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Excerpts From:
Holiday Treats!
Briskle’s
Treasure
By Mae Powers
Chapter One
Briskle
liked the festivities at Merry-Mass time. The week long festivities were
usually boisterous and full of merry-making. He’d sit with his family at
the head table each year during the main celebration of the day, then at
some smaller area when every one mixed and mingled through out the day,
as everyone did now.
The
main halls and dining areas of dragon-castle were always busy, from the
servants to the top royals. The huge castle from it’s brightly flagged
turrets down to the main hall and below, was decorated for this yearly
festive occasion; all were involved, and it seemed merrily so, in
decorating the whole castle with everything from flowers to jewels.
Still,
there were times he didn’t feel like part of any of the celebrations, no
matter if at Merry-Mass or some other festive time. Perhaps it was just
an inner loneliness, he wasn’t sure and that bothered him. Sure, he had
friends and family, and though he knew they cared for him, he sometimes
felt looked-over and ignored.
But
then, as standard things went, no dragon liked being ignored and wanted
to be the center of attention. Being born to royal parents should have
given him that, but not in his case. Glancing over the festive meeting
and dining area of the castle’s great hall, he’d chosen to sit at the
back of the partying room, late at night, and watch the other
merry-makers.
The
room was mostly dragons, though other beings were amongst the
dragon-kind. Some visiting unicorn dignitaries, elves and a few magical
humans like wizards and nice witches. The castle had a mixture of
servants and often he saw their relatives helping out or visiting dragon
friends too.
Dragons
in this land were mostly benevolent to human races. Some one had to look
out for those simplistic beings, although, he did have some good friends
amongst humans. And amongst some elves down in Scaletown and some of the
smaller towns in Dragon Realm, too. He’d done a little flying and
traveling over the last fifty years of his young life, but stayed
homebound most of the time with his books and studies and royal duties,
so knew a lot of the kingdom’s residents, of most species.
Duties
his brother should be looking over and doing; and people Zamos should be
getting to know, since the man intended to become king one day. Briskle
wasn’t sure why that thought popped into his head. He set his mead down
on the table and glanced to where he saw his popular princely brother
talking to some unicorn and troll dignitaries; the dragon lord just
charmed the pants nearly off them. They seemed to really enjoy the elder
prince’s company, though still trying hard to gain his favor.
He knew
his brother was charming, and played the dignitary well, but Zamos was a
lazy hoarder. Yet, also one of the most wealthy in any dragon realm. No
one knew for certain how that came about. At nearly a hundred years old,
that was a fantastic feat for such a young dragon. Briskle was sure it
had something to do with Vella. For since the two married, Zamos and she
had become richer.
It
wasn’t the envy bug of the riches Zamos and she had, though he wanted to
know how the two did it, it was more the needing attention, perhaps. He
wished his parents would fawn more over him as they did Zamos and Vella.
He let out a slow sigh and nibbled on his bottom lip.
Jealousy wasn’t his thing. He should not be acting so selfish. He knew
in their own way, his royal parents did care for him. But were they as
proud? Did it really matter to him? He wished he could do something to
make them just as proud of him as they were of Zamos.
“You
look desolate, dear brother-in-law,” a tingling sweet voice whispered
close to his left ear. In her dragonoid form, as he was in his. “I want
to wish you well at this special time. What can I do to make you
happier?”
He
glanced over at her as she sat down next to him on a large bench at his
table. “Good eve, Vella. And what witchery are you up to today?”
She
chuckled and twitched her full lips. “Besides wishing you Merry-Mass, I
was hoping to have a moment with you to ask your opinion and get your
help.”
He
cocked one thick eyebrow upwards. “You rarely seek my opinion on
anything.”
“Well,”
she began slowly, nibbling on her bottom lip, making him suddenly aware
how nervous she was about talking to him. He’d never really seen her
nervous about anything, really.
He
couldn’t help himself. “Does it involve doing anything for Zamos?”
She
sighed and started to move away. “I’m sorry to bother you, Briskle. I’d
just wanted help with his Merry-Mass present.”
He
stayed her hand. “You seem reluctant to ask, or state what’s bothering
you, why?”
* * * *
Unwrapped Gifts
By Imari Jade
Chapter One
Naomi
Davenport slapped the palm of her hand against the steering wheel horn
to warn the other driver in front of her to stop before they collided.
The ignorant driver flashed her the bird to which Naomi put her head out
of the window and shouted, “Same to you buddy.” She pulled her head back
in and rolled the window up.
Boy,
how she hated Christmas time. The drivers were inconsiderate, the malls
were crowded, and mostly she was pissed because gift swapping was not
what Christmas should be.
She
never considered herself an overly-religious person, even though she was
brought up in one strict, catholic, foster home after another since her
mother died. But she had read the bible numerous times and knew that
Christmas was about celebrating the birth of the savior, with whom,
ironically, she shared a birthday. The other driver finally backed up,
narrowly missing her car and drove off. Naomi turned into the parking
spot, turned off her car and got out. If she hadn’t been blackmailed
into participating in the office gift swap she wouldn’t be caught dead
near the mall at this time of year.
Naomi
walked through the parking lot, avoiding all the cars until she stepped
onto the sidewalk. She opened the huge glass door, stepped inside Neiman
Marcus, and froze as hundreds of people scurried around pulling gifts
from the counters. Her pulse beat in her ears, confronted with making a
decision on a gift for someone she barely knew. The woman, Erin, worked
in the mailroom, and she wouldn’t recognize her from Adam if she passed
her in the hallway, so how would she know what the woman wanted.
The
amount that could be spent was limited to twenty-five dollars, so that
eliminated anything nice. She supposed she could buy her cologne, or
maybe something trendy to use on her desk. She opted for the latter and
headed to the store map to find out where the stationary and office
supplies were located.
Two
hours later, she stood outside the store shaking with anger. The
checkout lines were extremely long, the salesperson was rude, and
someone had stepped on her toes several times without saying, excuse me.
“You
look like you’ve had a hard afternoon.”
Naomi
looked over at the only other person around—a Salvation Army Santa
Claus. She nodded at him. “I hate Christmas. It’s too commercialized.”
“That I
tend to agree with.” He rang his little gold bell and shoppers dropped
change into the bright red bucket. “People tend to forget that it’s a
time for reflection.”
Naomi
nodded in agreement and checked him out. He was dressed in a traditional
red, white, and black suit, but she could tell that he wasn’t fat just
by looking into his lean face. The fake beard covered most of the bottom
half, but he had hazel eyes that twinkled when he smiled. She reached
into her pants pocket, pulled out some money and dropped it into the
bucket. “What do they actually use this money for?”
Santa
smiled. “You know you’re the first person to ever ask me that, and you
asked it after you donated instead of before.”
She
eyed him curiously. “Does it make a difference?”
“Yes,
it does. If you asked me first and didn’t like my answer you could have
kept the money and went on about your business. But to answer your
question, it is used for various things like food and shelter for the
poor. It goes toward medical research and different charitable causes
like the battered women’s program.”
“So, it
doesn’t go to line the pocket of some rich guy?”
“You
know, I can’t lie to you and say definitely that some of it won’t. I
just know that it’s supposed to go to those in need.”
She
smiled at him. “I like your answer, Santa. You’re the first honest
person I’ve come in contact with in a long time.”
He rang
the bell. “There are still a few of us out there.”
Naomi
adjusted her purse on her shoulder and the bag under her arm. “Well,
have a good afternoon.”
“You
too, dear.” Naomi walked back to her car got in and drove out of the
mall parking lot wondering about the man in the Santa suit.
* * * *
An Angel's Agony
By Ellen Margret
Chapter One
Josiah
tore the place apart looking for the diary. Kyna told him she had found
it in the attic, amongst her mother's things. She said what she read in
the diary would have shocked her, had she not come to the conclusion
that it was a product of her mother's crazed imagination. And her mother
did have a history of mental instability that had sadly led to her
committing suicide. Thus, Kyna had dismissed the contents of the diary
as total nonsense. She told him that she had disposed of it.
So,
where was it? Had she thrown it away already? He had to know. He had to
see and feel the diary. He had to decide if it was genuine or not. He
had seen dozens of such diaries and letters. He wanted to see the one
written by Kyna's mother. He had to see what she had written on the
twenty-fifth of December nineteen-eighty-three. On the day of Kyna's
birth. Also Christmas day.
Kyna
told him that people felt sorry for her when they heard that her
birthday was on Christmas day, but she didn't mind. Even if people did
only giver her one present, she felt grateful. Life is a gift, she so
often said. True, but life was a gift that could all so easily be taken
away.
Josiah
searched the drawers in the dresser, and in the process accidentally
knocked over the angel in the Nativity, which Kyna had so carefully
arranged. He quickly picked it up, but before replacing it, he took a
long look at the serene looking porcelain angel. “What are you looking
so smug about?” he muttered, sticking it back by the crib.
He went
into the bedroom and glanced up at the trimmings hanging from the
ceiling. He thought they looked tacky, but Kyna loved them. She spent
hours putting them up and only that morning opened up yet another door
on her advent calendar. Christmas was two days away, but he didn't want
to think about that. He rummaged amongst the drawers in her bedroom
chest. He looked in boxes under the bed. He moved the sleeping cat from
the top of the microwave and flicked through the papers that had been
stashed there.
“Damn,”
he hissed. “I have to find it. I have to know.” He sat down on
the kitchen stool and tried to think. The cat leapt up onto his lap and
began to purr. There was even tinsel tied to her collar! “So, where is
it, Prudence?”
The cat
began to wash her paws.
Josiah
stroked the cat and noticed the dark smudges on his jeans. Then he
recalled that Prudence had a habit of walking across the woodburner in
the sitting room. For that very reason, Kyna had stopped lighting it and
now used a small electric heater. Still, he knew that, every now and
then, she burnt papers and odds and ends in the burner. He put Prudence
on the floor and hurried into the sitting room. He yanked open the door
and saw that an assortment of papers had been placed inside and some
were partially burned. He pulled them out and sifted thought them. And
there, sandwiched in the middle of them, was a charred diary. He turned
to the date in question and read.
My
daughter was born two hours ago. At six pm on Christmas Day. She looks
such a healthy baby. She has rosy cheeks and brown hair. I shall call
her Kyna.
Duncan is still away with the Forces. He thought he would be back for
the birth, but I went into labour a few weeks early. Now, I have to be
honest for I never lie to you, Diary. I wonder if Duncan is the father.
As a child, he had an accident. The doctors told him that his chances of
fathering a child were very slight. Yet, I became pregnant, Diary, I
must tell you about the phantom who came in the night because I did not
write about it when it happened. Duncan was away at his mother's
overnight. The phantom was tall with black hair and he was the most
handsome man I have ever seen. I thought I was still dreaming when he
came. His form would appear and disappear. Sometimes he seemed hazy and
other times he felt as solid as iron. He weaved a spell on me. He
whispered words of passion in my ear and he stimulated me with his hands
and lips. It was a wonderful dream. I let him make love to me because I
did not think him real. Six weeks later, I found I was pregnant. I truly
believe that I conceived with the phantom, the one who referred to
himself as Lecfuir
The
labour was long. Kyna arrived but then the midwife, Sophie Walter, had
such a surprise. We both did. I told her I felt I must push....
The
next few lines were missing. They had been ravaged by the fire. Josiah
cursed and read the final part.
When
I look into my child's eyes, I see darkness. The same darkness was in
Lecfuir's eyes. It is a darkness that touches the soul. I try not to
look too deeply. I must learn to love my child because she is...
There
was no more. The final part was also a charred mass. Nothing more
remained from that day and, most of the following pages were not
readable. Still, he now knew that Kyna was Lecfuir's child. He had found
the Blackessencer. Her fate was sealed. She would have to die. Kyna
would not see Christmas or her birthday.
* * * *
Blood Under the
Mistletoe
By Lisa M. Basso
I sighed as the last ornament drooped low on the too soft branch of the
Douglas-fir. It looked how I felt—sad and tired—like the Charlie
Brown Christmas tree.
Now that’s quite enough of that. Refusing to let the blues get to
me, I closed my eyes and breathed in the deep trademark scent of
Christmas. The nutty pine perfume of the tree and warm gingerbread from
the kitchen wafted through the winter air. By the time the next sigh
left my lips it was full of satisfaction, somehow knowing Christmas
would bring something unexpected my way.
As soon as the sound of my mother’s voice on the other end of the phone
paused for a breath, I spoke up. “Now Mama, I told you. I’ll be there.
I’m just finishing up some last minute things here before I head out.”
I spun around to cap the box of family ornaments that had been passed on
for five generations on my Daddy’s side. They were always Mama’s pride
and joy. Every time she brought them out she’d say how honored she felt
when her mother-in-law handed them down to her the very day Daddy
married her—against his mother’s wishes. At the time, southern gentlemen
of a certain standing weren’t supposed to marry outside their class, let
alone their race. And my Mama was both, poor and southern raised
Filipino. Which explains why when people hear a little half-white,
half-Asian girl speak with an accent they do a double take.
It devastated Mama when I turned twenty-five—the usual marrying age for
a Devereux woman—and decided I wasn’t going to marry. Ever.
Surprisingly—or maybe just to spite Grandmama—she broke tradition and
handed over those ornaments when I moved. Though I never stop getting
guilt from the family. When I made the move from Peachtree City, Georgia
to Richmond, Virginia, they practically called me a damn Yankee. I tried
a few times to explain that Richmond was still a part of the south, but
no one would hear me out so I gave up and let them think whatever they’d
like, keeping my mouth shut like a good little southern girl.
“Darlin’, you know I don’t like the thought of you driving all night.
It’s too dangerous to do by yourself. Now if you had a husband to help
you—”
Not the husband-talk again.
The faulty bell on the oven timer began to chime and chime and chime. “I
have to go, Mama, my cookies are ready, but don’t worry. I’m used to the
night.” As I hurried her off the phone, I couldn’t help but laugh at how
Mama would react if she knew how true that statement really was.
I could almost taste the little gingerbread men when I spun around
toward the kitchen. Only, instead of seeing my little white oven, I saw
a man with long dark hair standing in the doorway.
My heart nearly stopped and I froze. Deer in the headlights syndrome
was real. The timer continued to ding. I could feel my eyelids
stretch open, taking in the man I did not know.
“Hello, Holly.” The low intention his voice carried sounded almost
demonic. It matched the tepid swirl in his reflective eyes.
The chill of the air surrounding him speared through my lungs. Run,
run damnit, run! It was a great idea. Too bad I couldn’t.
“Don’t be scared, little human.” His lips turned up and a sharp triangle
of white flashed above his lower lip.
I could feel the ice holding me there begin to thaw and I took a slow,
calculated step back, my fingers closing around the phone in my hand.
His smile deepened and his teeth elongated into fangs, the slight
serrations catching the colorful twinkles of the Christmas tree’s
lights. “Or do,” he said in a snarl.
Again, my mind begged me to run, but if I did, I would only be inviting
him to a hunt. I didn’t want to be hunted. He would be faster than me by
at least twenty times, and infinitely stronger. My only advantage over
him, the ace up my green chenille sleeve, was Victor. As terrified and
doe-eyed as I felt, I stood tall and tried to rid the panic from my
flushed cheeks.
His eyes pulsed as they swung down a few inches. He could only be
looking at my neck. The refractive light beaming from his eyes grew
brighter. I’d seen this before. His change was complete and he was
hungry.
I couldn’t stop my heart from thrumming so loud it echoed in my ears,
but I could—though sloppy as it was—control my breathing. The unsteady
rhythm of my pulse caused it to sound jerky, but it was a whole hell of
a lot better than balling up in a corner and giving up.
Think, Holly, think. It was hard to do with his fully changed
eyes beating down on me, but I compiled a quick list of what I knew.
Okay, he knows my name, so either he was listening in on my conversation
with Mama—which wasn’t impossible with vampire’s heightened senses—or
he’s been watching me, hunting me.
* * * *
Amy’s Gift
By Nancy Pirri
“Damn!
Where in the hell are my clothes?”
James
Marshall Kent, owner of Kent’s fine clothes for men and women, stared
into his closet, unable to believe his eyes. Every article of clothing
he owned had been removed. Clad in a towel he’d hitched around his
waist, he stalked over to his bedroom bureau and started opening and
slamming drawers.
No
underwear, no t-shirts, not even one pair of socks. Someone had cleaned
him out. And he had a pretty good idea of the thief’s identity—Amy
Gallagher, his beautiful but naughty personal assistant of one year.
She was one of the few people who happened to
have a key to his apartment. She must have come in sometime during the
work day, he decided.
He’d
been the victim of several pranks over the past month, and had yet to
identify the prankster. He guessed it was his assistant, since everyone
else he employed was scared of him. It irked him she wasn’t.
James
slammed the last drawer shut and thought about Amy’s recent comments to
him. ‘Lighten up,’ and ‘You take life way too seriously’.
Amy’s
words irritated him. None of his employees dared to talk to him that
way, except for her. The fact of the matter was her words were true,
still, the woman needed to show respect for him as her boss. He’d show
her serious, with a trip over his knee for a good old-fashioned
spanking, if he discovered her to be the culprit who’d absconded with
his clothes. Then the unwanted image of taking her to his bed and
lavishing her ass with kisses, over the marks left from the imprint of
his hand, entered his mind. With a shake of his head, he dismissed the
idea. Damn, the woman ticked him off.
He let
go of the towel and threw himself down on his bed.
He supposed he could have worn the clothes
he’d arrived in, but he’d already tossed them down the laundry shoot to
the basement, three stories below. He should have been on the
road home to White Plains by now, where he planned on spending a quiet
Christmas—by himself.
Bah.
Humbug. He knew his employees felt that way about him and he liked
it that way. Christmas was just like any other day to him—since
Stephanie left him six years ago. Chagrinned, he realized he still
hadn’t gotten over his ex fiancée. No, that wasn’t true. He’d gotten
over her, so much, in fact, he refused to allow any other woman to get
close to him again, including Amy.
He sat
up, swiped his still damp black hair back from his forehead, and
grinned. He’d go downstairs and fetch some clothes; so much for his
assistant’s pranks. What was wrong with the woman? She knew he owned a
clothing store right downstairs in this building, below his apartment.
Amy
wasn’t an ‘airhead’, either, but the best damned assistant he’d ever
had. Though, by her ‘come hither’ looks at him over the past several
months, he guessed she’d developed a crush on him. As soon as he saw her
again, he’d set her straight and inform her he wasn’t the marrying kind.
He rose
from the bed, picked up the towel and tucked it in around his waist
again then headed toward the door. The phone rang and he paused. Who in
the hell would be calling him on Christmas Eve? He picked it up on the
third ring.
“Yes.”
“Mr.
Kent?”
Amy.
Guilt must have driven her to call him.
“Yes,
Miss Gallagher.”
“Are
you…are you mad at me?” she rushed out.
He
dropped the towel again. “Why would I be?” He made his voice smooth as
silk and calm as a sea with not an ounce of wind in the air.
“Because I stole your clothes.”
“It was
you then,” he made it more a statement than a question.
“Yes.”
“Were
you the one who replaced my bottle of Spice cologne with the women’s
counterpart, Spicier?”
“Yes.”
“And
the other pranks?”
“All
me,” she confessed.
“Dare I
ask why?” He waited for her reply, for her sweet, melodic voice that
made him catch his breath each time she spoke. He sighed, thinking how
he was tired of fighting his attraction to her.
“I
wanted your attention.”
“Rest
assured you’ve got it. Can you think what I’d like to do to you at the
moment?”
“Uh,
well, I can’t. I imagine you’re angry, though.”
“Angry?” he said through gritted teeth. “I was supposed to have left for
home over an hour ago.”
“Calm
down, Mr. Kent. I thought you were spending Christmas alone! At least
you told all of us at the office you were.”
“I am,”
he barked. “I like my privacy, damn it, and planned on spending the next
week catching up on some reading.”
“Whew!
I was worried you had family coming and I made you late.”
“Hell,
no. My family is spread across the country and spending time with their
own families.”
“Okay.
I’ll return your clothes, once you hear me out.”
“Where—are—you?” he snarled.
“Downstairs, in my office.”
How’d
you get by the night guard?”
“I hid
there until everyone left at the end of the day.”
“Come
up here. Now.”
“Why?”
“Talk,
you said you need to talk to me,” he reminded her.
She
didn’t say a word for a long while, then whispered, “I’m on my way.”
* * * *
Kiss Under the
Mistletoe
By Jaden Sinclair
“You are my wife!” Lord Blythe Garrison stood in the master bedroom of
his family chateau staring in disbelief at his new wife of only five
hours. “How could you do this to me?”
Blythe glared at his wife with as much hatred that one person could have
toward another. A man not used to being betrayed, and he was one of the
most sought after men in England whom many ladies desired. He had a
title, money, position, not to mention that he was not too bad to look
upon either. Any lady would be lucky to be his wife, any except for the
one he chose.
He
stood at six foot-two with soft, wavy brown hair that he wore to his
shoulders. His eyes, he had been told, were the softest blue ever and
one could get lost dreaming of the secrets hidden within them. Now they
narrowed at the woman who’d torn out his heart this night—his wedding
night; the woman that he was told would make a good wife and mother to
his children.
“I
didn’t mean for this to happen!” Amy Garrison cried.
“You
didn’t mean for this to happen?” he growled. “Which part? Please, tell
me which part did you not mean to happen? The part where I found
you with him, or the part where he bedded you before I did?” he
bellowed.
“I
tried to tell you and mamma, but neither of you would listen to me.” She
defended herself. “I tried to stop this wedding.”
“You
tried to stop the wedding? You didn’t try hard enough!” he spat. “You
gave yourself to another man on our wedding night. That is
something I can never and will never forgive! You want your
freedom back, my dear, you have it, but don’t expect me to save your
reputation or his after this. Your lover is ruined, same as you.” He
stormed to the door, yanking it open and glaring back at her. “I want
you out of my house within the hour. Maxwell will make sure all of your
things are returned to your family’s house along with the knowledge to
your father what you have done. The papers to annul this farce of a
marriage will be there in the morning, as well.”
“Blythe, please.” she begged. “We can still fix this!”
“I
just did, My Lady.” he said with as much venom as possible. “And
just so you know, your lover didn’t bed you because he loved you and
wanted to save you. He did it to get back at me,” he finished before he
slammed the door on her, closing her and all of the memories out of his
mind.
Maxwell! He ground his teeth at the name. Once they were friends, but
after his so called friend declared that Blythe ruined his sister that
friendship ended with a vow from Maxwell. One day Maxwell said he would
take something very special away from Blythe. Blythe guessed that day
finally came. Blythe guessed that day finally came.
* * * *
Six months later…
Lady Adela Delacroix sat next to her aunt, Ella Simon, in the family
carriage getting her first real look at where her mother’s family came
from. The snow was falling, and with Christmas so very close,
invitations to many parties were going out. England, the land of freedom
and new beginnings was what she’d been told, and so far, it seemed to be
true. In fact, she couldn’t wait to attend her first holiday party.
Adela was a lady in all the ways that one could be a lady, except she
was not married. At the ripe age of twenty-four she was now on the
shelf. The men of her country wanted very young brides for sons, and she
was too old. The catch was, Adela didn’t mind not being married. She
loved her freedom and wanted to keep it. And if the right man came along
to sweep her off her feet and wanted her to marry him, then she would
gladly take the vows. Until then, she was going to experience life on
her terms. And those terms were grand!
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