Excerpts From:
BENEATH A CHRISTMAS MOON
An Excerpt From: LANDER’S MOON
Copyright © EDEN ROBINS, 2007
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave
Publishing, Inc.
Staring down at her, Lander was captivated by
her pixie features. Soft, feathery midnight black hair spread out
fanlike around her, haloing the delicate beauty of her face. She was
a petite female. He imagined her having small breasts and a tiny
waist, yet with curves in all the right places under the bulky
sweater she wore. She looked more ethereal and fragile than the type
of female he usually preferred, yet her scent held an allure that
was hard to resist. It called to him, somewhere deep in his gut. And
if nothing else, he always listened to his gut.
He leaned closer, inhaling her sweet scent, and
felt her breath flutter against his whiskers.
Good.
She was still alive but from the blue shade of
her lips and erratic pattern of her breathing he knew that could
easily change if he didn’t get her somewhere warm, fast. Reining in
the lust that raged through him, he bent his head low and nuzzled
her chest. As gently as possible Lander clamped his teeth around her
sweater. Pulling her up off the ground, he noted that her body
remained limp. Arms wide at her sides and legs dangling, she hung
like a rag doll from his mouth.
He knew his next actions might hurt her but he
had to get her on his back if he wanted to get her someplace safe.
But just as he was about to swing her up her whole body jerked. She
raised her head and her slightly unfocused gaze found his.
He noticed she had the most incredibly alive
eyes he had ever seen. Despite her obvious disorientation her deep,
chocolate-brown eyes flamed bright with a kind of inner light not
many mortals possessed. If eyes were truly windows to the soul then
this female’s soul held the strength and healing light of the sun,
moon and stars. He recognized what she was right away.
A healer.
One who cared for the mental, physical and
spiritual wellbeing of others.
But as her gaze widened in fear and her mouth
opened in preparation for a scream, he knew he needed to focus more
on her wellbeing than what he saw in her eyes. He shook his head
back and forth quickly, swinging her from side to side. Not hard
enough to hurt her, but enough to shake her up a bit and stop her
from screaming.
It worked. Lander assumed she fainted as her
body went limp once more. At least he hoped she had just fainted. He
didn’t think his shake would have killed her, but he hadn’t had much
practice calming his prey instead of tearing it apart.
In other circumstances he wouldn’t care if she
screamed but the scent of another had reached him and his protective
instincts kicked in. The human male’s odor was getting stronger. And
something about it didn’t smell right. This male was bad and Lander
didn’t want him anywhere near his female.
Lander had no problem fighting for her if he
had to. In fact, his first urge was to stand and fight. But
considering the woman’s condition, getting her someplace warm and
safe was more of a priority. Gazing in the direction he knew the man
was heading from, Lander growled around the fuzzy sweater between
his teeth. Turning toward home, he carried his female with him.
An Excerpt From: PARADISE DESIGNS
Copyright © ARIANA DUPRE, 2007
All Rights Reserved,
Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
(See
Below for an additional excerpt from my story)
She opened her eyes and looked at the
television. A couple kissed in a vacation commercial. She couldn’t
even remember what good sex was like. A year of celibacy would do
that to you. She watched the man slide his hand down the woman’s
back. Tara sighed. If nothing else, she was determined to step out
of her self-imposed hibernation and involve herself with a man. What
better time to start dating again than on the year anniversary of
her failed engagement? With Christmas only a few days away she knew
that finding someone she’d like to go out with would be hard but she
was determined to keep looking.
The lasagna probably tastes so good because
I missed lunch, she reasoned.
Goldstein and Powers International Bank was the
most prestigious financial institution on
Brickell Avenue. Every day was filled with interesting
people. She loved the hustle and bustle of customers coming and
going. But today had been torture. Four tellers called in sick with
the flu which left the branch severely shorthanded.
I hope I don’t catch it. The last thing
she needed was the flu during her vacation next week.
She placed another bite of lasagna in her mouth
and glanced at the television. A live shot of her building was on
the screen with the caption “Haunted High-Rise”.
What the hell? Grabbing one remote then another
with one hand, she turned down the stereo and turned up the
television volume. It was a reminder that she needed to have
everything working off one remote. A baritone male voice filled the
room as the camera angled to include the reporter on the screen.
“Real-estate sales in our area are still on the
decline, however, some developers have it
worse than others. From the looks of it, Paradise Designs Resort and
Spa, with its lush landscaping and unique amenities wouldn’t be one
of those places. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. You may
remember our previous reports during the construction of the
elaborate high-rise where many of the construction workers refused
to return to the job site after experiencing what some considered
ghostly encounters. Rumors of building materials disappearing or
thrown across the room and apparitions of a woman had many of the
workers fleeing the building never to return. Despite the
management’s attempts to keep the rumors quiet, sales at Paradise
Designs are at an all-time low with only seventy of the fifteen
hundred condominiums sold. In an attempt to sell the units,
management is reducing prices and offering incentives to their
current residents. They have hired international marketing and sales
guru, David Blake, who recently obtained his Florida realtor’s
license, to work with the building’s current realtors to revive
interest in this luxury resort and spa. If you’re in the market for
a luxurious oceanfront condominium fit for the rich and famous, and
you don’t mind living with ghosts, then Paradise Designs Resort and
Spa may be for you. Ron Capman, WLDL
News, Miami.”
The fork clattered against the ceramic plate as
Tara set it on the end table.
This can’t be real.
An Excerpt From: VAMPIRE’S CHRISTMAS
CAROL
Copyright © KAREN MCCULLOUGH, 2007
All Rights Reserved,
Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Her best bet was to find a place she could
shelter and make a phone call, so she set off. With the sleet still
coming down, she made slow progress along the narrow side road,
drawn by the beacon of light, until she drew even with it. A paved
driveway curved up toward its radiance, passing through a thick
stand of trees. She almost broke down and cried when she realized
the path led to a house and the yellow glow poured from several
windows.
By the time she got to the door, she was
soaked, shivering with cold and desperate for the warmth the light
promised. She found no bell, but the door featured a heavy, iron
knocker shaped like the head of an old man. Marley’s ghost? Wasn’t
it on Christmas Eve that Scrooge had seen the face of his old
partner in the knocker on his door?
Deciding she was getting punchy with exhaustion
and cold, she raised the heavy iron bar of the knocker and banged it
several times. Nothing happened, so she repeated the action.
Finally, as she prepared for a third assault, the door creaked open.
A man stood there, backlit by a lamp in the hall, leaving him almost
entirely in shadow.
Her teeth chattered so hard it took an effort
to get anything out. “Please, I’m stranded up the—”
“Did Antoine send you?” The aggressive tone as
much as the words shocked her into taking a step backward.
“No, my car slid into a ditch.”
He ignored the response. “Tell him it won’t
work.” The door closed in her face.
Carol stared at it for a moment, then lifted
the knocker bar and began beating it against the base. She had to
keep at it for several minutes before the door opened again.
“I need help. I’m freezing out here and my
car’s in a ditch—”
“I can’t help you.” The man started to push the
door closed again.
Carol stepped forward and stuck her foot in the
opening to prevent it. “You have to. Please! I’m going to freeze to
death if you don’t help me. Honest to God.” He flinched and she
pressed the advantage. “At least let me come in and make a phone
call. I assure you I’m harmless. I’m just freezing.”
“Phone lines are down,” he said.
“Hell. And my cell phone’s not getting a
signal. Please, can I at least come in and get warm? I’m getting
totally desperate. In fact, I’ll just keep banging on your door
until you let me in or I collapse.”
He muttered something under his breath,
then said to her, “It’s dangerous to come
in. You take your life in your hands.”
An Additional Excerpt From: PARADISE
DESIGNS
Copyright © ARIANA DUPRE, 2007
All Rights Reserved,
Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Help me!
Tara Simms stepped out of the
elevator and looked up then down the hallway for the woman who’d
shouted. Behind her, the sound of heavy doors sliding together
echoed in the corridor. Tara repositioned the takeout container of
lasagna and a bag of groceries before grabbing at the purse strap
slipping from her shoulder. "Hello. Where are you?"
Silence answered.
Maybe it was an echo from another
level that had somehow resonated into the elevator shaft. Then
again, as the only resident of the fourteenth floor, she couldn’t
help but wonder if someone new had moved in.
Help me, Tara.
She almost dropped her dinner.
The voice that had shouted moments
ago was now an urgent whisper echoing through her mind.
"No! Get out of my head!" Tara
grumbled, gripping the Styrofoam container and plastic bag. The
strap fell from her shoulder to wrist and the purse banged against
her legs with every step. She let it hang there and hurried to her
condo, counting the square patterns woven into the dark green carpet
as she walked.
This couldn’t be happening. Not
again. Her pulse raced with fear.
Paradise Designs Resort and Spa, a
newly constructed high-rise on Miami Beach, had everything a person
could ever want in condo living. Located directly on the Atlantic
Ocean it boasted an Olympic sized outdoor pool and smaller indoor
pool. The bottom floor housed a mini-mall that included a grocery
store, several restaurants, a day spa, a gym and retail outlets.
Close to the Miami nightlife, you
could walk to the mall, theater and an array of restaurants and
nightclubs. She had been one of the first homeowners, since she knew
the developer, and chose an ocean and pool view condo on the actual
thirteenth floor, even though builders skipped the number thirteen,
unit number fourteen-thirteen specifically to face her fears about
the paranormal. She’d thought that choosing a number associated with
the woo-woo stuff would keep spirits away and the voices out of her
mind since avoiding them had never seemed to work. She even decided
to make the number thirteen her lucky number. What a stupid idea
that had been.
Sixty-eight, sixty-nine, seventy
.
It took exactly ninety steps from
the elevator to her front door. She knew it by heart, had counted
them every day since she moved in a month ago. But today was the
first time she’d heard the whispers over the automatic counting.
At the age of five she had
realized that counting things kept the voices quiet. For the past
twenty years she’d counted to keep her mind busy and ignore the
whispers. It was second nature now, an unconscious habit that was
constant and consistent in her daily life. She’d tried to stop once
before but hadn’t made it more than a few minutes. Every time she
let her mind rest, the whispers got louder and she had no intention
of letting that happen. She kept her guard up against the spirit
world and that’s the way it would stay.
Tara slowed as she neared her
condo. The door to the neighboring unit was propped open with a
wooden footlocker. Inside, the room was filled with boxes piled in
the middle of the beige carpeted floor.
She couldn’t believe that out of
all the empty condos on her floor, someone had chosen the one right
next door to her. Maybe it was a woman her age. It was nice to know
that there was someone right next door if she needed anything. The
realtors could have told the new neighbor her name since they were
the only people on the floor. Relief washed over her. Maybe she
hadn’t heard a voice in her mind after all.
While she was very independent she
found a little comfort in knowing that she was no longer alone on
the floor. It would be great to make a new friend at Christmastime.
"Hello? Is anyone home?" She
peeked in but didn’t see any large pieces of furniture.
An eerie silence was again the
only answer.
I must have heard the new neighbors. They might
have taken the stairs down for another box
,
she thought, trying to convince herself that
the voice hadn’t been in her head.
Deep inside she knew it wasn’t
true.
Who in their right mind would take
thirteen flights of steps down to carry boxes back up? Besides, the
woman had called her by name. In all likelihood the realtors
wouldn’t have shared her name with someone she didn’t know without
introducing them first. She pushed the thoughts aside before she
worked herself into a panic. She’d come back after dinner and
welcome the neighbors to the building.
Tara passed the open door and
unlocked her condo. Tossing her purse on the dining room table, she
hit the light switch with her elbow and put everything else on the
kitchen counter. She crossed the living room to raise the windows
facing the ocean. In the graying dusk she watched a speedboat pass
by, its engine humming as the front end thumped against the blue
waters of the Atlantic. She worked her way across the ocean view
windows and then down the side overlooking the pool area. She really
couldn’t have picked a better place. The views were amazing and it
was only ten minutes from work.
A man was swimming laps. His
tanned body sliced through the water with quick even strokes. As he
reached the shallow end he stood, revealing an athletic, muscular
upper torso. Pushing his wet hair back he looked up at her.
Tara stepped away from the window.
No way could he have seen her, yet she felt as if she’d been caught
staring just the same. She didn’t recognize him but then again, she
didn’t know everyone who’d purchased here either.
Walking to the corner she pressed
the floor control of the six foot Christmas tree with her toe. The
white lights sprang to life, shimmering off the silver balls and
tinsel. Christmas had always been her favorite time of year despite
the fiasco last Christmas Eve when her boyfriend had broken their
engagement and had given the ring she’d picked out to another girl.
This holiday season was a new beginning. She turned on the stereo
and soft instrumental carols filled the air.
In the kitchen she put away the
groceries, dumped the lasagna onto a plate, grabbed a fork and
canned soda and then took her dinner into the living room. Kicking
off her shoes, Tara curled up in the corner of the overstuffed
leather couch. She rested the plate on her legs and turned the
television to the local news with the volume down.
The lasagna smelled delicious. The
flavors seemed to drift with the aromatic scent. She cut a corner
off with her fork and slipped it into her mouth, savoring the rich
tomato sauce and creamy cheeses. She closed her eyes, letting the
texture of the flattened noodles tantalize her taste buds.
Ummm, better than sex.
She opened her eyes and looked at
the television. A couple kissed in a vacation commercial. She
couldn’t even remember what good sex was like. A year of celibacy
would do that to you. She watched the man slide his hand down the
woman’s back. Tara sighed. If nothing else, she was determined to
step out of her self-imposed hibernation and involve herself with a
man. What better time to start dating again than on the year
anniversary of her failed engagement? With Christmas only a few days
away she knew that finding someone she’d like to go out with would
be hard but she was determined to keep looking.
The lasagna probably tastes so good because I
missed lunch,
she reasoned.
Goldstein and Powers International
Bank was the most prestigious financial institution on Brickell
Avenue. Every day was filled with interesting people. She loved the
hustle and bustle of customers coming and going. But today had been
torture. Four tellers called in sick with the flu which left the
branch severely shorthanded.
I hope I don’t catch it.
The last thing she needed was the flu during her
vacation next week.
She placed another bite of lasagna
in her mouth and glanced at the television. A live shot of her
building was on the screen with the caption "Haunted High-Rise".
What the hell?
