Happy St. Patty's Day to all. Check out the angels anthology.
Star Crossed
Star Crossed
Christine Young
achristay@aol.com
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 2
Buy at:
www.roguephoenixpress.com
Ireland in 1817, when
tensions are high between Protestants and Catholics and faey people guide the
fate of villagers. A lovely Catholic lass stumbles upon the weakly ritual
fisticuffing between Irish lads. She falls into the lap of a handsome young
Protestant. Family ties, grudges, and two conniving faeries threaten their
budding love. But the faeries outsmart themselves when they hijack a time
machine that has mysteriously appeared in their forest.
EXCERPT
Casey
pushed on the green grass, trying to unwind herself from the man beneath her,
but fell again. All right, Casey lass,
you're in a heap of trouble right now with no way out. You are seeing the earth
whirl and tumble around and you're on top of a brute of a man--a Protestant.
"All
right, lads, we'll meet here next Sunday, same place, same time," her
brother's voice filtered through the air as if it floated in the fog that
surrounded Casey.
Once
again she pushed on the damp grass and didn't seem to make headway, her arms
feeling as if they'd changed to soggy twine. Don't you abandon me, Patrick O'Connell. You know I have the Devil's
own luck. If you leave me here, I'll never forgive you.
"What
about Casey?" one of her brother's friend asked. "She looks a little
worse for the encounter."
"Do
you think we should leave her here--with Kelly?"
"He's
a right stand-up guy. Of course you can leave her here. We'll see her
home," a Shaunasey said.
"Well,
Kelly is a fine bloke. He won't hurt her. In fact with my feisty lil' sister
involved, I fear for him--not her," Patrick said laughing. "She'll do
as she pleases. She always does. How can I control her when father cannot? She
does not need a second father." He shrugged his shoulder and looked behind
him at his little sister as he strolled down the hill.
"She's
hurt," another friend called after Patrick. "What kind of brother are
you?"
"One
who is tired of looking after an accident prone little lass. She has to take
responsibility for herself sometime, does she not?"
"She
is that," one commented. "You rescue her night and day."
~ * ~
"You should have
blessed her with a wee bit o'Irish coordination," Oran said dryly as he
flew to a hovering position near the girl.
"And you should
remember what our blessed mother told us, 'if you cannot say anythin' nice,
don't say anything at all'." Moya rose above the flower petal, her wings
buzzing with her anger toward her brother.
"I didn't say
anything that wasn't the truth." Oran whistled out of tune for a moment.
"We could kidnap them."
"And that is your
solution to everything?" Moya pointed one finger at him and shook it.
"Why, Oran, I believe you may fancy the lass for yourself. I will not have
it. Go play your tricks on someone else's charge. She is mine to see to safety
and long life. And don't be forgettin' the lad is yours to watch over."
"You best stem
your anger, Moya. You're wings have turned golden," Oran said with a
hearty chuckle.
~ * ~
"Let
Kelly handle her," Casey's brother said with a light chuckle. "He
lost and so he must deal with the object of that loss and assume the
consequences. It's only fair."
"Hey!"
Kelly said, "Don't leave me here with your sister. It will be hell to pay.
She's a little girl. What will your father say?"
The
others laughed. "Just don't take too long to decide what to do with her.
Little girl or not, father will come after you with his pistol."
I just turned eighteen
years old--little girl--how dare he…
"Bloody
hell, Patrick. What are you thinking?" Kelly cried out.
"I'm
thinking the Catholics won this fight. What are you thinking?" Patrick
turned his back on the pair and whistled a jaunty tune as he strolled down the
hill.
"Revenge
will be sweet. Next Sunday…" Kelly shook his fist at the departing back of
Casey's brother.
From
what seemed like a great distance Casey heard the moan emanating from inside
her battered and bruised body. She squished her eyes together, wishing her head
didn't pound so fiercely, and the ground spin so wildly. "Who are
you?" she whispered next to the man's chest while a soft spring breeze
whispered against her heated face.
"Who
am I?" the man chuckled. "Lass, you are the one who landed atop me. I
should be inquiring into who you are? Only I know." His hands rested
around her waist and squeezed as if he were testing--perhaps
exploring--entirely inappropriate. Yet for some strange reason, Casey didn't
mind the supposed to be unwanted attention. "And
I don't think your brother should have left you here with the likes of me. I'm
afraid I've landed myself in a dangerous predicament. And I'm thinkin' one that
will be very hard to explain."
"Shame
on you," Casey said. "You take liberties." The words stole her
breath and she had to lean on Kelly once more in order to minimize the pounding
of her head and the strange feelings emanating from where his hands were.
"I
only want to remove you from--my--ah--person. And if I were taking liberties
with you, lass, you'd be near swooning with passion."
"Ah,
it seems you are a wee bit arrogant," she opened her eyes and gazed into
the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. "The color of a summer sky," she
whispered to him, still feeling woozy and not quite sure what he'd just told
her--but thinking at the moment something besides the fall caused the earth to
spin and the sky to tilt with a crazy, wild abandon.
"What
is, lass?"
"Your
eyes," she said, struggling against him and finally rolling to the side so
she lay sprawled on the grass, staring into the sky she'd referred to a moment
earlier and watching a white billowy cloud float past. "I'm not a little
girl," she told him. "Don't ever call me that again."
"Then
you want me to tell lies?" he asked with a lazy half-smile that stole
Casey's heart and left her floundering. "I dinna think I can do
that."
"It
isn't a lie," she said, trying to sound indignant, yet frustrated beyond
anything she'd ever felt before.
Title: Meadows of Gold
Author: Christie L. Kraemer
Genre: Fantasy
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1
Buy at:
www.roguephoenixpress.com
Eugene, Oregon in the 20th
century, amid a property feud between the local faeries and night elves. The
conniving faeries from Olde Ireland try to stir up more mischief. However, a
warrior gnome convinces the magic folk to control their own destiny.
EXCERPT
A gentle breeze sighed,
undulating the meadow grass lazily and whispering past the forlorn figure
slumped on the tree trunk, hands clasped tightly in his lap. Thomas, a forest
leprechaun, released a long melancholy breath between his cracked, dry lips. A
single plump tear meandered down his stubbled cheek.
The sun sent bright
shafts of light through the pine boughs and around the wooden pedestal upon
which the morose figure resided. Ignoring the dancing beams, the leprechaun
pulled a shuddered breath into his lungs and stared at a spot in front of the
stump where a crumpled daisy chain necklace lay withering in the warmth of the
afternoon. Another plump tear snaked down his unshaven face.
In the distance, a lone
figure scuffed up the lane, which crossed in front of the tree stump. Thomas
paid no heed to the approaching form, pulling a thin silver flask from inside
his rumpled vest. He blindly opened the lid, placed the opened top to his lips
and pulled a deep draught from the container. Refitting the cap to the top, he
slipped the silver spirit holder back into his vest. His next shuddered breath
was interrupted with a hiccup.
The figure on the road
drew closer. Thomas raised his head and squinted his eyes. Was she coming back?
He hiccupped and straightened up. Maybe she had been teasing him when she ran
away and now she realized how much he cared for her. His eyes brightened and a
smile began to touch his lips.
The figure came around
the bend and toward him. The last he'd seen her, she was wearing a diaphanous,
thin dress. Had she changed? The form nearing him was clad in leather breeches,
a braided leather tunic, and knee-high, soft leather boots. A sword blade
strapped to the figure's back flashed in the sunlight. Was Cary so angry she
meant to cut him in little pieces? His heart began to pound in his chest and
inside his mouth his tongue stuck to the roof.
The figure stopped two
lengths from him and raised a hand to shade its eyes from the brightness of the
day.
Thomas realized he was
shaking. This was it…his life was over. He hung his head.
"Thomas?"
The voice was familiar
but it didn't sound like Cary. If it wasn't her…
Genene Valleau
genene@genenevalleau.com
Excerpt Heat Level: 1
Book Heat Level: 1
Buy at:
www.roguephoenixpress.com
A modern day castle in
western Oregon. An eccentric inventor is determined to reclaim his wayward time
machine and save his beloved wife from her latest misadventure. If only they
can travel safely past the black hole…
EXCERPT
Horace Ainsworth patted the side of the giant red fire hydrant towering
two stories above him then addressed the terrier mix dog staring at him
curiously. "It's finished. Now don't you dig in my Maddie's roses any more
or potty on the pansies."
Batzy stared at Horace's retreating back for a moment before he hiked
his leg on the nearest flowering plant.
Then he turned his attention to the odd-looking structure the Big Human
had erected. Not like any fire hydrant he'd ever sniffed. A canine would have
to be the size of King Kong to give this thing a proper marking.
Though it did smell like the water that sprayed out of the hose when the
human across the street yelled at him. Batzy grinned and lifted his leg,
imagining he was returning the spray of the yelling human.
As he circled this mysterious structure, the smell of fresh paint and
overturned earth drifted into his nostrils. It was bigger than the
merry-go-round at the park where his human, Chloe, sometimes took him.
Wonder what's inside?
Batzy scratched at the side of the structure then trotted another few
steps and scratched again. About halfway around he found an opening. Not tall
enough for the Big Human, but just about perfect for his
little girl, Chloe. Batzy darted inside and lifted his face to sample
the aromas.
No scents of danger but much to explore. Like this box of dirt. Odd. Big
humans usually didn't appreciate the joys of digging. Hadn't he just been told
not to dig in the rose bushes? A sniff and a poke with his paw uncovered a
bone. Fresh out of the package. Batzy looked around. What game was the Big
Human playing?
"Batzy!" his little girl was calling him.
Batzy stepped out of the digging pit. Hmm. I smell peanut butter.
He put a front paw on a cabinet for balance and
nosed a button. A bone-shaped treat fell into a bowl below. Also fresh out of a
package. The Big Human was definitely up to something. Batzy gobbled it down
quickly before looking around again.
"Batzy!"
Drat! He had to go. On his way out, Batzy stepped back into the digging box
and snatched up the bone. Outside once again, he pushed the bone through the
gap under the fence, and squeezed through after it.
He popped up on the other side with
only a few more streaks of mud on the white of his belly and wagged his tail at
Chloe. He'd go back to explore the Big Human's structure later.
~ * ~
Satisfied he had neutralized the threat to Maddie's rose bushes, Horace
returned to the workshop in the basement of their castle-shaped home. In King
Arthur's time, the sorcerer Merlin might have worked his magic in similar
surroundings. Had Merlin simply been a scientist with an observing eye and a
searching mind?
That's how Horace saw himself: open to possibilities and what others
might consider impossibilities. He loved to explore "what if" and took
delight in disproving "facts." Edison did it with the light bulb. The
Wright brothers did it with airplanes. Horace continued that tradition with a
flying car and a robot that served dinner, as well as a play structure made out
of a water tower and painted like a giant fire hydrant for the dog next door.
After all, who said inventions had to be serious?
Horace scanned the stone walls lined with tables and shelves stacked
with high-tech inventions and mechanical gadgets in various stages of
development. What should he work on next?
He nearly set aside the recipe card propped on the computer keyboard,
except he hadn't seen the word "urgent" on a recipe before. Horace
realized it was a phone message from his cousin, Clement. "Will arrive
tomorrow with submarine."
Horace scratched his chin. What would his space engineer relative be
doing with a submarine?
Suddenly, the alarm for the garages began wailing. A glance at the
security monitor showed a truck pulling a trailer painted in vivid red and
orange careening around the castle had clipped the gutter downspout and set off
the alarm.
A net dropped over the trailer, tangling in a wheel and jerking it
sideways. Unfortunately, the truck continued its forward momentum until it also
lurched to a stop, now sitting almost side by side with the trailer.
If Horace didn't know his wife was safely painting in her studio, he
would have sworn she was driving the truck.
He hurried out of his workshop to be sure both truck and driver were
okay.
A tall, lanky man wearing a white shirt and black slacks jumped down
from the driver's seat as the truck shuddered to a stop, grinning at Horace.
"Hi, Cuz."
A frown creased Horace's forehead as he stared at the argyle suspenders
that kept Clement Ainsworth's slacks pulled up into a permanent wedgie. The
same suspenders Clement bragged had garnered him a date with the prettiest
sorority girl at college some thirty-odd years ago. "But your message said
you'd be here tomorrow."
Clement waved away Horace's confusion. "I called yesterday. You
need a new secretary."
"My nephew took the message--"
"Like I said, you need a new secretary."
Horace made a mental note to come up with a more efficient way to
deliver messages. "Why are you here? This doesn't look like a
submarine."
Clement frowned. "Paperwork hold-up. But we can start work without
it."
"Work on what?"
After a suspicious look around, Clement dropped his voice to a whisper.
"A probe to explore black holes."
Horace also looked around, seeing nothing of danger except his cousin's
lack of driving skills. "You mean black holes in space caused by stars
burning out?"
"Well, that's the generally accepted theory."
"And do you have a probe in the trailer?"
"Nah. This is a mobile fabrication laboratory." Clement walked
to the back of the trailer, stepping over the tangled netting that had captured
one of the wheels. "This will make us a working prototype of the
probe."
Horace stepped inside the trailer behind his cousin. "What is all
this?"
"Laser cutter, CNC machine tools, robotic water jet, a rapid
prototyping device--just to name a few. All run by cutting edge computer software."
Horace's hands tingled with the desire to pry open the metal casings on
the equipment and see how the machines really worked. "Don't you make
anything by hand?"
"You're still living in the dark ages, Horace." Clement
laughed again. "No one makes things manually anymore."
Horace squared his shoulders, determined not to let his older, city
slicker cousin make him feel inferior the way he had in college. "I
do."
Clement's expression turned immediately apologetic, something Horace had
rarely seen. "That's why I need you."
With a deep breath and a frown, Clement looked Horace squarely in the
eye. "You're the detail man. You make visions a reality. Others know the
theories, but you know how to make them work."
"Um...right." Horace was still a bit off balance and
definitely wary of his cousin's change in attitude. For the first time Horace
could recall, Clement seemed to appreciate his skills rather than denigrating
them. Surely Horace could give the man a chance to explain--and examine these
intriguing machines--before Maddie threw Clement off their property. "Tell
me what you have in mind."
"Saving the world."
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