Friday, October 9, 2020

Midnight Sun came out and brought back my Twihard days

My Twihard days were long gone, eh? So I thought, until Midnight Sun came out August 4.

I read some of the books again, watched all the movies again, joined a Twilight fans Facebook group, and even wrote some fanfiction.

In the Twilight group a lot of people seem to dislike that Jacob imprinted on a baby, so I wrote this for them:

Here's a plot twist

It's the year 2012 and Justin Bieber's, 'Die in Your Arms' is in the top charts. The Cullen kids have all graduated college. To the good people of Forks, they're all either working in Seattle or pursuing higher education degrees. Or some, like Bella and Edward, decided to return to Forks after college because they loved the town so much. But in reality, of course, Bella and Edward never left, and stayed because they didn't want to leave Jacob and Charlie. Bella got a job in law enforcement and works for her dad; Edward is working in the hospital doing his residency after graduating online med school. Yes, they all look so young, but as Jessica Stanley will tell anyone who will listen, it's obvious they all have had cosmetic surgery.

Meanwhile Renesmee is 6 years old and looks about 15. Jacob is 22 and looks 25 still. Jacob loves Renesmee like a sister, he's totally the friend in the "You become whatever she needs you to be, whether that's a protector, or a lover, or a friend" description of imprinting. Bella and Edward realized years ago that Jacob will defend Renesmee with his life and would never harm their daughter, not physically or mentally, and that includes not ever being a creep or ever having romantic feelings towards her. They know he truly loves her above anything. In fact, they often take advantage of this in the form of free babysitting when they go to Isle Esme every year on their anniversary. (Kaure is still the cleaning lady and is very happy that Bella didn't die; also, she's totally fine with the fact that the fridge is empty and there's never food in the house).

Back to Renesmee, she has a teenage girl crush on Justin Bieber as most teenage girls do in the year 2012. Because her family is mega rich she gets a backstage pass to a Justin Bieber concert in Seattle as a 6th birthday present. Jacob, being her lifelong protector, of course takes her to the concert. Renesmee meets Justin backstage and is shocked to find out he's not the pretentious jerk everyone warned her he would be. Justin is drawn to Renesmee and breaks up with his girlfriend Selena Gomez. They go on a date after the concert (Jacob acts like her bodyguard until she tells him to give her some privacy, and he does because ... he does everything she asks) and at the end of the night Justin kisses her. It's her first kiss. It's absolutely perfect! (She thinks).

Renesmee goes back home and won't shut up about Justin Bieber for weeks. Jacob, full of endless patience as the imprinted sucker he is, only comforts her as best as he can when it's clear Justin won't call or is interested in Renesmee. (What really happened was Justin did ask his personal assistant to go find the cute girl from the post-concert date, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what her weird name was, and his people never found her. Yeah thank Bella for that one).

Our poor girl swears off love and crushes, and decides to focus on school. Jacob remains in the friend-zone for years and years. She goes to college and becomes a vet (she really likes dogs). One day, while attending her parents' 2nd wedding (first one for her) she realizes, as she looks into her dad's lovesick eyes that hey, maybe she wants someone to look at her that way too. That maybe this love thing isn't so bad. She looks over at Jacob, always sitting next to her, always her friend, and sort of beautiful ... fine, okay, he's gorgeous. And she wonders ... what if...?

Friday, March 27, 2020

Sneak Peek Friday: Ten Lives

Christian Terry shared a quote from his book Ten Lives, The Respawn Saga Book 1. Check it out!


"The morning was hot and bright. The six started marching as soon as they had packed their camp. It wasn’t long before the group had come across the three-fingered statue. The image they had seen on the map earlier did not do it justice. It stood majestically over them. At over ten feet tall, it loomed with clinging jungle vines draped around it. The group took a moment to gawk at the sight then, shortly afterwards, became aware of their surroundings. The missing men that had been sent this way before them, there were no signs of them having been this far. No footprints or any type of trails were left behind, leaving the six of them baffled. Suddenly something caught Mike’s eye: what the stone statue was pointing at. Hidden behind large hedges and vines in the distance was a gravelly road, and beyond it was a long stretch of silver, half the width of a football field but just as long. Large trees were lined up on both sides with outstretched limbs hovering over the shiny strip of land. “What is that?” Mike asked as he delicately set his backpack near the base of the statue before he tiptoed toward the chrome ground. Mike crossed the grass and stood at the edge of the metal strip, staring down at his own reflection. He tentatively stepped out. Whatever metal this was, it didn’t make a sound as Mike’s size sixteen shoes walked across it. A small obelisk stood just on the outer right side of the silver strip. It was shaped like a pyramid with a small red jewel on its apex. It couldn’t be the fire emerald could it? Mike decided that it would probably be a good idea to leave it alone for the time being. No one leaves things as valuable as that out in the open, he thought to himself. After ignoring the obvious bait, he walked the entire length of the silver walkway. That’s when the trouble started. As he neared the end of the walkway, a chill ran through his body, and he could see his breath escape his mouth. He looked down at his arm. The “X” was glowing. Death? He looked around furiously for what could possibly kill him. What he saw was the rest of the group. As the group marched toward him, he noticed Louis fidgeting with the stone obelisk, struggling to take the jewel off of its top. “Lou!” Mike barked, but before Louis could react, the obelisk shifted backward, and the ground began to tremble. The shaking left them all fighting for footing. There was a loud screech. The silver strip was disappearing underneath them! It resembled a mouth as it opened, swallowing Ariel, Piggy, Brackar, and Mercury into its murky abyss. Adarha ran toward Mike as the ground beneath her feet yawned open. She jumped toward him, clutching what little of the path was left. “Help, please!” she cried. Full of determination, Mike ran toward her and slid, barely grabbing her arm before she let go. “Gotcha!” Mike shouted. He was hanging over the edge, but the ground kept retracting. He scrambled backward, but not fast enough. He fell."

Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/f1CbZrU

Monday, March 16, 2020

Sneak Peek Friday: Tracked on Predator Planet

Sneak Peek Friday comes late on Monday (sorry!). Author Vicky L. Holt shared the first chapter in the second book of her Predator Planet series, Tracked on Predator Planet. See below for a link to her first book, Hunted on Predator Planet. Enjoy!




Tracked on Predator Planet

I roared at the white-furred pazathel-nax that snapped at my boots. For some kathe reason, the devil dog picked me out as the weakest in the pack. What a load of kathe. I could kill any of my brethren in a couple of tiks. Even Naraxthel. Ha. Especially Naraxthel, now that he was smitten with that useless soft female. It was better he had left us when he did, otherwise the devil dogs would be disemboweling the both of them.

“Run ahead!” I shouted to the three hunters. “Pull them away! I’ve got this mutt!”

I watched them draw the rest of the pack away, Raxkarax feigning a lame leg. I swung my raxtheza but missed the dog’s gray-white head. I parried its muzzle with my double blade, and soon its blood sprayed upon the groundcover. Two more swipes with my blades, and the dog lay dead, its entrails steaming in the rain-swept air. I double-checked my sight-capture was working. The Ikma Scabmal Kama loved to see death and mayhem.

A huge crack of lightning split the air, and I heard a sizzle in my earpiece. I watched in awe as a giant tree fell across the trail, shuddering the ground with its enormous weight.

I looked through sheets of rain, to the trail my brethren had followed, but they were gone. I heard distant shouting. Wary the devil dogs would sneak around and flank me, I cleaned my blades and jogged off the trail, finding a lesser used game path to head in their general direction.

A snarling log hit me in the shoulder and knocked against my helmet. I fell to the ground with a curse and felt the teeth of a lone devil dog worry my elbow joint. I growled and unsheathed my short sword, stabbing it in the belly. I silenced its high-pitched whine for good. I stood and aimed a disgusted kick at the huge blood-spattered corpse. More curses followed when I slipped in the mud of the trail, almost falling on my ass. I heaved great breaths from exertion, feeling heat from my anger flush my skin from my arm pits to my neck. I scowled and frowned, waiting for more pazathel-nax to lunge at me from the ikfal. Crouching in wait, I held my blades ready.

Rain poured over my armor, washing the blood and gore from its seams, as well as powering the cells. A fuzzy static pierced my earpiece. I cocked my head. “Hello? Raxkarax?” More static. “Natheka? Raxthezana?”

Kathe. That dog jostled my comm when he pounced on me. The sight-capture feed blew out as well. Once the rain stopped, I would remove my helmet and try to fix the delicate technology. For now, I was isolated.

Alone.

Out of communication range.

Last seen being attacked by the vicious pazathel-nax.

My breaths increased; my heart raced. The tendons in my neck tightened.

I could not have planned this any better if I had spent ten cycles arranging it. A gust of breath escaped my lungs. If I was dead to Theraxl, I was free. I only paused a second to leave my prized blade sunk into the body of the dog. No living Iktheka would leave his raxtheza.

I spun on the trail and tore off in a different direction. Careful to step on springy undergrowth instead of black mud, I chose to hide my trail sign.

I ran for several zatiks, sometimes leaping to grab hold of a low branch and swing myself forward a veltik. The farther I ran west, the freer I felt.

No more sight-captures for the Ikma. No more nights in the Ikma’s pungent lair, filling her baser needs while my promise of posterity withered and died. No more lengthy feasts in the dining halls, pretending to be humored by others’ stories or females’ batting eyes.

On Ikthe, I was Iktheka alone, beholden to no one save my goddesses.

Holy Goddesses, I thank you for the gift presented to me. May I use it to give you glory.

My armor felt lighter. I felt a sensation like cool air lift from my belly and burst forth out of my mouth. A laugh.

Shaking my head at my foolishness, I ran on, headed for the private glade I sometimes escaped to for precious moments of solitude. I liked it because it was defensible on three sides. Protected by a defile of rocks on one side, a gulch on the other, and flanked by a stream on the third, it was perfect. It had access to the bounty of the forest on the north side. I smiled. I would be there in three days’ time, and then I could scheme how I might live out my days as an exile on Certain Death.

I stopped for short meals of speared jokal over small fires. I built them under the heaviest canopy, that the smoke filtering through the leaves became invisible. I obscured my footprints, choosing rocks and treefalls to walk upon, or reversing my walk, in places where prints were inevitable. Leaping and jumping, climbing trees or crawling through bowers, my trail sign was untraceable. Once the heavy rains descended, I would be but a memory of a dream to my fellow hunters.

I slept in the vee of the red tower trees and killed the animals that threatened to kill me first. On the morning of the third day, I smiled at the Sister Suns. Soon I would settle a camp. I would dry meat and use my hands to build a semi-permanent shelter.

I lowered myself from the tree, pulling a jeweled talathel out and twisting its jaws until they popped. I threw it to the ground for the jokapazathel and loped the remaining veltik to my glade.

I slowed to a walk, unhurried for the first time since my adolescence. I reported to no one now, save the Holy Goddesses.

Using my gloved hands to part the foliage, I came upon my glade through the deep woods. Already I heard the babbling waters of the stream where large glisten-fish swam upstream. They made a delicious soup. My mouth watered at the thought.

My eyes caught a movement, and I stilled.

I switched to my heat-vision and cursed soundly.

Holy Goddesses, do you now play a joke on your servant Hivelt? Do mine eyes see another soft traveler in truth? Do you play with Hivelt?

I zoomed in on the figure. There, in front of a small ship, stood a person of Yasheza Mahavelt’s race. I watched in disbelief as they gathered sticks and twigs and placed them in a huge pile at the back of their ship. They had been collecting for days, it would seem.

My eyes widened as I scanned the site, switching back to my natural vision. A drying rack had strips of meat and pelts draped over it. The traveler built a cairn of rocks at four corners of the glade. Another large boulder sat against the rock outcropping, a concave center collecting rainwater.

My breaths came in short bursts. My heart seemed to slow with time. I blinked, willing the sight to change. It didn’t. The soft traveler’s industry belied Yasheza’s race. Perhaps this was another race? Naraxthel’s Yasheza ran from him and hid. She took baths. This one—this one worked.

I watched for several jotiks, checking my camouflage settings obsessively. When she left her site to approach the tree line, I faded further back into the ikfal. What was she approaching so carefully? Flailing movement at ground level caught my eye. Ah. This traveler set traps.

The mahavelt’s suit was identical to Esra’s. I retreated into the ikfal an extra step but waited to see the face. If it was a female, I would turn and run, if it was—

They turned to look at me, but I knew I made no sound, my armor at maximum stealth settings. My camouflage obscured me. But she—I could see her face.

Luminous silver eyes, like the scales of the glisten-fish, saw through me and pierced the empty place where my heart was not. They shone out of a darker skin tone than Yasheza Mahavelt’s. The contrast was striking.

Her brows turned down as if she could detect my presence, and her mouth frowned. Her eyes narrowed, and she dropped her wood, taking steps toward me.

Run, Hivelt. Run and hide.

My face grew hot and I clenched my fists. My heart hammered in its heart-home, and I took a great draught of air. The little industrious trespasser built a homestead in my glade.

I reached for my raxtheza, and my hand came away empty.

She took one more step, then cocked her head. I watched her lips move as if she spoke, but I heard nothing. She turned away and resumed checking her snare.

My heart returned to its usual pace, and I relaxed my hands at my side.

By all appearances, this female intended to stay. But I would observe for a few days until I decided if she deserved the raxfathe and death. Naraxthel spoke of corruption in Theraxl ways, and the Ikma Scabmal Kama revealed it to be so, but that didn’t mean the raxfathe didn’t have its place in the order of things. Especially when an uninvited interloper took up residence in my place of solitude and serenity.

I snarled and snapped my teeth, remnants of the pazathel-nax fight hounding my thoughts. I watched her progress along the tree line, and my eyes tracked a path to a spot in front of me. There! A clever snare utilizing a sapling sat within a long stride from me. A dead jokapazathel hung limp. Seeing she was preoccupied with her load, I cut the rodent loose and kept it for myself. A tribute.

Death and fury would be my companions tonight. I retreated further into the ikfal and climbed a tree.


Friday, March 6, 2020

Snippet Friday: Sneak Peek from The Binding

I've read and loved The Binding by Victoria Clapton, so I thoroughly enjoyed this short snippet she shared last week (February 28). Find works by Victoria here:




My short walk to Jackson Square had a surreal, rapturous feel to it, heightened by a lone musician, sitting on a darkened stoop, playing an empyrean melody that transcended passersby into a higher realm of awareness. As my first full day here in New Orleans began to wind down, I was beginning to understand that this wonderfully overwhelming energy of always "going with the easy flow" was not only tangible but also never-ending.



So far, I had yet to look out onto the street and find it empty. People were constantly moving about. With the daylight long-faded, the artists and musicians had mostly packed up their belongings, instrument cases, and easels, leaving behind the empty spaces they had occupied by day open for evening tarot readers to set up folding card tables which they would cover in scraps of velvet and satin and glowing candles as they waited for curious tourists to inquire about their future.



I took a moment to gaze up at the brightly-lit stained glass windows of St. Louis Cathedral. The various colors sparkled brightly over the night, serving as a bright beacon of hope for the city. This magnificent display of Catholicism stood erect only twenty feet away from the myriad of card readers, and in some unexplainable way, they seemed to fit well beside each other.



Following a whim, I passed several nice restaurants and boutiques as I made my way to the crosswalk where I could safely cross Decatur Street and climb up the levee to Artillery Park. From the street, I could not see the river that I knew to be close, but I had a hunch that I would be able to see it once I'd climbed all the stairs to the top.



My hunch was dead on. The views from the park were nothing less than stunning. In fact, this was the perfect spot to see Jackson Square and the cathedral in all of its magnificent glory.



And when I turned in the opposite direction, I was instantly filled with delight. Before me was the Mississippi River. I turned in a semi-circle, not sure which view I should marvel at first, until I realized I could walk down the other side of the levee and actually go to the riverfront.



A British family standing near me taking pictures was about to do just that, and I overheard them call the walkway that ran beside the river "the Moonwalk". Not wanting to intrude upon their space, I waited for them to walk down before I headed in the same direction.



For as long as I could remember, I have been drawn to water. It has a calming effect on my mind when my its workings feel electric, and it was here at the waterside where lights were found dancing off the water ripples that I finally sat down on an empty park bench and let go of the first-arrival urge to rush around New Orleans.



City lights cast prism rainbows upon the water while soft white lights from the bridge and a slowly passing riverboat cast an older, more orange tinge upon the tiny waves. The combined illuminations decorated the waters of the Mississippi.



Lost inside my head, in my own creative world, allowing only a polite nod or smile, I mostly ignored the few people that walked by while I daydreamed about what might happen next. So far, my spur-of-the-moment decision to uproot my life had been a fortuitous adventure. Smooth and exciting, I had high hopes for the future days ahead. That is…until I was approached by a pair of strangers.



"What is a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone? How about some company, sweet thing?"



I looked up from the haze of my lazy river dream to see a man and a woman dressed in the popular Victorian Steampunk fashion that I admired but had never really had the money to try.



"I am enjoying some peace by the river." This was my reply, for I did not wish for company. I hated to seem rude, so I didn't say whether the two could join me or not.



As if in a choreographed dance, the two of them moved fluidly around opposite sides of me, taking up the remaining room on both ends of the bench. They were uncomfortably too close for strangers, and I felt trapped.



While I tried to figure out what sort of situation I was in, I took in their appearance much closer. The man and the woman were unnaturally good-looking and flawless, in a creepy way that seemed inhuman. Both were shorter than me. The female had brown doe-like eyes and doll-like ringlet hair that should, but didn't, make her seem innocent rather than sinister. The accompanying gentleman had a lighter chestnut colored hair that he wore at shoulder length, and his eyes were light in color, possibly green. Their angular appearance was so model-perfect, so similar to one another that they could have been either siblings or perhaps, twin flame lovers.



Not enjoying their sudden invasion to my space, I moved, in an attempt to rise from the bench. 



"Where are you going, pretty thing? We were just about to get to know one another." The woman declared possessively.



"Zyl, this one smells like…" The man's voice sounded slightly worried, but his concern bothered the woman little.



Cutting him off, she focused on me, "Now, what brings you to our city?"



As she spoke, she brushed her fingers through my hair, and I had to keep myself from shivering. These were the type of night walkers that Aloysius had warned me to avoid while out in the ancient streets. I was not frightened as I perhaps should have been at being cornered by two freakish strangers, but I instinctively knew I should get away from them as fast as possible.



Both of the creeps leaned in closer to me, the woman moving to re-position my hair. My hand knocked hers out of the way as I tried to stand up again. This time, they both grabbed an arm, holding me down as the female draped her arm around my shoulders. This was not good. I needed to get away from these nuts.



"Zylphia Lynum and Ambrose Northgood, I believe you are needed elsewhere." A strong voice, filled with distaste, emanated from the shadows behind the bench where we sat, and I recognized it immediately.



Again my body betrayed me. The two moved away from me instantly, disappearing into the night without a word, and I should have left too. Yet, I remained sitting there, frozen, not by fear, but by the same deep yearning that had brought me blindly to New Orleans.



"You shouldn't be here," he said as he stepped into the light where I could see him.



I desperately wanted to give a snarky come back but was immediately taken aback as I found myself speechlessly gaping at Demien instead. He was standing there beneath the lamplight in a stunning greatcoat, as if he'd just stepped out of a Jane Austen novel. It was a humid night. He should have been sweating in that coat, but he seemed comfortable. Goddess in heaven and hell, he was gorgeous.



Silence wrapped around us as he gracefully sat down beside me, making no noise at all except for the rustle of a white paper bag he carried in one hand. In his other hand, he carried a cup. Both Aloysius and Josephine had warned me to stay away from this man, but I was pretty sure he'd just gotten me out of a dangerous predicament. Plus, curiosity and questions overwhelmed me.



"You know those two creeps?" It wasn't the best question. Obviously, he did know them.



"Why are you out here alone at night?" he snapped. His sheer disapproval was emphasized with his last three words.



…because this is a free country. I am a grown woman. It's none of your business.



I thought all of those things and worse, but did not say any of them.



"Zylphia and Ambrose are…they won't bother you again. You are fortunate that I saw you walking to the riverside alone. If you intend to stay in this city, and I suggest you don't, you must learn caution and common sense. If you want to see the city at night, take one of the Touchets along for protection."



My mouth was wide open in disbelief. I could feel the night air on my teeth. I knew I looked foolish. The tone of his voice had shifted from anger to great concern. I didn't understand.



"It's beautiful," I mumbled. All of my years of arguing with my father and brothers should have aided in dealing intelligently with this over-opinionated man beside me, but no…I, once again, had said something stupid.



"Yes, this city is a unique place," he concurred.



"Especially at night. At least I think so. I've only viewed a small section since I moved here two days ago. Tonight was my first venture out."



"And you attracted their attention…" Beneath the street lamps his face showed no emotion, yet I sensed confliction within him. "Here."



"What's this?" I wondered as I took the bag without a thought.



"Beignets and a cup of café au lait. You passed right by Café Du Monde and didn't stop."



"You were watching me?" True, my friends had warned me to stay away from him, but I thought their warnings came from his being a total malcontent, not because he was a stalker.



"A friend owns a bar down the street. I saw you pass by, noticed you were alone, and assumed that since you were being foolish, you would need my help."



He'd insulted me again. 



"Where do you get off? That's the second time you've insulted me. You don't even know me." I couldn't believe his audacity. I also couldn't believe how much his opinion hurt me. I didn't even know him. Why should I care if he liked me or not? I'd spent my life living with people who didn't like me.



"You'd be well on your way to dead had I not been waiting on you to do something ill-advised. No one would have batted an eye. Locals are well-acquainted with your type. You come here in search of good times and a flirt with the supernatural, but you have no idea what really waits lurking in the shadows. You get yourself in trouble, and then we have to clean up the mess. Eat your beignets before they cool off."



"Dead? What are…?"



"Eat and drink a little of that coffee."



"I don't want…"



"Sybella Rose," he said my name as if it were painful to pronounce, as if those two words were much more than just my name.



He knew my name…probably from the same source that I learned his.



"Demien…" I hesitated because his facial expression twitched when I spoke his name. He seemed to be struggling with something. "Look, you are right. I don't know what I am doing, but here is where I am meant to be. It's the only place I can be."



Before finishing what I had to say, I pulled out one of the beignets covered with powdered sugar from the bag and took a bite, failing to keep the messy white sugar from getting on everything.



Oh hell, I was going to die of overwhelming delectable-ness of food in this town. Not wasting time on words, I held up the bag to Demien to offer him one of the fluffy little pillows of awesomeness. He declined as he pulled napkins out from a jacket pocket and waited for me to finish off the doughy square.



When I came up for air, I asked. "What were they?"



"What? Not who or why…"



"No, what?" I insisted. As a great consumer of fiction novels, I am aware of all manner of creatures that go bump in the night. "There are two kinds of beauty. One, like the kind Aloysius and Josephine carry, is physically appealing, but their real attractiveness comes from their soul. They are both true individuals."



"And the other kind?" He sounded like he didn't want to hear the answer.



"Well, like those two who were just here, their beauty is distracting, nasty, sneaky, oily…wrong."



A low deep rumbling sound erupted from Mr. Cranky himself. I looked over to see that Demien was laughing.



"WHAT they are doesn't matter. You probably wouldn't believe it if you knew, and even if you did believe it, knowing the truth never benefits the person who knows. They almost always end up dead or worse."



I detected bitter truth in his words and wondered what made him such a pessimistic entity. "Okay, so illuminate me on this. I have supposedly walked into a situation I am not equipped to handle, but I'm not allowed to learn the truth so that I may be better informed so that I may be safe because the truth is also danger. Demien, what do you propose I do? And do NOT say leave the city!"



I carefully closed the paper bag, sealing in the freshness, so that I could eat the other two beignets later and sipped on my café au lait as I waited on him to speak.



"Learn what you can from Josephine, anything and everything she might teach you. Eat at least one meal a day from Aloysius' kitchen. And wear this always. Never take it off."



He was removing an oval amulet from his neck, a black stone embellished with a faded silver fleur-de-lis. As he placed the necklace around my neck, careful not to entangle it with my hair, his eyes caught mine. I leaned in closer to him. I could not help it. I needed to be nearer to him. My fingers reached up, desperate to touch the lines of his face. I wanted to kiss him.



Demien moved to the far side of the bench fluidly, like the scary two had moved, and quickly.



"Sybella Rose, stop. I am more dangerous to you than those two ever could be. Do as I said, all that I said. And don't seek me out. This amulet will deter others like me from harming you. It will not, however, protect you from me."



He was gone before I could reply, and I was left with an intense yearning to yell at him again. I looked all around me in every direction. After all of that, I didn't believe for a second that he had disappeared completely, leaving me, once more, alone in the big bad dark. But he was nowhere in sight. When I stood up, I realized I was gripping his amulet. Again, I felt a sense of wrongness within me. I should be scared, but I was not. Instead, irritation and suspicion filled me.


Snippet Friday: Lenten Moon and Stygian Dark and Golden Divine (poem)

For Friday, February 21, Elizabeth Lemons shared some of her beautiful poetry. I loved them; I hope you do too.


LENTEN MOON

Before bed, I peer out my ice-misted window

Mid-March, on a snowy full Lenten moon night

Lying still in the frosted mystic I detect

Nature shadow-dancing in a timeworn rite

On the hilltop lying. are five dark ones

Resting still on freshly-fallen pure snow

Silhouetted figures, noble, and gentle

Keeping watch as winter's end winds blow

Draped by the pale night, moonbeams' night light

Soundlessly nestled, while the rest of the world's asleep

Five deer rest, hushed and harming no one,

Cradled in white velvet, on another plane, glistening deep

Early morning, these guardians have silently vanished

No more watching, gone now back into the wood

Cardinals frolic, eating sunflower seeds from the feeder

Confident the world is protected and good













Stygian Dark and Golden Divine


Laughter lives next door to sorrow

In the end, the seer's intuition wins

A child's truthful viewpoint is priceless

Perceiving a litany of lies & hidden sins


Pannage pathways are hedonistically abundant

Choose wisely, for you can never turn back

The trees and birds solemnly acknowledge

Those falsehoods that call the kettle black


In darkness dwell the slithering schemers

Creating trouble when there is none

Seeking to mystify devoted dreamers

Destined to fail, when the trick is done


In the air, float down white snowflakes

While chimneys spread about black ashes soot

Good and Evil hate to abide yet coincide

In each heart, with a determinate root


Like oil and water should never mingle

As the sea and sky are separated by time

You and I will orbit oppositely forever

Stygian Dark and Golden Divine


Snippet Friday: Cathedral Rock

The first snippet I'm sharing came from Anne Marie Andrus on February 7. Yes, only four fridays ago... I'm catching up.
A link to her books is below!

Cathedral Rock

At the peak of a rocky red outcropping, Draven paced, sat, leapt up to wander again and shouted into the empty darkness. “I should have saved you.” He stumbled, grabbed fistfuls of his blond hair and threw his head back to shout at the night sky. “I accept that I’m a failure.”
The only answer was the desert wind’s drone.
“Tonight, was my last. I’m done. I’m ready.” He spun to face the brightening horizon and stripped off his shirt. “I’m coming to join you, my beloved Gwynevere.”
Dawn’s light lingered below the jagged crests, slicing through the landscape one ray at a time. Pinholes of smoke erupted across Draven’s skin like a spray of bullets.
Gritting his teeth to muffle a scream, he stared at the patch of ground a few feet away, already bathed in killer sun. After a long exhale, he took two strides toward instant death. The final step was cut short by a missile dressed in a royal guard’s uniform. Two vampires tumbled down the back side of the butte into the cold safety of shadow.
“What the bloody hell?” Draven clawed his way back up the red rock, only to be yanked into a cliffside cave. He narrowed his eyes to focus in the pitch black. “Ronald?”
“Your highness.” Ronald bowed.
Draven lunged for the cave’s mouth and was knocked down again. “Have you gone insane?”
“Have you?” Ronald rolled a boulder across the opening. “On second thought, don’t answer that. When did you last feed?”
“What concern is that of yours?” Draven turned up his nose at the flask Ronald offered.
“It’s my job to keep you safe.”
“Then, you’re fired.”
“Unacceptable.” Ronald plunked a silver flask on the stone floor in between them.
“This is not how it works.” Draven charged toward Ronald and landed flat on his back. “I’m a damn prince!”
“Tackling you now, and on top of that rock,” Ronald dusted off his palms and held out a hand, “was easier than knocking a child down on the playground.”
“Blood would be wasted on me.” Draven swatted him away. “Doesn’t matter where I’m going.”
“And, your highness, where is that?”
“Not sure, exactly.” Draven puffed his cheeks and exhaled. “To find my beloved Gwyn.”
“I’m so very sorry for your loss.” Ronald rested his hands on his knees. “But burning yourself up in the desert isn’t going to bring her back.”
“I hate myself and I’m broken beyond repair.” Draven wrapped his arms around his chest. “How did you find me out here, anyway? I covered my tracks.”
“We’re blood.” Ronald dug through a canvas bag and tossed him a wrinkled shirt. “Can’t hide from me. To your credit, the search did take weeks.”
“I never really thought about that…your direct lineage, I mean.”
“If I remember correctly, you turned me vampire as a stunt to impress Sorcha.”
“I was rather taken with her back then. But the reason doesn’t matter.” Draven pulled on the shirt and buttoned it without looking down. “As my sole heir, when I’m gone, you’re next in line for my father’s throne. Should it ever come to that.”
“Well.” Ronald swallowed hard. “There’s extra incentive to keep you alive—”
“If you dare call me Daddy, I’ll rip your face off.”
“It will only grow back.” Ronald held out the flask again. “Sire.”
“I never believed in hell, but I’ve been there every night since Gwyn died.” Draven grabbed the flask and gulped. “Every damned night. Can’t you see that?”
“Yes, and I don’t pretend to know the pain of losing a fiancée.” Ronald settled down with his back against the cave wall.
“I remember saying something very similar once.” Draven sat down across from him, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “To Raimond, after his Emily was murdered. He certainly handled it better than I have.”
Ronald rubbed his neck. “About Raimond—”
“I left my guards in Louisiana to watch over his house full of fools.” Draven looked up when Ronald didn’t answer. “What?”
“At first, I tried to find you…unsuccessfully. When I returned, it was too late.”
“I don’t understand.”
“After you left, there was an attack.” Ronald stared at his hands. “They burned it.”
“Who?” Draven tilted forward. “Who burned what?”
“The Victoires and others, foreign soldiers, witches. An army of mercenaries.” Ronald lifted his eyes to meet Draven’s. “Your royal guards are dead. Normandie Hall is ashes.”
“You must be mistaken.” Draven shook his head violently. “They were all upstairs—”
“After Sorcha and Vir crashed through the window, the entire house imploded.” Ronald bit the inside of his cheek. “Rumor has it that Steven Banitierre survived. I do know that Miss Rayna is on your island. I’ve spoken with her.”
“Julia?” Draven rubbed his face with both hands. “Lily?”
“Both dead.” Ronald frowned. “We should go back to New Orleans.”
“Raimond will be furious with me.”
“Your highness...”
“Never mind the house, though he did restore it from a ruin into a fortress.”
“Prince Norman—”
“But, his family is his whole life. Those girls—”
“Draven!”
Draven froze in Ronald’s vacant gaze.
“I’m sorry, sire, about Raimond—”
“No.” Draven’s jaw dropped and his body convulsed. “No, no!” He stared at the flask in his hand and hurled it with enough force to cause a shower of rock dust to fall. “Not Raimond. He would have escaped the fire.”
“Not if he was murdered.”
Draven’s eyes flew open and he flashed in front of Ronald. “By whom?”
“Nicholas Victoire.” Ronald grabbed Draven’s quaking shoulders. “That criminal has seized power in New Orleans. We need to go back.”
“Sorcha will never forgive me. Never. She’ll try to kill me.” Draven staggered again. “Raimond. Are you sure? He’s the strongest…my best—”
“Sorcha won’t try to kill you in New Orleans.”
“She should!” Draven shivered and landed on his knees. “I left her and the whole…all of Raimond’s family to die?”
“Sorcha and Vir escaped, and haven’t been seen since. Rayna said they had help from locals, Crescent magic.” Ronald reached out but pulled his hands back. “Normandie Hall was an ambush. You couldn’t have known.”
“Murder, murder.” Draven slammed his head on the stone floor. “Failure, failure.”
“Sire?”
“I want to die!” Draven flew into the jagged rock wall, fell and leapt up to do it again. “Why can’t I die?” He spun to Ronald with black blood streaming down his face.”
“You don’t look right, sire. A little rest, maybe?”
“Such a good man.” Draven patted Ronald’s cheek. “My blood…my son.”
“Whoa.” Ronald flinched. “Take it easy with the crazy eyes.”
Draven grabbed Ronald’s gold dagger and scampered back into the shadows.
“All right.” Ronald reached for the gold and fell back at Draven’s maniacal howl. “Enough of this nonsense. Hand it over.”
“I told you I was done.” Draven’s body shrunk. “It’s over. Put me out of my misery or I’ll do it myself. I swear on the souls of all the deaths I’ve caused.” He collapsed into a writhing heap with the dagger pointed at his own heart.
“I’ll help you, I promise. Just put it down.”
“Make it quick.” Draven nodded, squeezed the blade to his throat hard enough to draw blood, and handed it over. “I’m a coward.”
“You’re no such thing.”
“Don’t tell my father.”
Ronald spun the blade in his fingers.
“Though, we really should tell—"
 “Save that thought for later.” He snapped Draven’s neck with military precision. “I’m sure you’ll be a royal pain in my ass when you wake up.” Ronald tucked a blanket around the limp body and drew a ragged breath. “Heal quickly, my prince. Raimond’s family desperately needs you.”

~~
Thanks Anne Marie for sharing!