Cry for the Moon

Before I move on to today's first except and contest, I just want to remind anyone who'd still like a free copy of my Christmas short story, Gothic Wolf (see Monday's post!), that you can still email me for it, right up until the end of the party :). Marie AT MarieTreanor DOT com, with Gothic Wolf in the subject line :).

Now - I'm not quite sure what the attraction of paranormal creatures at Christmas is, but to me it's irresistible. Maybe it's something to do with the magic of Santa Claus that becomes lost in adulthood - perhaps we're trying to get it back in a slightly more grown-up sort of a way :)

Whatever, here's an excerpt from another paranormal Christmas story of mine - and there's a contest to follow...

Holiday Howlz: CRY FOR THE MOON
By MARIE TREANOR
Available Now from Changeling Press

A lonely woman spends Christmas by herself in the country cottage she once shared with her beloved husband, a soldier who disappeared without trace two years ago. She has finally accepted that he's dead and is even contemplating suicide.

On Christmas Eve, a knock on the door heralds the arrival of a homeless man in ragged clothes who bears a staggering resemblance to her husband. However, he doesn't know who he is, or what has led him to the cottage. Recklessly, she lets him stay the night, but begins to suspect she may have made a terrible mistake when, in the midst of unexpected passion, a wolf flees howling from her bed.

*

Ruth lost herself in her dream, the remembered feel of his lips and tongue, the caress of his hand on her breast while the other sneaked up her skirt to stroke her thigh and hip and slide round between her legs. She was wet for him, always eager and the discovery made his breath hitch as he slid his fingers inside her panties to find the slick nub of her clitoris. Jared’s fingers… she loved his fingers, adored the pleasure they gave her. But soon, she wanted more. She turned in his arms, burrowing under his sweater to pull it over his head before unzipping his jeans and dragging out his fully erect cock. Raising herself in his arms, shivering as his hands closed around her naked hips, she gazed into his hot, devouring eyes as she lowered herself onto his cock. God, it felt so good, filling her, answering her every desperate need…

A loud knock shattered her dream. Whisky sloshed over her hand as she jumped. Who the hell could that be? Whoever it was, she hated them for interrupting her dream. It had almost felt real.

Standing, she dashed her hand across her wet face. Shit, when had she started to cry? As the knock came again, loud and impatient, she walked unsteadily to the door, wiping her eyes on her sleeve as she went.

She was a woman, alone, in an isolated cottage at night. But she ignored the danger. She’d been beyond caring for some time. In any case, it must be Jane or Charlie in the midst of some emergency.

She flung open the door, “What is it?”

And found a tall man leaning one arm across the door frame, staring at her. In the contrast of the lit cottage with the darkness outside, she couldn’t make him out properly, but he seemed to be large and ragged and unshaven. And by some unkind trick, he managed to look like her husband.

Her throat dried up. Shock and grief kept her frozen. Had she fallen asleep in front of the fire and was dreaming? After all, she’d had dreams like this before, where he came back… Only he hadn’t looked so… rough.

He moved, pushing his head forward into the light and she saw that of course it wasn’t Jared. This man had blank, wild eyes, not the thoughtful, intelligent, often cynically amused ones of her husband. And he was too thin, too unshaven. Jared had never had stubble growing all over his neck like that…

The man took a step nearer her, and instinctively, although she wasn’t frightened, she took one back. She blinked. In the glow of light from the cottage, his neck no longer looked so hairy, though he clearly hadn’t shaved for some time. Unsure, she lifted her gaze back to his.

He stared at her, a frown etched between his thick brows. Or were they really so thick? Perhaps they were just untidy. But his eyes… her mind was playing tricks, for his eyes seemed to be exactly the same shade of bright, piercing blue as Jared’s.

He said, “Who are you?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the dream to end, because it didn’t seem right to let the stranger have Jared’s   voice, even if distorted with some hoarse, gravely element it had never possessed in real life, only to deny any knowledge of her.

“I’m Ruth. Who are you?” Not Jared. Even in a dream, not Jared. Life sucked.

“I don’t know...”


To enter the drawing for a download of Cry for the Moon, tell us what paranormal creature you think goes best with the Christmas spirit :). The contest will close at midnight tonight and the winner will be announced tomorrow morning on this thread.