Cover Reveal for Artistic Endeavor

Some of you may have read the anthology/bundle Campus Cravings. Nine authors, each with a novella set on the fictional Cathia University campus.
As of midnight on December 31st, Campus Cravings will cease to exist.
But, not to fear...
My story in that anthology--Artistic Endeavor--will become available as a standalone in January. It has a lovely new cover by the talented Diana Carlile, and I wanted to share that here.
Several other stories will also become available as standalones--each with its own unique cover. Check them out at your favorite ebook seller.

Christmas Morsel #3: Jeff and Ash from Rabbit Wars

This month I'm posting a series of holiday vignettes, featuring characters from my books. Christmas morsels--bite-size scenes of the season. This is Jeff and Ash from Rabbit Wars...

 

Christmas Morsel #3

 

“A little more to the left.”

Jeff eyed Ash. They’d been at this for over thirty minutes. The tang of evergreen filled his nose. “You just said a little more to the right.”

“You overcorrected.” Ash grinned. “Now it needs a bit to the left.”

“I’m sure there’s a carpenter’s level in the construction zone.” Which was pretty much the entire second floor of the house. The formal sitting room was one of the few places in the Rabbit mansion that had undergone restoration.

“You want me to hold the tree?”

“I don’t think I can let go.” Pine sap had glued Jeff’s fingers to the trunk. Spruce needles poked through his sweater, generating a tickle and itch.

“A little more to the left, then.” Ash motioned with one hand.

Jeff tilted the tree.

“Stop. Right there.” Ash strode over and ducked down to tighten the tree stand. He straightened, a few stray needles in his hair. “Let go.”

Jeff let go as Ash crossed the room. Golden sap and bits of bark stuck to Jeff’s fingers. “Is it straight?”

“It’s perfect,” Ash said. He had that beatific smile on his face—the one that made Jeff feel like the king of the world. “Just like in a magazine.”

Giving an answering grin, Jeff joined Ash on the other side of the room. It was pretty cozy. Two of the walls were papered in gold- and wine-striped silk, and the other two were bare plaster. Ash had insisted on halting the work for the holiday. Ash had lovingly restored the oak fireplace mantel and hung wine-colored velvet stockings, one for each of them. A fire crackled in the hearth, giving warmth to the high-ceilinged space. Above the mantel a beveled mirror reflected the room. The hardwood floor gleamed around the edges of the Persian rug.

“It does look good.” Jeff wrapped an arm around Ash’s waist and pulled him in for a kiss. “You have a good eye.”

“I have a good memory for what it looked like when we were kids.” Ash put his arms around Jeff. He smelled good, like citrus and fresh-cut grass.  “I think Dalton would approve.”

“I think he would.”

Dalton Rabbit had left the Rabbit estate jointly to Jeff and Ash, with the caveat they had to work together to restore the house. Between Jeff’s architecture background and Ash’s intuitive knack for decorating, they were making slow progress. Years of neglect had left the house in need of a generous dose of TLC.

Ash raised an eyebrow. “Ready for a treat before we decorate the tree?”

“And what would that be?”

“A dessert wine and dark chocolate truffles with raspberry and quince.”

Jeff’s mouth watered. Ash created the best chocolates on the face of the earth. “Sounds like Santa Claus made an early delivery.”

Ash led the way to the sofa. “Santa has nothing on me when it comes to chocolate.”

Jeff dropped onto the couch and pulled Ash down beside him. The firelight danced over Ash’s pale hair, highlighting his Scandinavian good looks.

“I’m glad we’re home,” Ash said.

“If it weren’t for this house, would we have ever gotten back together?”

“Yes,” Ash answered promptly.

Jeff chuckled. “How can you be so sure?”

“I moved back here.” Ash moved closer, ice-blue eyes intense. That frenetic energy radiated off him, like waves of heat. “I knew it was just a matter of time before you came back too.”

“If it weren’t for the will—”

“The will has nothing to do with it.”

“Really.”

“It was Fate. The cosmos wanted us together.” Ash spoke with certainty. “It was set in motion when we first met.”

That had been a lot of years ago. Nearly sixteen, in fact. A year ago Jeff never could have imagined himself sitting in the front parlor of the Rabbit Mansion with Ash. “It’s too bad the upstairs rooms aren’t finished. We could stay here.”

“We are staying here.”

“With the mice and the bats?” The upstairs was…rustic. To put it mildly.

“No, down here.” Ash’s smile glinted in the firelight. “I brought the air mattress and blankets. It’ll be just like camping out.”

“C’mere.” Jeff pulled him in for a kiss. And another.

“What about the wine and chocolate?”

“Later.” Jeff kissed him again.    

 

Christmas Morsel #2: Beck and Zach from High Concept

This month I'm posting a series of holiday vignettes, featuring characters from my books. Christmas morsels--bite-size scenes of the season. This is Beck and Zach from High Concept…

Christmas Morsel #2

Beck slouched on the sofa, watching It’s a Wonderful Life. Two days before Christmas, and Denver had unseasonably warm temperatures and not a hint of snow. Didn’t feel very Christmassy, especially with only two fingers of bourbon for company.

Zach was late. Any minute he might call to say he couldn’t get away, that some case had heated up and kept him out in the field.

A key rattled in the lock. Beck jumped up and opened the door to a surprised Zach, who grinned and said, “Hey! You’re home!” 

“I am.” Beck’s heart gave a little skip at that gorgeous smile. Beautiful and happy and all his. He tugged Zach inside, dragging in cold air and closed the door. “You made it.”

In answer Zach dropped his duffel bag and pulled him in, hot mouth covering Beck’s and tasting of mint. After not seeing each other for three weeks, it was easy to enter into the spirit of things. Dueling tongues and bodies pressed together.  

They broke for air, and Zach said, “Merry Christmas.”

“It will be, now that you’re here.”

Zach chuckled, pulled off his coat, and draped it over the back of an overstuffed chair. “Want to get me a drink?”

“Coming right up.”

“Where’s the tree?” Zach looked around Beck’s apartment as if Beck had hidden a decorated spruce somewhere.

It hadn’t crossed his mind that Zach might want—expect—a tree. Of course Zach had grown up with a more normal childhood, where a Christmas tree would be commonplace. “I…there is no tree.”

 “What do you mean, no Christmas tree?” Zach looked like the Grinch had just stolen his Christmas.

Beck winced. As a kid, there hadn’t been money for frivolities like Christmas trees. After he was on his own, Beck had never bothered with a tree. Christmas was just another day. Hence, no tree.

 

Sometimes it was hard to predict what Zach expected. New relationship learning curve at work, Stryker. “I’m never sure if you’ll make it when we plan to be together, and I didn’t need a tree…just for me.”

Zach opened his mouth, closed it.

Was Zach mad? Frustrated? Had Beck blown it utterly and completely by forgoing a tree? He'd wanted this to be perfect, and now...no tree. No decorations of any kind. No manifestation of holiday spirit. His gut clenched. Beck looked away from that intense blue gaze.

In a blink Zach was across the room and Beck found himself taken in strong arms. He responded in kind, drawing Zach to him. The now-familiar smell of Zach’s lemongrass aftershave soothed Beck's nerves.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been more reliable,” Zach whispered. “The job tends to be unpredictable.”

Understatement of the decade. In two months, Zach had had to cancel more rendezvouses than he‘d attended. Thanksgiving had ended up a solo holiday. So Beck had looked forward to Christmas, hoping against hope that Zach could break away. A tree would have been a glaring reminder if Zach had cancelled yet again.

 

Beck buried his face in the crook of Zach’s neck. “I know. But it’s what you do. You’re good at it.”

Zach pulled back and gestured between them. “I want this. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Beck understood wanting to be together and having it happen weren’t the same. They’d known going in, the long-distance thing wouldn’t be easy. Knowing it was a finite period of time had made it tolerable when Zach left Denver in October and returned to Minneapolis. Beck hadn’t counted on just how tough Zach’s job might make things.

Beck rubbed his palms on Zach’s shoulders. “Let’s go get a tree.”

“I don’t need a tree, as long as I have you.” Zach’s eyes were full of humor.

“Oh, you have me all right.” That had been true practically from the time they’d gotten reacquainted in October. After some initial antagonism over the case, fireworks had flown and ignited a spine-melting heat between them.

“In that case, want to open presents?”

“But it’s not Christmas for another two days.” And he hadn’t wrapped Zach’s gift yet.

With a slow smile Zach said, “Tonight, you’re my present.”

Now that was a Christmas sentiment Beck could get on board with. He grinned. "Then by all means, let the unwrapping begin."

 

Magic doesn't solve everything by Blaine D. Arden

In the world of the Fifth Son, every person--not counting Llyskel--possesses magic to some degree. From boiling water for tea to turning on the lights at night, spells are used for every day chores. On top of that, every person performs magic while they work as well, whether it's curing leather or fighting the enemy.

But energy isn't limitless. Small spells--like the abovementioned boiling water--barely don't cost much at all, but the specialised spells need more. The harder the spells, the longer they are maintained, the more energy they cost.

While this applies to every profession, the consequences of energy drain are more severe for the soldiers of the King's Guards. As wonderful as it would be to slay the enemy with magic alone, it's just not possible. The risk of running out of energy during a battle is too big, and would only lead to disaster, to defeat.

That is why soldiers aren't merely trained in magical combat, they are trained in physical combat as well. They start out learning to hold their own in old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat, and work their way up to using ordinary non-magical weapons like short blades, sticks, and swords. Of course, physical training serves a dual purpose; it's a good way to stay fit and work on one's endurance.

As for their battle magic... To help channel their magic for aim and precision, all soldiers have a gun-like, copper weapon called a shooter. That isn't to say soldiers can't perform these spells without the aim of a shooter, but a shooter helps them be more accurate at a distance. And while shooters can be used at any distance, battle field spells are mostly used for ranged attacks.

The Giveaway:
One lucky commenter will receive a copy of The Fifth Son in format of choice (epub/mobi/pdf)

The Fifth Son by Blaine D. Arden
cover by Simoné - www.dreamarian.com
illustrations by Yana Goya

Blurb:
A prince without power
In a land where magic is commonplace, Prince Llyskel has none. He can’t command spells, he has never been taught to fight, and as the fifth son of the King, he will never rule. Everyone believes he’s a weakling, most of all himself.
Powerlessness is Llyskel’s problem-and his pleasure. In his secret fantasies, the prince dreams of nothing more than finding himself helpless at another man’s hands… particularly the hands of Captain Ariv of the Guards.
Then Ariv makes Llyskel’s dream a reality, and as the powerless prince surrenders to the soldier’s desire, he finds his own true strength at last. But a web of royal politics is closing around Llyskel, threatening to tear him from his lover, and it will take all his newfound courage to escape…

Excerpt:
     The field was doused in sunlight, drifting dry sand, and sweaty soldiers practising their swordplay and stick fighting. I managed to find a spot in the shade, away from the blowing sand. I started with a bit of sketching first. The soldiers closest to me fought with sticks-long ones, short ones, single and double. I sketched their poses, their hits, their misses, feeling the ground tremble beneath me as the practising became more aggressive. By the time I finished the last of my sketches, my throat was dry, despite sitting away from the sand-blowing wind, and my voice was scratchy as I asked Neia for some water. The soldiers, while sweaty, hardly seemed tired. Training was far from over.
     I put a canvas on my easel and looked around the field, sipping my water, searching for an appealing object to paint. Captain Ariv wasn't training, himself; he was supervising a group on the other side of the field in hand-to-hand combat. Still, I could not help staring at him and the way his skin glistened in the sunshine.
     "Ogling the men, Llyskel? Seems like you found the perfect spot for it."
     Kalnor stood behind me, long blond hair falling in his eyes as he looked down at me.
     "Kalnor. Good to see you." I smiled at him and patted the ground. "Sit. You can join me for a moment, can't you? I'm sure your siblings won't mind."
     "If it means ogling my beloved Endyrr a little longer, I'm game." Kalnor sat down beside me. "My siblings be damned."
     We both gazed across the field, to where Endyrr swung his long stick about with ease, holding off his attacker, while explaining his moves to his group.
      Kalnor sighed. "I could watch him at this all day."
      I looked from Endyrr to Kalnor and knew I had my model. It had been a while since I had painted any of my brothers. I was about to tell him when a high-pitched screaming interrupted our conversation. We both turned our heads to the row of orrin bushes across from the entrance in the garden wall. I didn't see Sirr or Inau, but Neia had already raised a shield to block any stray magic coming from my frustrated little niece, who must have escaped her mother. I smiled at Neia, mouthing my thanks, and hoped Sirr was still within the inner walls and nowhere near the training fields.
      "How long has Sirr been volatile?" Kalnor asked.
      "About a week, I think." A long week in which I hadn't even caught a glimpse of her. She usually enticed me to play marbles with her at least once a day, or joined me as I painted, creating her own art with her colouring sticks or old brushes I saved for her. "She already hurt two of the kitchen staff because they weren't shielding themselves properly."
      "So, you're allowed nowhere near her, I take it?"
     "I'm not allowed anywhere near the annex at the west wall, which is where Danen and Inau have moved for the time being. And Sirr is not allowed in the castle or past that row of orin bushes. I guess it's a fair trade-off."
     "Nothing as dangerous as a child coming into their powers. Mother said I nearly burnt the house down."
     I still remembered the look on my parents' faces when they realised I would never come into my powers. I envied Sirr, tantrums and all. And I missed playing with her.
      As I turned back to the training field. Endyrr's group had moved closer and switched to swords. Perfect. No doubt Kalnor would very much like to have a painting of Endyrr with his sword in his workshop.
     Kalnor got up and dusted off his leather work tunic and trousers. "If I want to meet Endyrr for dinner tonight, I'd best get back to work."
     I nodded and wished him well, never taking my eyes off Endyrr. I grabbed my brush and my palette and studied the way he moved, the way he raised his brow when his opponent made a mistake, the way he held his shield. I barely noticed I had started the first lines even before I decided on the pose. Endyrr moving around made it difficult to choose, but when I found a pose I liked, it didn't matter that he wouldn't stand still. Once I had that image in my head, the painting would almost paint itself. I copied the pose of Endyrr with his sword slightly raised, shield hip high, and his face in full sunlight. Maybe I could surprise Kalnor by delivering the painting to his workshop later this week. I enjoyed walking into town, even with Neia trailing after me.
     Sirr's screaming stopped at last. I turned my head to check on Neia, who slumped as she released her shield. She immediately started a relaxation exercise, because holding up a shield for that long took its toll. I sighed. Neia was just doing her job, and I often treated her as if she was unwanted. Maybe she would like a painting of her own.
     The ground shook as something hit it with a loud thump, and I turned back to watch the soldiers. The soldier training with Endyrr had gone down. I would paint Neia another day. Today was Endyrr's turn.
     Endyrr leaned on his sword, panting, but only until the next soldier took his place before him. This one attacked at once, and then ducked behind Endyrr. How he could even sense where his opponent was, I had no idea, but Endyrr did not have any trouble fighting him off and forcing him back.
     By the time I moved on to sketching the background, Endyrr had long stopped fighting and was now merely instructing his soldiers as they practised their moves. I put my tools down for a moment and gratefully took the water Neia handed me, gulping it down as I searched the field for a moment, but Captain Ariv was nowhere to be found. Perhaps he had taken his soldiers on a run.
     "Kalnor will no doubt love the pose."
     Captain Ariv's voice washed over me, and I was glad to have drained my cup already, I would have ruined the painting otherwise.
      He looked down into my face with that wide grin plastered on. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I didn't mean to startle you."
     I narrowed my eyes. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was doing it on purpose, but I refused to show he got to me. "Kalnor will see it every day, once I hang it in his workshop."
      "He'll never get any work done."
     I couldn't help but smile. "Or it might make him work faster, knowing the original is waiting to dine with him."
      "True, Your Highness, very true."
     No matter how gorgeous Ariv looked in my paintings, it didn't compare to seeing him standing in the shade, glistening with sweat and sand-dust after a hard day's work. I would never leave my gallery if I had him in there with me, looking as he did now.
      Ariv leaned over my shoulder, and I caught his scent of sweat, sand, and clove oil. I sat on my hands. It was all I could do not to pull him into my lap.
     "I can't wait to see what it looks like with a proper background." And with that, Ariv turned and walked away.
~*~

Some questions for the readers. The only battle spells I mention in the Fifth Son are the stunning spell and shielding. What sort of spells do you think would be useful in battle? Also, Ariv's favourite weapons are the short blades or sticks, depending on his mood. What would your favourite weapons be?

Buy Links:   ARE   Amazon USA   Amazon DE  KOBO   Barnes and Noble

BIO:
Blaine D. Arden is a purple-haired, forty-something author of gay & trans* romance mixed with fantasy, mystery, and magic who sings her way through life in platform boots.

Blaine can be found these places: Website   Twitter   Facebook   Goodreads
Contact Blaine: Email

Holiday Flash Fiction: Midnight Clear

Welcome to the Flash Fiction Holiday Blog Hop!

All stories must include in the text: a winter holiday theme, a "bad boy" character, and a gift of some kind. For inspiration, we were given this photo:

 

Enjoy my interpretation of the theme, Midnight Clear. Thanks for reading!

 

 

Midnight Clear

By Whitley Gray

 

Snow really did squeak when it got cold enough.

The night air had gone from brisk to subzero and smelled like a deep freeze. It was a true midnight clear. The stars glittered like Christmas lights in the black velvet sky. If it weren’t for the moonlight reflecting off the snow, it would be blacker than an undertaker’s suit.

There wasn’t a single light to suggest civilization. And the silence, as if the temperature had frozen any sound. Unnerving.

This wasn’t the North Pole. This was…Nebraska. Hazard County, unincorporated.

Eric shivered, hiked his duffel higher on his shoulder, and walked faster along the side of the road. Somewhere out there was Graeme’s house.

What if Graeme wasn’t home? What if Graeme’s parents had a problem with an unexpected guest on Christmas Eve? What if he couldn’t find Graeme’s house in the dark?

Eric’s phone had died a while ago, and the charger was back home in Lincoln. Er, former home, most likely, judging by what had happened. How could this have happened? How had everything gone so spectacularly wrong from one minute to the next?

In retrospect, it had been a bad idea—a horrible idea—to come out to his folks during Christmas break. But he’d turned twenty-one the day before, and everyone had been in such a great mood, all holiday cheer and good will toward men. Then Eric had made his announcement and brought the festivities to a screeching halt, eliciting bad will all around. A crowd of angry faces and angrier words had driven him out into the cold. He’d barely had time to grab his coat.

Last week, Graeme had said, “Stay at my house over break. My parents would love to meet you.”

And Eric had turned him down, thinking about how much Mom wanted him home for his birthday and Christmas.

“If you change your mind, give me a call.” Graeme had waved on his way out the door.

What he’d had in his wallet had gotten him as far as North Platte by bus. And now it was up to his feet to get him where he was going, step by step, mile by mile, over the squeaking snow.  

Far off in the distance, a pair of headlights wandered over the rolling Nebraska plains. It was probably warm in that car. Maybe those people were headed home from a party, and would stop and give him a ride to Graeme’s. At the very least, they’d offer to call Graeme and tell him where Eric was.

Cold and homeless in the middle of nowhere.

Eric paused and stamped his feet. He’d lost the feeling in them. The chill dove down into his lungs in an arctic rush, making him cough; his breath froze in white plumes. As long as he kept moving, he couldn’t freeze to death, right?

Just keep walking, Hopkins.

The headlights veered away and then disappeared.

Aw, man. What if he walked right by the entrance to Graeme’s place? A shudder went through him. Teeth chattering, he pulled the collar of his coat up around his face.

A chime broke the silence.

Not exactly a chime. More like a jingle.

It sounded like…well, it sounded like bells. Sleigh bells, to be exact. And why the hell would he hear something like that out in the middle of nowhere? 

He turned in a circle, straining to see in the gloom. Something crested the hill ahead. Something jingling. Eric stared as the creature got closer. Something on four legs, trotting down the hill, picking up speed. Something with—

Antlers?

No. The cold apparently had brought on hallucinations.

Jingle-jingle-jingle. It’d be on him in seconds. He should run. But he stayed rooted to the spot. Or perhaps frozen to the ground.

It slowed on the final approach. It wasn’t big, but it did have antlers. The dog came to a stop, sat in front of him, and gave a canine grin. He wore a collar decorated with bells, and a pair of fake felt antlers.

Whoo boy. What a relief. Eric blew out a breath. “What are you doing out here, buddy?”

The dog raised a paw and reached for him.

“Shake? You want me to shake?” Eric laughed and shook. “I don’t suppose you know where Graeme lives, do you?”

With a whine, the dog shook its head, sending the bells pealing.

“Of course not.” Eric squatted and peered at the dog’s tags. One was thick and dark. The other was thin and glowed in the dark:

My name is Hercules

I belong to Graeme Monroe

RR 360 Hazard, NE

The phone number was the same one Eric had for Graeme. Somehow he’d found Graeme’s dog, but not Graeme. Great. Eric stood. Maybe the canine could find him…

“Where’s Graeme, Hercules? Huh? Where is he?”

Hercules danced around Eric’s legs and barked.

“Find Graeme, boy.” What were the chances it would work?

Hercules stopped and cocked his head, then turned and headed up the hill.

What have I got to lose? Graeme might live right over that rise. Eric strode after the dog, snow creaking beneath his boots.

At the crest, more rural nothingness. Hercules looked up at him and whined. This was pointless. The dog was as lost as he was. Maybe Eric should look for a haystack to hunker down for the night. In the morning he could try something else. He skidded down into the ditch by the side of the road and up the other side. A barbwire fence. Hercules bounded past him and crawled under the fence. When in Hazard, do as the dog does…

He slid under and came up inside a pasture. Bales of hay were stacked several feet high. With numb fingers, he pulled them off one by one until he’d managed a cave within.  It was like building a snow fort. Eric crawled inside.

“C’mon, boy! Here!” Eric whistled.

Hercules crawled in and lay down. Eric snuggled up next to him. The dog was so warm…

Warmth on his face. Fingers in his hair. A familiar scent of Old Spice. He was alive. Eric opened his eyes to the soft glow of a flashlight.

Graeme shook him. “Hey there.”

“I…I can’t believe you’re here.”

Chuckling, Graeme pulled him closer. Into the warmth of his body. “I’m here.”

“Where’s Hercules?”

“Right outside. He’s such a wily boy, taking off like that. Good thing we got him a Find Me tag.”

“What is that?”

“It’s a dog tag with a GPS. I have the app on my phone, and it tells me where to find him. He has a bad habit of running off.” Graeme raised an eyebrow. “So what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?”

Eric looked away. “I got kicked out. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to think. And then my phone died before I could call you. I got to North Platte and was going to walk the rest of the way, but I got lost in the dark.”

A tear burned down his cheek and he ducked his head into the crook of his arm. Don’t act like a wuss, Hopkins.

“You’re found now,” Graeme whispered. “Let’s go home.”

They wriggled backward out of the straw cave, into the startlingly cold air. It was still full dark. Hercules grinned and stuck out a paw. Eric shivered. “What time is it?”

“Midnight. I didn’t notice Hercules was gone until the Christmas party wrapped up.” Graeme waved him forward. “Your sleigh awaits.”

They trudged across the pasture, slid under the fence, and then they were in the blessed warmth of Graeme’s vintage pickup with Hercules in the backseat. Eric sighed and stretched his legs out. The heat pouring out of the vents felt like heaven. “God, that’s good.”

“You’re half frozen. Get over here.” Graeme tugged on Eric’s jacket until he slid over. Graeme wrapped an arm around Eric’s shoulders. “Better.”

It was better. Eric didn’t mean to, but it had been an emotional night, and he’d lost his family, and then the dog… Eric reached for him, tilted his head, and brought their mouths together. He could feel Graeme’s surprise. Then Graeme kissed back, lips meltingly warm and sweet. God, it had been a while since Eric had had this.

Graeme’s arms twined around Eric and pulled them together. The almost shy kiss deepened. Graeme’s tongue teased its way inside, and his hunger caught Eric off guard. 

Bells jingled, followed by a sharp bark.

With a shaky laugh, Graeme pulled away. He ran his thumb over Eric’s bottom lip. “Been wanting that since September, ever since you moved into the house.”

Holy shit. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“The place is like Grand Central Station. No privacy. I was going to tell you over break, but when you said you were going home, I didn’t think I’d see you until January.” He ran a hand along Eric’s jaw. “What a terrific surprise.”

“Speaking of surprise… Will your folks mind? Me staying with you, I mean.” Eric didn’t think he could take another angry mob.

“Of course not.” Graeme sounded a touch indignant. “They know about me.”  

“Sorry about dragging you out on Christmas Eve.”

“Nah.” Graeme brushed a kiss across Eric’s mouth. “Santa came early. You’re my Christmas gift.”

Eric’s heart swelled, filling his chest with warmth. “And you’re mine.”

Hercules barked and put his paw on the seatback between Graeme and Eric.

Eric laughed and gave the dog a pat between his fake antlers. “Who dressed the dog up?”

“My little sister. For the party.”

“Thanks goodness for party animals.”

“No doubt. Let’s go home.”

~*~

Follow the link back to discover more free holiday fiction!

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Christmas Morsel #1

This month I'm posting a series of holiday vignettes, featuring characters from my books. Christmas morsels--bite-size scenes of the season. First up are Joe and Errol from Midwinter Night's Dream...

Christmas Morsel #1
Joe and Errol from Midwinter Night’s Dream

“What are you doing?” Errol’s voice came from the kitchen doorway, breaking into the instrumental version of Oh Christmas Tree drifting from the speakers.

What does a guy usually do in the kitchen? Er, conventionally, that is. Joe grinned and ran the rolling pin over the dough. The kitchen was full of the fragrance of flour and sugar and butter, and the warm metal scent of cooling baking sheets. “I’m cooking.”

“Mmm.” Errol sauntered up to him. “It doesn’t smell like five-alarm chili in here.”

Joe huffed a laugh. That was one of his signature meals at the firehouse: hot, hearty, and filling.  “I have a bigger repertoire than chili and sub sandwiches. I’m making Christmas cookies.”

“I didn’t know you could bake.”

“I haven’t for a while” Joe rolled the pin over the creamy sheet of dough. “My mom used to make these for the holidays when I was a kid.”

“Aw…” Errol wrapped his arms around him from behind, a warm solid weight against Joe’s back. “Are they for Santa?”

“They’re for us.” Joe paused. “Have you been a good boy this year?”

Errol laughed. “I’ve been very, very good. Or very, very bad, depending on how you look at it.”

True. Keeping his floury hands to himself, Joe turned and kissed him on the nose. “I believe you’re worthy of these extraordinary cookies. You want to help?”

“Sure.”

Errol moved to the sink and washed his hands while Joe set aside the rolling pin and shuffled through the cutters. Growing up as Errol had, he might not have had a chance to do something like make traditional cookies. And it would be Joe’s pleasure to change that.

“Okay. What do I do?” Errol surveyed the counter and the assorted tin shapes.

“Choose whatever you like, and then we’ll cut the dough.”

Errol selected a tin star and pressed it into the dough. Joe jiggled the star onto a spatula and eased it onto the baking sheet. “Keep going.”

After cutting a couple more stars, Errol picked out a Christmas tree and cut the rest of the sheet. Joe transferred the cookies onto the baking sheet.

While Errol watched, he broke off a piece of the leftover dough and popped it into his mouth. “Hey, that’s good.”

“It has raw eggs. Not good to eat uncooked dough.” That was what being a paramedic did to you—instilled worries about things like raw eggs. Which was kind of ridiculous considering Errol had survived hypothermia and frostbite last year.

“Raw eggs, huh?” Errol’s blue eyes were full of humor as he bit into another piece of dough. “But it’s delicious.”

“I’m serious.” Joe wiped his hands on a towel.

“Me too. It’s really good.” Errol grabbed Joe by the front of his apron and kissed him full on the mouth. Errol tasted of sugar cookies and coffee and himself. In other words, addictive.

Joe gave in to the kiss and the risk of the raw egg. The cookies could wait.

 ~*~

Read how Joe and Errol met. Get Midwinter Night's Dream at Amazon and Loose Id (all formats available)