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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~MAY~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

SALOME AT SUNRISE

He had no clue where he was going but followed the call of the wind. Grasses, tree roots and brambles grabbed at his boots but his feet never slowed. Fear did not touch him. Concern for his path never crossed his mind. Only the song mattered, the mournful lilting of wordless melody.

Prairie gave way to forest. The forest grew thicker then thinned to sparseness. The gusts dried his eyes and he blinked. A taste of honey burst onto his tongue when he licked his lips, the sweetness blending with the bitter drink. Without thought, he opened his mouth to draw more of the flavor inside.

“I am called for you. I come to soothe the ache inside. I come to give you peace.”

Bright in the satin sky, the moon shone full with a throng of stars twinkling like torches. Bryton scanned the heavens but could see nothing but light and dark. An outcrop jutted over a vale. The funneled wind pushed at him until he stood at the precipice, the forest tops silvered below him. Icy-green leaves frosted by moonlight didn’t move, though his tunic snapped like a sail.

“I am called for you.”

“Who are you?” he yelled into the night. “Who sent you?”

“I am called to heal your wounds.”

His ragged breath battling the gale, he fisted his hands. “Show yourself to me then.”

The wind calmed but his pulse pounded with a vicious thud. His bones quivered, not from chill but anger. He only knew one person with the power to call a magic spirit—his beloved pain-in-the-ass queen. A dark spot grew larger in the moon’s circle. It flapped powerful wings once and then glided to descent. A fragile second before the owl landed beside him, a swirl of lilac shimmered along the golden brown feathers. A woman stepped off the air and stood before him.

Moonglow dazzled on long hair the shades of the owl’s feathers. A thin gold braid secured it low on her nape, but full waves fought the hold. Wide gray eyes scrutinized him and a tiny smile bowed her pink lips. Her chin was a touch too pointed to be beautiful but it elongated the graceful column of her throat, and his gaze slid down to her one bared shoulder. The delicate exposed curve glistened like cream. Myla’s chiton had been a draped length of ruby red silk affixed at both shoulders. This woman’s chiton shone like blazing fire, sunrise against an ebony sky.

With her hands clasped lightly before her, she bowed her head. “I am Salome. I am called for you, Bryton Haruk.”

“I don’t need a guardian,” he snapped.

“I am not a guardian.”

“Then what are you?”

“I am a peacemaker.”

Snorting, he shook his head. “Yeah, well, you’re shit out of luck then, because I don’t want peace. I want bloodshed and a lot of it. So just fly back to wherever you came from and leave me alone.”

“I cannot do that. I am called for you and am bound to you until you find respite.”

The formality of her words reminded him of Myla when he’d first met her. And that irritated him even more. She’d been a pain in the ass and this one could be no different. Frustration tore through him with a growl. He spun and stomped away from the crag edge only to return and point a finger at her. “I don’t like birds. Go migrate or something.”

“I cannot.”

“Myla needs to keep her magic nose the hell out of my life. Go tell her that I sent you away.”

“I cannot.”

“Cannot! Cannot! What can you do? Besides be a bird and a lullaby in the wind.”

Her smile transformed her face, rounding rosy cheeks and crinkling her eyes. The pretty but unremarkable features turned to glorious beauty and his breath caught. “I can help you lay your pain to rest.”

Arms spread wide, he glared at her. “So do it, birdie. Do your damnedest so you can fly into the night.”

Like petals dropping from a full blooming rose, her smile fell. Her head shake spread her hair along her back in ripples of maple cream. “Peace does not come like a ship on the water. You must open your heart and be ready to accept it.”

He crossed his arms and shifted his jaw. “My heart is dead. I have no use for pretty words or pretty women unless their legs are spread. Are you offering?”

“Is that what you require? ’Tis an easy enough request.” Salome slid her feet apart, widening her stance on the rocky outcrop.

Her naive compliance with his brash proposition ripped a grunted laugh from him. “Go away, Salome.”

The scent of wild honey assaulted him as she stepped closer. The elegance in her movement melted her gown to her skin, caressing curves hidden beneath silk. His thighs tightened and his gaze dropped to her throat. His body responded but that was easy to ignore. He’d always liked beautiful women, admired their form even when he had no intentions of acting on those thoughts. She was small, tiny compared to him, barely reaching his Adam’s apple. A long-fingered hand moved toward him and his knees locked to prevent stepping away. Her touch, light as a feather, landed above his heart.

“Your heart is not dead, only wounded. Only you have the true power to let go of your anger, your hate, your pain. I am but a tool to aid you.”

“I have enough tools. I have this.” Metal rasped against the scabbard as he drew his sword. The leather-wrapped grip felt right in his hand, familiar and soothing. He refused to think about her palm pressed to his chest feeling the same way. “I don’t need anything else.”

Starlight danced along the blade, highlighting the sheen, the scratches, the lethal edge, the etched word Salvation.

Her gaze traced from tip to hilt then returned to his face. Twilight-gray, her eyes held infinity and he fought against getting lost in them. They stared with never-ending patience. “You need me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

EXCERPT 2

“All right, you won,” Bryton grumbled, although he wasn’t really surprised or irritated. “I don’t like talking to a bird. Give the feathers a rest.”

The falcon pitched at a steep angle, spread her wings wide and coasted to a landing just in front of him. A cloud of lilac appeared, then the woman turned and smiled. “I liked that.”

“Flying or racing?”

“Both.”

A noncommittal sound growled in his chest as he climbed down. “You’re fast, I’ll grant you that.”

“I am. Much faster than you, but that is nature. You are stronger.”

Bryton strolled, cooling his mount as an itch settled into his blood. He needed movement. Salome fell in step with him, her tiny hands clasped lightly in front of her.

“How’s your hand?”

“All is well, see?” A delicate palm thrust in front of his face, stopping him abruptly. She was pushy for a little thing. He turned her hand over to examine the backs of her fingers. Not a scar or bruise marred the slender digits.

“Good,” he murmured, dropping her hand.

Dust and pollen kicked up as he strode along the pathway. Salome kept pace, her eyes darting left and right, from insect to plant, flower to weed. Scarcely harnessed energy vibrated from her. A rabbit scurried out of a hole and hopped across their path. A laugh trailed as she ran after it for a few paces before something else caught her attention. She squatted, tucking her silk gown between her knees and peered into the grasses. Lightning fast, her hand shot out and grabbed a small garter snake. She held her prize high, a smile curling her lips wide. The snake flickered its tongue and squirmed in her hand. Those uninjured fingers caressed the shiny skin before she released it back to the ground.

“You shouldn’t pick up snakes. Some are harmless, others aren’t.”

Sunshine sparkled on her chiton, the hue glowing more golden than orange as she stood. “Nature cannot harm me.”

“It can’t?”

“No. I am a windsinger. The rhythm of nature fuels my blood and my magic.”

She matched her gait to his, skipping a step or two and trying to move in tandem. His legs were too long. A frustrated frown wrinkled her nose. A twitch above his lip threatened to erupt into a smile. He forced it away, firmed his jaw and lengthened his stride. She quickened her pace. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Her brow twisted in concentration.

Bryton increased his speed, she matched him. He doubled his pace and she scurried to keep up. Dropping the reins, he took off at a run. The flap of her gown on the air smacked loud as she mimicked his tempo. He pumped his arms and threw every ounce of strength into his leg. She blew past him with a laugh. Thirty feet ahead, she turned and waited for him to catch up. The curse he ground out was harsh and short.

His chest heaved but she simply smiled. “Shall we race more? You will not win.”

“Yeah, okay, so you’re faster. But you said I’m stronger.”

A slow nod ruffled her hair. It spilled across her back, thin tendrils streaming in the soft breeze. He almost raised his hand to smooth a lock behind her ear but caught himself, tightening his fist.

“Yes, physically, I believe you are stronger.”

“You believe? But you don’t know it?”

She shook her head.

“Come on.” Bryton motioned at a tree stump, aged and hard, weathered to gray in the bright spring grass. Salome trailed after him like a sunbeam. He knelt on one side of the stump and pointed across from it.

She lowered to her knees with a confused crease scrunching her nose. “What is it you wish to do?”

He put one elbow on the wood. “Arm wrestle.”

“Wrestle?” Those smoky eyes squinted at him. “You mean like a bear? Why would I wish to wrestle with you?”

His gaze fell to her bare shoulder and a knot tightened in his chest. The rounded bone seemed delicate under the creamy skin. He wasn’t about to be shown up by a female. Never in his wildest, drunken ramblings would he have challenged a woman to an arm-wrestling match but Salome was not a woman. He forced into his mind the image of that limb shifting, shortening, sprouting feathers. She was magic, damn it, an incantation. So why was he prodding her? “I just need to win.”

“Why?”

Why? He didn’t know why. He just did. “Salome, put your arm up here, damn it!”

She put the wrong arm on the wood and arched her brow. “Now what do we do?”

“The other one,” he growled. One slender arm replaced the other and she parroted his stance, leaning forward and scowling. Her nose was scant inches from his. Her fiercely puckered mouth and overdrawn brows tugged at his humor but he pushed it below his ego. One was too bruised to let the other free. Positioning her hand in his, he tightened his grip. Small fingers clasped around his and she squeezed.

Velvet, her hand in his was like warm velvet. Their eyes met. A metal clank sounded in his head, a lock closing, binding him to her as surely as if her touch were iron chains. His parched tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Waved and sweeping brunette hair framed a face his hands suddenly itched to cup, to bring closer to his own so he could breathe in her sweet scent. Honey wafted on the breeze, wrapped around him like a blanket on a cold winter night. Warmth from her gaze battled the sunshine, and heat spread along his bones. The gentle curve of her rosy lips snagged the breath from his lungs. His thumb slid along the back of her hand, each soft inch searing into his mind with a sizzle. The harsh calluses on his hand tingled.

“Is this all? We…hold hands? Who wins?”

The whisper that left him took all his strength. “You do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~APRIL~~~~~~~~~~~~~

JINXED

Now available in print from Samhain Publishing

“Hey! I have an idea. Sunday while I make dinner, will you drag all my Christmas decorations down from the attic? That way we could put the tree up early.”

He reared back and looked at her like she had grown another head. “It’s too early to get a tree. It’ll be nothing but dried-out needles if we get it now.”

“I have an artificial tree.”

“Blasphemy!” He clasped his hand to his heart as if struck. “An artificial tree is like cheating. We have to get a real tree. How can you even think of denying me the yearly trip to pick out the perfect tree? It’s one of the best parts of Christmas.”

She snorted in disagreement. “I tried a real Christmas tree the first year I lived here. Pocus peed on it. The needles got everywhere. I was still finding them at Halloween. Nope, I do a female fake tree and that’s what I’m putting up. If you want a real tree, we’ll get one for your house.”

“Whoa, back up. What’s a female fake tree?”

“Female, you know, without balls. I use ribbons and different ornaments but no Christmas balls.”

A tortured look on his face, Jinx shifted away slightly and tugged at his crotch, as if her words had threatened his masculinity. “That’s just wrong. Christmas trees need to be real and have red and gold glass balls on them. What kind of Christmas can a kid have if his tree is some piece of emasculated plastic crap?”

Frannie laughed. “Well, I doubt any child would care as long as Santa put presents under it. Besides, I don’t have any kids and I pay the mortgage so I can have whatever I want.”

“Fine, but once we have a child, we’re getting a real tree—with balls.”

He’d done it again, taken a very nice conversation and turned it around on her. Why did he continue to pester her with this fantasy? She narrowed her eyes. “We aren’t having children because we aren’t getting married.”

Jinx pretended he hadn’t heard her and plowed straight ahead. “I’d love to have a little girl, one with big brown eyes and dimples, just like yours. I’ve got nephews so I know boys. I mean, a boy would be great, too. I’d like at least one. I can’t wait to teach him how to pitch a ball or make a tackle. They deserve a real tree with balls, doncha think?”

“Jinx, we are not having children.” Her firmness seemed lost on him.

“Of course, we should look at buying another house first. This one, while perfect for a couple, is too small for kids. And mine is—I don’t know, not kid friendly. And we should get a dog. Kids need a dog. As soon as the weather warms up, we should start looking at places.”

Oh hell no, we will not be getting any damn dog! “We can’t get a dog. I have cats, numbskull.”

“But the kids would love a dog.”

“The cats wouldn’t. Besides, dogs need a lot of room to run.”

“I hear there are some nice places about an hour south of here that have great schools. The R&D department went out there last week and talked about how nice it was, very Rockwell Americana-esque.”

Angry heat flashed on her face. How dare he think he could just up and move them without discussing it with her? “I can’t move an hour south. What about my job? If you think I’m quitting just because the stick turns blue, you’re crazier than I thought.”

“Come on, Steve’ll let you work from home a couple days a week, won’t he? And you can commute when you have to. But if you’d rather just stay home for a while, it’d be fine. I mean, having kids has got to make it hard to work and travel much, at least until they’re all in school.”

“Then it’s Little League and ballet classes, field trips and homeroom parties.” She shook her head firmly. He could argue all he wanted, she meant what she said. “And what’s with this all in school business? Who’s having more than one? No, too many kids means too many obligations. I’d be happy with just one.”

“But think of the first steps and first words, all the sticky kisses and bedtime stories.”

Rolling her eyes, she tried to bust the Ward Cleaver bubble he was blowing. “Dirty clothes and chicken pox and flushed matchbox cars. No, one child, two at most.”

“Three.” Like a child begging for a cookie, he held up three fingers.

“Two. You aren’t the one going to be dealing with stretch marks, morning sickness and swollen ankles.”

“I’ll take the night feedings and diaper changes. That has to count for something.”

Frannie’s brows crashed together. Again. He had done it again. Confused and distracted her and drawn her into his delusional world. Nervously, she realized she liked being there. His dreams sounded so plausible. But they were only dreams. Dreams shatter when morning comes and you have to face the daylight of reality. With a shake of her head, she replanted her feet firmly back in her bland, boring life.

“We are not having children.”

“We’ll see.” His enigmatic grin was infuriating.

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