Woo hoo! Going back to Wiccan Haus!
School teacher Cassidy Sinclair’s sanity is questioned after claiming to see her hero appear out of thin air. Her savior dies in her arms after intercepting a gunshot meant for her and her student, Allan Branson. The only person who believes her account is the boy’s father who arranges her one-week stay at an exclusive holistic healing spa called the Wiccan Haus off the coast of Maine.
Trevor Green, a paranormal, is recovering—again—from gunshot wounds at Wiccan Haus. His body battered and his confidence broken, he is tasked to protect the woman he almost got killed. The one he’s fantasized about for months and who thinks he’s dead.
What happened? He inhaled a calming breath and counted to ten, aware that Cemil and Cyrus had joined Sage and were awaiting his answer. Well, not Cemil. He was just being polite. As a telepath, he’d already read Trevor’s thoughts.
“She was determined to come back here and I had to stop her.”
Cemil grinned. “The best you could come up with was decloaking her dead savior right in front of her?”
“Yeah,” he snarled, “it was.” Cassidy stirred in his arms and he tightened his hold keeping her close. He savored the innocent intimacy and hated himself for enjoying it.
Dana stood between the two elevators. “Your room or hers?”
He nodded toward Sage as he waited for the third elevator, the one reserved for the humans. Somehow, these siblings had charmed the elevators so that only humans could use the one designated to go to the third floor and only Paranormals could use the second floor elevator. The first elevator was reserved for the siblings alone. No one knew where that one went.
“I could use a key to her room.”
“How will you get there?” Sage asked, though he was sure she knew the answer. As always, he would wait patiently, cloaked, for his opportunity.
“Don’t worry about me. Just get me the key. She’s not going to be an easy one to keep an eye on.” The elevator pinged and Dana escorted him to the third floor.
In the privacy of the elevator, he pressed his lips to her hair. She wouldn’t know, but he would remember the silky strands caressing his cheek during the long lonely nights.
He needed to concoct a believable explanation for materializing out of thin air without threatening her sanity. Or his secret.
About the author
Once upon a time there an only child who grew up with a single mother in a rural Virginia county. This curious, bright girl, full of imagination, often roamed in her mind to far away places she’d read about or seen on television. Now, decades later, she appreciates the slow, steady ritual of suburban life as a wife and mother of two similarly whimsical girls. The trips are still frequent, only now she records them to share with others. Enjoy!
History is in the Eye of the Beholder
As we become a more global community and share information more freely, history is constantly being rewritten.
Several years ago, my family attended the First Thanksgiving Festival at Berkeley Plantation (Charles City, Virginia). It is a festival with vendors and demonstrations but seeing the reenactors in period garb, feeling the ground shake with cannon fire, the smell of freshly spent black powder on the air allowed us to step back in time.
Check out this article by the Washingtonian. This Thanksgiving tradition only lasted a few years since the Powhatan realized the settlers' intent to take more land, killing anyone who stood in the way. The take away from this story is be a good guest or your hosts may show you the door. Permanently.
View Outside My Window
This week's topic comes from the beautiful Betty Bolte: Our surroundings influence our mood and view of the world as much as setting in any story. What is the view outside your window, or what would you like the view to be? For those hopping over from Brenda Margriet, thank you for making the trip!
My yard is full of trees, both in front and in the back. So when I look out my window, no matter the time of the year, I see birds and squirrels. Sometimes a bird will make its nest in one of our pendant light fixtures so I get to watch the parents care for their ravenous babies.
Every writer has a "baby", that first novel that you ever finished. The one that took hours, and months, and possibly years of your blood, sweat and tears. Just like a child, you nurture it, protect it.
That's how I feel about my "baby" but finally I pitched my novel and got a request! Yay! After a few months, I received a rejection letter. Also my first. Boo! However, that rejection was my ticket to Pro status with Romance Writers of America.
Shifters & Spice (e-book 99 cents!)
Romance writer. Paranormal and contemporary. Mother of two and wife of perfect husband. Love the environment, travel and reading.
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