NEW! Saturday Sneak Peek

So, some of you may be wondering where I have been lately. The holidays killed it for me and since then I have been taking each day a little slower, which means I have been spending more time with my husband and my kids and less time on the computer. Some other things I have been doing: writing, reading, and homework. Yes, at nearly 30 years old, I have homework lol

If you have been keeping up on the blog and my latest projects, you should already be familiar with Stranded. I am proud to say that it is doing wonderfully. I can't wait to finish That First Kiss, the second book in the Night Calls series and share it will y'all!

In the meantime, I want to share a new project with you that I am really exited about. Like anything that I write, this one has a bit of me in it. Unlike my other projects, this one has much more of me in it than anything else I have ever written. It's far from being an autobiography, but I'll leave it up to you to figure out what parts reflect my life and what parts are purely fiction. Here is the first chapter. Feel free to weigh in, share your thoughts and suggestions, and most importantly, enjoy!

Heart’s Desire

Life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% of how you react to it.

That moment when you realize that you care about others more than they will ever care about you is the moment you realize that you walk alone in this world. It has taken my whole life to learn this lesson, and I have learned it well. Caring is in my blood. It is who I am. I don’t know that I can ever change, and I don’t know that I want to. Opening myself up to others leaves my heart vulnerable to their abuse, and although I am weary of being kicked, I have no desire to kick back. For those of you who think I need to grow up, stand up for myself, know this. This thing that I have, it’s a soul deep affliction, an illness nearly impossible to overcome. The world needs people like me. It needs someone willing to love even if they are not loved back. This is my story.

Chapter 1

“He cheated,” I say, looking down at my shoes, my face awash in embarrassment. As if I am the one who has sinned.

“You’re kidding,” Charity gasps. “How did you find out?” Everything in her voice tells me that she is invested in my heartache, just as surprised as I am, and maybe even a little angry on my behalf. But her eyes, they tell a different story. While I pour my heart out to her, her interest is on something in the distance.

“He told me last night.” As I speak, I follow the direction of her gaze to a group of boys standing alongside a row of bright orange lockers. They’re seniors, two full grades ahead of us, but Charity watches them with an interest that suggests she doesn’t care. In fact, I know she doesn’t because Charity is a firm believer that age is just a number.

“What an ass.” She shakes her head. “Did he give you a reason? Did you guys break up?”

Again shame grabs hold of me, hanging on my shoulders and pressing them down until I feel like the added weight might finally break me. It’s unreasonable to feel this way, I know, but I can’t help feeling that what I am about to tell her will make her think I am a fool. Hell, I think I’m a fool. “He liked the attention.” I tell her exactly what he told me. “He doesn’t feel like I have been giving him enough of that lately. He was lonely.”

As the words pour out, a tremor takes root in my stomach. I feel sick just thinking about it. We haven’t had much time alone together lately because of my new job. Between school and work, our relationship has been pushed to the back burner.

Charity huffs a laugh. “Ethan only said that because he still wants to have his cake and eat it too. You know that, right?”

I do know that, intellectually. But my heart aches just thinking about walking away from everything that we’ve built over the last year—and eternity in high school terms. “Yeah,” I say, because how am I supposed to respond? I feel like an idiot.

Charity stops in the middle of the hall and turns to face me. “You didn’t break up with him, did you?” Her tone is filled with disappointment, as if she already knows what my answer will be. Maybe she does. We’ve been tentative friends since the third grade, best friends since the summer before sixth. I can still remember the night we met. Laney, a mutual friend of ours, introduced us one evening. During an enthusiastic bike race in which we were pitted against one another, Charity and I bonded over talks of our moody friend and, realizing that we made a good pair, rode off into the sunset together. Well, toward her house at any rate.

“No,” I tell her, trying desperately to hold my head up, but I can’t look at her. I can’t take my eyes off the three boys we’re closing in on. I wonder if any of them have a girlfriend and if they are cheaters too. In the back of my mind, I realize that at the age of fourteen I am already becoming jaded, but I don’t know how to stop it. Life happens. It changes you, and not always for the better.

“He’s going to do it again,” Charity warns.

I know the chances of that are high. Once a cheater, always a cheater, they say. Whoever “they” are. But all I can picture is Ethan’s face, twisted in agony, as he knelt before me in the middle of my bedroom floor. “I’m so sorry, Tess. I never meant to hurt you.”

Tears are streaking down his face. My chest is so constricted I can’t breathe. My heart hurts. I think it might have actually fractured in two, but I know that’s not possible because I’m not dead. It want to die, though, it hurts that bad.

Looking down at him, with his arms wrapped around my waist, his face buried in my abdomen, I resist the urge to hug him to me, to weave my fingers through his soft black hair and never let him go. Yesterday he was mine, today he feels like a stranger. But I still want him. How is that possible?

When he tips his head back and peers up at me through those big brown eyes, anger tears through me. I want to punch him. To make him hurt as much as he has hurt me.

“Please,” he whispers, his voice sounding choked. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

I know right then that I won’t break up with him. Not because I think he will die without me—he’s already proven that he would find someone else to take my place—but because I don’t know what I would do without him.

I don’t say anything. I can’t speak for the lump in my throat, but Ethan must have seen the answer in my eyes because he lets out a shuddering breath and stands. His strong hands envelope my face and he pulls me to him, kissing my nose, my mouth, my forehead and uttering a million breathless ‘I love you’s’ as he hugs me to his chest. I feel his relief, but all I feel is a pervading sadness seeping into my soul like poisonous tar. And the anger hasn’t gone away. The longer I stand there, feeling his thudding heart slowly return to a natural pace beneath my cheek, the more my muscles tense. When he leans back to smile down at me, I tell him I want to punch him.

“I don’t blame you,” he responds. “I deserve to be punched for what I’ve done to you.”

And so I punch him.

I expected to feel better, like hitting him would liberate me from this turmoil slowly eating me away inside, but I don’t. I feel worse. You should never hurt someone you love.

Charity continues to chastise me as we make our way past the seniors who barely glance our way. I nod and ‘Mm hmm’ in all the appropriate places, but I’m not really listening anymore. There is only so much guilt a person can take before they begin to shut down.

The lunch hour is over and I have just enough time to make it to my locker and my next class before the late bell. Located on the first floor, my locker is the perfect distance between both of our midafternoon classes, just like Charity’s locker on the third floor is perfect for our morning classes. To make things easier, we decided to share the too small space.

“You’ll be okay,” Charity assures me as she opens the locker and reaches in for her change of clothes. Her next class is gym.

“Yeah, I know.” I try on a smile, but it feels as forced as it is. She frowns. “No worries. Hey.” Reaching in for my math book, I opt for a subject change. “Do you want to stay over tonight?”

“No, I can’t. Shay and some of the other cheerleaders invited me to this party at Greg’s.”

I nod my head and try to look cheerful and accepting even though inside I feel my tentative hold on my emotions slipping. Ever since high school started and Charity decided to join the squad I’ve felt the line between us growing thinner. We talk every day, but it’s not the same as it used to be. She’s pulling away, our lives are going in different directions, and I hate it.

“Oh, hey,” she places her hand on my arm. “You can come if you want?”

Charity doesn’t realize she has a tell, but I recognize the too bright smile and arched eyebrow for what it is. She thinks she’s hurt my feelings and so she is offering to include me in her plans even though it’s the last thing she wants to do.

“That’s okay,” I tell her. I start backwards down the hall, needing to put distance between us before I do something stupid, like cry. “I’m not really in the mood for a party tonight.” I purse my lips and give her a meaningful look. I don’t miss the relief behind her eyes when she nods sympathetically.

“Okay.” She starts to walk away, but spins around like she’s forgotten something. “Oh, I almost forgot. Can you give me a ride home after school?”

And there it is; our unbreakable bond. Charity knows she can always count on me, even though I'm sure I can’t say the same about her. “Sure. I’ll wait for you in the parking lot.”

  

Brotherhood Teaser!

For those of you who are anxiously awaiting the arrival of A Warrior's Betrayal, I have a treat for you: A portion of the first chapter! Enjoy, and don't forget to leave your thoughts! I'd love to hear them :)

 

Chapter One

A roar born of true rage filled the narrow alleyway as a flash of searing heat pierced muscle and scraped past bone. The demon’s ochre eyes widened as Behr closed his fist around his own and slowly drew him closer until they were standing nose to nose. Baring his teeth in a vicious snarl, Behr wrenched the demon’s curved blade from his thigh and, curling the demon’s wrist back in on him, he returned the gesture with a sharp thrust, driving the blade into his chest. With a sizzle and pop and a brief flash of light, the demon disintegrated. 

Brushing his leathers clean of demon soot, Behr retrieved his weapons and slipped them back into the scabbard on his chest and at his waist. A deep inhale and a moment later, he materialized just outside the door to his new, 21^st-century two-story Craftsman, smoothing his hair and straightening his collar, trying his best to look presentable. There wasn’t shit he could do about the blood running down his leg, but that wasn’t anything new. 

There had always been a bit of a demon problem no matter what corner of the world you were in, but since The Gate cracked open a couple months back, an untold number had managed to escape. If he had to guess, he would say thousands, maybe more. All he knew was that the streets were teaming with the little shits, and he was on a mission to wipe them all out. So far, he had spent every night combing residential neighborhoods, alleys, bars; especially the bars. Hey, you never know. Demons liked hot chicks in strappy leather just as much as the next guy. 

The kicker was that Erias was still missing, more than likely never coming back. He had made some sort of deal with the Prince of Darkness, and considering how he went out—all sorts of dramatic flare—well, he didn’t want to waste any more time dwelling on that. He had much more pressing matters to be concerned about these days, such as the fact that his brother’s woman was shacked up at his place, too afraid to leave the house, and was sleeping in his bed every night.  As though he could ward off the nightmares that plagued her, she pressed her tight little body all up on him, making sleep hopeless while leaving him with feelings that he would rather not examine too closely. To top it all off, he was perpetually tired, horny, and irritable. 

Christ on a cracker, he was turning into a woman! 

One more sweep of his leathers told him that he was as clean and put together as he was going to get—slaying demon spawn and getting stabbed in the process had a bad habit of turning out that way. With an unsteady hand, Behr pulled out his keys, slipped the right one into the lock and twisted the tumblers into position. It would have been easier to just flash inside, but he always needed that added moment to pull himself together and come down after a night of back alley fighting. The door opened with a swish and he stepped inside. 

Behr stood in the doorway leaking vital bodily fluid all over the clean white tile, and he couldn’t care less. As he stepped into the living room, he saw Cheyenne with her riot of auburn waves tumbling down her back as she sat on the couch ingesting something on the television with one of those rare, but beautiful smiles gracing her lovely face.  It was enough to make any man stare death in the face and laugh. And whoa, where had that thought come from? 

Stomping the errant thought to dust, Behr glanced at the shaggy blonde head of his old pal Dehstroy, who reclined beside her. When he and Erias had ventured into the pits of Tartarus to save Cheyenne, the last thing he’d expected to find was a withered shell of a man he once looked up to for guidance and support. 

With no home to go back to and no one left alive to care for him, Behr had opened his door freely, but nothing could have prepared him for the man he had become. Normally, a person would expect that a man who had spent centuries in a demon prison and experienced all kinds of unimaginable torture would have become hardened and cold. Not Dehstroy. In fact, he was much as Behr remembered him; cool, calm and collected—the very picture of control. If he didn’t already know that the guy hadn’t been around for the sixties love and peace movement, he would peg him for a hippie. Except, when you got to know him, you realized he was much more Encino Man than flower power.

Dehstroy had missed so much that he was completely out of touch. Everything that he took for granted, Dehstroy was only now discovering. He had to treat him with kid gloves, ease him into the world one nudie bar at a time, or risk an incident like last time, something he didn’t even want to think about. Still gave him nightmares.

He shuddered a little. 

Despite all that, there were still worse things to come out of Dehstroy’s time in hell. For instance, the fact that, now that his tongue had grown back, he simply didn’t know when to shut the hell up. In a way, he really was like a kid. He questioned everything from music to street signs. Of course, Behr understood that it must be pretty hard to be thrust into a world that had evolved by leaps and bounds, rather than being eased into its changes the way he had. The guy was just trying to get his bearings, and one day he would, but that didn’t mean that Behr didn’t entertain fantasies here and there of cutting his tongue out again just to get a little peace and quiet. He was also the reason why he sometimes chose to go solo like he had tonight. It wasn’t that he was ditching the man, but, yeah, he basically was. Every now and again a man just needed to break away and be alone with his thoughts, and Dehstroy respected that, proving that even though most days the guy grated his every nerve ending raw, he was still cool peeps. 

Despite his constant irritation, though, Cheyenne seemed to enjoy his company, and that was really all that mattered. 

“I’m gonna go change,” Behr informed them both, and got a little wave and a grunt in return. “I’m glad you’re finally home,” he grumbled in a parody of a woman’s voice as he trudged past them and climbed the stairs with care, each step sending a flare of pain shooting down his leg. “I missed you every moment you were away.” 

“Wah, wah, wah,” Dehstroy mockingly tossed over his shoulder, and didn’t that just make Behr want to turn back around and give the old fart a kick in the gut. But Cheyenne would kill him for getting blood on the carpet again, so he decided to play nice and just flip the old man off instead.

“Boys!” came Cheyenne’s warning. 

It was as if Chy had eyes in the back of her head. No way could she have seen his response. Behr smiled as he reached the top step and headed for the bathroom. Nothing like a woman to keep the men in line.  

It didn’t take him long to wash away the blood, tend his wounds and redress himself in a pair of comfortable, loose-fitting pajama pants. Behr silently praised himself for his clean efficiency. It seemed he had become quite a pro after all these millennia. 

Finding his comrades still in the living room, Behr eased back into the couch—being careful not to tear the fresh stitching in his thigh—sandwiching Cheyenne between his big body and Dehstroy’s.

“What are we watching?” he asked, but didn’t have to wait for an answer.

“Everything seems so unreal.”

“You, sir, are the most phantom-like of all.”

Behr groaned. “Another poorly made Bronte movie, ladies?” 

Cheyenne spared him a plaintive look, and Dehstroy ignored the cutting remark. “I don’t understand your aversion, Brother. As one who lived it, I find it to be a rather soothing, albeit somewhat distressing, reminder of a time long passed, where things were simpler, time moved at a steady pace, and the women were genteel while the men were well-groomed and mannered.”

Shaking his head, Behr’s eyes didn’t leave the screen as he spoke. 

“In case it has escaped you—and considering your advanced age, it certainly may have—I also recall those days, and often fondly.” 

Hell, when had he reverted back to proper English? If he had a cup of tea on hand, he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised to find his pinkie angling upward. 

“Look, the point is, there are like, what, twenty versions of Jane Eyre?” He looked to Cheyenne for confirmation, but she just shrugged, clearly unwilling to join their argument. “I have yet to find one suitable to the book. It seems to me that the Bronte sisters, reclusive and unworldly as they were, fashioned better drivel than the people who merely scooped up the material and put it to film.”

Dehstroy’s eyes darkened. “Did you just call this…masterpiece….’drivel’?” 

Behr’s body tensed, readying for a possible fight. 

“Boys!” Cheyenne finally cut in. She gave them each a hard stare, the longest of which lingered on Behr, as if he was the instigator! 

Behr’s eyes widened with feigned innocence. “What?”

“Don’t what me, mister,” she chided. “You’re always picking. Now, I want everyone to shush it so I can finish this movie. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Behr and Dehstroy said like a couple of scorned children, and turned back to the movie. Twenty minutes later, and he still couldn’t get into it. He glanced over Cheyenne’s head at Dehstroy, and felt his face twist wryly. There he sat watching his old mentor, who was capable of single-handedly taking down an entire army with only a sword, drying his misty eyes on his shirtsleeves. Oh, how the mighty had fallen! It was both appalling and painful to witness. 

Cheyenne sniffed, and Behr’s gaze fell to her face. A lone tear broke free and streaked down her cheek. His chest constricted at the sight, and he threw his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer and assuming that big brother roll once again. 

And there it is! A Warrior's Betrayal is finishing up editing as we speak. Are you all as excited as I am??