched the virulent hate in the depth of his eyes slowly transform into realization and then fear. He knew my reputation, but like most who had not encountered me one-on-one, he’d thought it was exaggeration and brag until that epiphany moment.
     “And I swear on my father’s grave,” I continued, “I will piss on your limp-ass body and laugh till I cry if you even try to contract out a hit on me. This ends here, capish?
     His race hate flared up and I saw his eyes widen with hope as Fatso from the door––who thought he was being slick––tried to bushwhack me.
I snapped back a right fist and punched butterball in the throat just hard enough to take the starch out of him. My eyes stayed locked with Morgan’s.
     The Aryan genius registered his friend dropping to the floor and gasping for air. I saw the last vestige of defiance melt away from him and his worldview reorient
     “Capish?” I repeated.
     “Capish,” Morgan whispered and I could hear in his voice the thought that his surrendering to me was like barbed wire in his guts.
     Good!
     I turned my back on him dismissively and stepped around Fatso, who was still making choking noises on the ground.
I grabbed a bottle of liquid laundry detergent and poured it on the linoleum floor of the room near the door.
     “Gentlemen,” I said cheerfully and stepped out into the corridor.
The guard, a shaved-headed Puerto Rican name Lan, was standing about five yards down the hall trying to look disinterested in the laundry room proceedings. His face lit up when he saw me but not with surprise; it was joy.
     “Some of the Aryan brothers had a little accident in the laundry room. Slipped on some soap, I think.”
     He nodded. “I kind of expected that to happen to them putas.”
     “Really?” I asked.
     “Only reason I took those pricks’ money,” he said.
     “Don’t suppose I get a refund from you then, huh?”
     He shrugged. “Business is business,” he said philosophically.
     “Thought as much,” I didn’t look back as I walked back toward my cell, even when I heard Lan exclaim,” My-my, guys; a little clumsy, weren’t we?”
I resisted the urge to laugh maniacally, because Mama-san had always said to be humble.
     Right.
     I laughed so hard I almost pissed myself.  

 

Links:

http://www.gypsyshadow.com/Teel.html#WolfEsc

 

Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/Secret-of-Wolf-Island-ebook/dp/B00433U4QU/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1362458126&sr=8-1&keywords=Secret+of+wolf+island

 

Eternal Moon….

23 Oct

Today we welcome Shiloh Darke to the GSP Halloween Promo.

Shiloh grew up in an average, mid-sized town in West Texas. As a child, she had a very hard time learning to read. Not only did it seem to her to be a waste of time; it was also hard for her to focus on the words. And let’s just admit it . . . it was so much more fun to daydream of romantic adventures. As a kid, she was full of them! In fact, she could often spin a better story from the pictures in her storybooks than the authors themselves did.
    When she was twelve years old, still reading at a second grade level, her mother fought her illiteracy by giving Shiloh her very first Harlequin romance. It took her a month to read the story, but reading it did the trick and flipped the switch for her. By the end of her fifth grade year, she was reading at a seventh grade level and anxious for the next book she could get.
    Soon, Shiloh was reading any and every romantic book (translate that term as mostly romance novels) she could get her hands on. At the age of fifteen, she discovered Bram Stoker, whose work inspired the beginnings of her own written storytelling. She wanted to tell stories of love that surpassed time and broke through the barriers of life and death, but with touches of adventure and paranormal suspense as well.
    She began writing short stories and poetry, all haunting tales of love between mortal and immortal souls. At eighteen, she started mapping out her ideas for The Order of Eternals. The result of her meticulous plotting and planning is a staggering list of novels her readers can anticipate with gusto, two of which are currently available in eBook format.
    She lives with her own soul mate and her two children, along with their very own zoo (cats and dogs and elephants no wait! Scratch the elephants . . . but her daughter does have a python. Did we mention she also loves animals, in addition to reading and writing?). She enjoys reading everything from thrillers to mystery and paranormal romance to Gothic novels, as well as writing her own.

Her book that we are highlighting is Eternal Moon.

Darmetheus has been alive for a very long time. A Werewolf Eternal, he’s seen it all. Or so he thinks. But when he takes what he thinks is going to be a vacation from the daily hassle of fighting EVIL, he winds up in the fight of his life.

Lilith is a sassy, beautiful brunette with a secret talent. A talent that makes her a walking target. She’s more than eye candy to these immortal villains and they’re willing to kill in order to possess her.
But this enemy is no stranger to him and he is torn. The rebel in him wants to just walk away and leave Lilith to her fate. The hero in him won’t let him. Or is that his heart? 

Excerpt:
”  No. I don’t think they’re targeting me,”  she lied. ”  I just think that these guys are taking girls that are psychically talented.”  She shrugged before continuing, ”  I can easily hide my gift. It isn’t very noticeable. I just wouldn’t want to lead anyone to you if there were any of them watching me. You know?”  Penny scoffed on the other end. ”  I don’t do my talent openly!”
    Lilith chuckled softly at that, ”  Yeah, but you don’t not do it in the privacy of your own home, either.”  she sighed. ”  I’m just not willing to take the risk, okay?”
    Penny groaned. ”  Okay, all right. But listen, you have to promise me that you will get your ass out here if matters get worse. Okay? There is safety in numbers. Got it?”
    Just as Lilith opened her mouth to answer, she saw a wolf run into the safety of her yard. That wasn’t not possible! Surely one of those damn things hadn’t found a way through the magical barrier she’d worked so hard to put into place.
    Flipping the light switch in the kitchen off, she stood in the darkness weighing her options. A clearing throat on the other end of the phone line reminded her that her friend was still there.
    ”  Penny, I promise, okay? Now let me let you go before we run up the phone bill so much we can’t talk again this month! I love you, bye!”  As she hung up the phone, she watched the wolf shift into human form before her eyes. When he made for the front door of her cottage, she cursed, running into the hall. Grabbing her shotgun, she prepared herself for whatever was about to take place.
 ****
    Soon he reached what he’d been seeking, an old abandoned cottage. Enough human scents lingered around the old house that maybe it would throw that thing off of his trail. Glancing around, he looked for some sign of the beast. When he found he was indeed alone, he let go of his hold on the wolf’s form and became a man.
    Moving quickly, he stepped into the cottage he’d known would be here, thankful he’d not forgotten the way. When he closed the door, he heard a shocked intake of breath. He pivoted toward the sound and found a dark-haired woman with startling blue eyes and a rifle aimed at his head. ”  So, tell me,”  she spoke slowly. ”  Did a thief steal your clothes, or did you shed them to become one of those things outside?”
    Darmetheus faced her with wide eyes. Raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, he spoke softly. ”  You are safe, okay? I am not one of those things.”
    The girl gave an exasperated laugh with a roll of her eyes. ”  Yeah . . . and I’m Santa Claus’ cousin.”
    Darmetheus couldn’t stop himself. ”  Merry Christmas,”  he said in a low voice. His eyes never left hers. He could take the gun from her in mere seconds, but that would only alarm her more. So instead, he stood stock still and tried to reason with her. ”  Come on, think about it. I was riding my bike through town. Those things jumped me and I ran.”
    The girl stepped out of the shadows and closer to him, giving him a better view of her stunning looks. She was short. No more than five-foot, two with long black hair and eyes that looked like a clear sky in winter. ”  Really? Then where are your clothes?”
    He would have been completely mesmerized by her looks if he hadn’t found himself staring down the barrel of her shotgun. Yeah, idiot! Lie your way out of that one! Darmetheus winced at the thought. “I took them off. A piece here, a piece there, trying to scatter my scent.”
    Indecision seemed to cloud her crystal blue eyes for a moment before she lowered the gun slightly. ”  You swear to me, you aren’t one of those things?”
    He nodded. ”  Yes. I swear. I was just passing through. I would have gone a different way if I’d known there were rabid dogs out and about.”
    Shivering at the thought, she whispered, ”  Those things aren’t dogs. They aren’t even wolves.” Lowering her shotgun, she moved to the closet and pulled out a large t-shirt, and a pair of sweats. ”  This might fit you, I guess.”
    He caught the clothes she tossed at him and looked at the bright pink t-shirt with disdain. ”  Do you have anything a little less . . . feminine?”
    Snickering, she rolled her eyes for the second time since they’d met. ”  Not that would fit you, I don’t.”  She said, looking his masculine frame over. ”  You’re huge!”  She sat the gun down in the corner and moved to lock the door. ”  I’m Lilith. My father bought this cottage when I was little. I moved in when all the crazy things started happening in town.”
    Darmetheus quirked an eyebrow at her. ”  But, why wouldn’t you just stay in town? Isn’t it safer there?”  Lilith shook her head. ”  No. Those things aren’t intimidated by locked doors, or silver . . . or much of anything else, for that matter. They’ll come right into your home and steal you from your bed. The only people that don’t seem to be too bothered are the ones who don’t live in town.”
    He frowned. ”  Well, that’s weird.”    

This book is available at: http://www.amazon.com/Eternal-Moon-Shiloh-Darke/dp/0982325169/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1351004570&sr=8-1&keywords=eternal+moon+shiloh+darke