A NEW BOOK in The Spiral Pathways Universe IS HERE!

SURPRISE! There is now a prequel series for The Spiral Pathways. and book one, The Ballad of Birdie MacLeod, has just been released on Kindle and in paperback! Set twenty years before the events of Wyldwood, this new series begins on The Isle of Skye and features some familiar faces for readers of the original series while being a stand-alone story on its own. And what's better than Scottish witches? Scottish witch PIRATES. Yes, this ghostly tale of Scotland and Ireland set in 1722 features pirates aplenty, as well as all of the adventure, romance, and good ol' fashioned paganism you can handle. And its sequel will be out THIS SUMMER!

The Ballad of Birdie MacLeod is available here in paperback: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CTHQ6RW7

...and here on Kindle:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CTGPM16T/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=

...and signed copies will be available through this site in about a week! I also have wicked cool "Pirate Queen" tote bags with a skull and crossbones on them that will be available at the same time as well...

...and not to tempt you further, but Birdie has some MAJOR revelations and secrets about the events and characters of The Spiral Pathways tucked away in it. There's a mysterious event from Bonewytch that will suddenly make more sense to you if you read this series!

Happy reading, friends! Hope this book shivers your timbers!

The Seduction of Alexander Scott

It's January. It's cold. Vacation is over. You need a little bit of spice from Book Five, Bonewytch, to get you through the afternoon...

The Seduction of Alexander Scott

from Bonewytch, Book Five in The Spiral Pathways Series

Étaín smiled and stood up. "The thing about a spell is," she said, her voice like silk, "is you have to mean it. There must be intention. Will. Drive. A…building of something, or it won't work."

"Um," he said, stepping backwards. "I…you might have to show me how. An' could we stop callin' it a spell, please?"

Oh my, thought Étaín. That little bit of reluctance, of challenge, is extremely arousing. "Of course I'll help you," she purred. "Of course." She held out her hand. "Come here, Alexander. I'll be good to you." She smiled. "I won't bite, sweeting."

He stepped towards her, looking worried.

"Now then," she said, pulling him close. "The first thing is to relax, isn't it? Take a few deep breaths. And…let's just talk a bit." Alex nodded. "Just get used to me being close. In a few moments it will feel familiar."

"Do ye actually…when ye worship her…do ye try an' summon satans?" Alex asked. "Wit'...circles o' symbols on the floor, an' black candles, an' the like?"

"Darling, you simply must stop obsessing about devil worship when we're trying to make a kiss happen," Étaín scolded him gently. "I'm going to give you something else to think about instead. Close your eyes."

Alex did as he was instructed, and Étaín’s eyes lit up red. Nearly mine. And I’m betting what I’m looking for is right below the surface.

“It’s time to stop thinking and just feel, meus argentum luscus amore,” she said, dropping into Latin. My silver-eyed love. “Focus on where your body touches mine. Feel the difference between your angles and my curves, between your strength and the yielding I will offer you. Can you feel the warmth of me? That heat? Uret corpus tuum igne meo,” she whispered, caressing his cheek, and then spreading her fingers across the front of his neck and gripping his throat a bit. Let your body burn in my fire.

He took a shuddering breath in but didn’t move.

“You try so hard to be good,” she crooned to him, “but your soul has veins of a different sort running through the clarity of its quartz. Venom and lava, obsidian and onyx. It is part of who you are, my young dark prince. You wish to walk with Angels, but under it all, a part of you wants the throne.” She slid one of her hands over his shirt onto his lower spine, stroking him and moving energy into his lower back, and smiled as she felt him tighten his embrace. “You know of what I speak. I once was as you are now. I can lead you towards your truth.”

He was breathing faster now, and she felt his hand between her shoulder blades, pressing her more tightly against him. “An’ what’s that?” he said, his voice rough, his eyes still closed.

“That you want to go to the edge again and again and again,” she said, reaching up to touch his cheek. “You revel in it. You wish to penetrate others with your will, an offering I would gladly receive. You desire to be bound so that when you are freed the release is that much deeper. You have a craving to drink from the cup of sin to see if you like the flavor. And in doing so, you will discover who you are, and what you want.”

“What do I want?” he answered quickly. He might have been asking himself.

“You want to be the cold metal of the dagger in the softness of the flesh,” Étaín answered. “You have lusts that need to be satisfied.” She moved her hand to his lips and was gratified when she saw him part them a little in response. “You want to let the torment loose. And I understand, as no one else does, what to do with that.” She put the tip of her index finger just inside his mouth and gently stroked the top of his bottom lip. “I can help you to dare.”

She felt his teeth on her finger then, biting her, and he was moving quickly past gentle. Étaín was thrilled. There he is. That’s what I wanted to see. After a moment he let her finger go, and she felt one of his hands running through her hair, stroking the back of her head and then wrapping the shining strands of her around his fingers as though he might control her that way. Yes, my handsome half-god. Yes.

“We are both made of flames,” she said, moving her hips against him. “We are both torn pages from a holy book. I will be on my knees before you…” she hissed and ran her hand down the front of his thigh, “and you will be allowed on your knees before me.” She felt him shift his pelvis against her, and knew that while he was quiet, an eagerness for her had risen in him. “You may sit at the right hand for a time, respectful and waiting, but then your devils will rise up, and you will rule. And I want to witness that, Alexander. I want to bite your flesh and touch all your deepest desires with my tongue while it happens. The same blood rises in us. The blood of rebellion.”

She looked up at his face. My God, how he looks like Thomas. But uniquely like himself as well. Fresh, young, and eager. And he might be persuaded to bend to my will. A tyrant hidden inside a saint. He was looking at her now, ravenous, and there was a faint, white glow at the back of his eyes. Yes. The leth-dhia may be coming out to play. Let those wings out, darling.

“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Deliver yourself into my care. Turn yourself loose on my body.” She could feel him trembling with need. “You can have whatever you want, and I will see only glory in your terror.”

He kissed her. He completely immobilized her in his arms, making her his prisoner. I’ll forge a chain with you, she thought, melting into the ragged edges of his being. Link by link by link. Amen.

He was not hesitant any longer. He kissed her hard, running his tongue over her teeth, biting hers when she offered it to him, the black water that dripped around the edges of his soul seeping into her sand. The things he suppressed found purchase with her. The interior harsh metal edge of his half-god-self began to scrape away his exterior civilization in her arms. And she gave her permission and surrendered to his want. This. This.

Lilith will be so pleased. I will have my reward. And this is a reward of its own.

But then Alex released her suddenly, and took a step back from her, eyes wild, panting, as his mind managed to reassert some control and process what she’d said.

‘You’re temptin’ me,” he breathed. “Oh, God in Heaven, you’re comin’ after my soul!”

...............................................................................

Start your adventure with Book One, Wyldwood, here:

FREE on Kindle Unlimited! Also available on audio and in paperback at https://www.amazon.com/Wyldwood-Scottish-Borders-Spiral-Pathways/dp/B09ZDZTXDW/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1704226507&sr=1-1

Christmas Eve in a Chinese Restaurant

Some friends on Facebook want a sapphic Christmas Eve scene about the owner of a Chinese resaurant faling in love with a customer. And because I love a challenge, here's the beginning. Will add more soon...

“We might as well close up early at this rate,” Juliette sighed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “The snow’s getting worse, and it’s Christmas Eve. Two customers in three hours isn’t cutting the mustard.”

Vivienne sat down hard on the white plastic chair just inside the restaurant kitchen door. Jules was right, of course; Jules was almost always right. Her restaurant was barely scraping by as it was, and losing money by staying open until the closing time she’d posted on the door made no sense. 

She was tired. Not just regular, I-run-my-ass-off-keeping-a-small-business-going tired, but bone tired. It felt as if she hadn’t stopped moving since Yìzé had passed away. Ten months now. He hadn’t only been her husband, he’d been her best friend. This place had been his dream, his passion. He’d made it work, right out of the gate.

But then he was gone. And he’d taken her heart and soul with him. All she had left were the walls that held his dream and a gigantic space in her life where he used to be. She didn’t know the first thing about cooking or running a business. She’d been a guidance counselor for twenty years. You think I’d be able to guide myself out of this, somehow. But instead she came in every day and worked, unable to let go of what he’d created, as if making huge pans of fried rice and dumplings could keep his spirit here with her somehow. And I drag Juliette along with me. What the hell am I doing?

She knew she needed to let the Chinese restaurant go. She wasn’t honoring Yìzé’s memory running this place into the ground. It was draining her dry of energy and finances. But if I let this go, I have nothing to take its place. She already felt empty and spent; she couldn’t imagine making it worse.

“Customer,” Juliette said softly from where she was restocking the carry-out bags. “The bell just rang. You want me to get it, Viv?”

“No,” Vivinenne sighed, standing up slowly. “I’ve got it. This will be our last order of the night.”

She pushed her way out through the swinging door to the dining room, and the counter where she took carry-out orders.

It took her a moment to recognize the woman who stood there because of the layers of outerwear she had on. Puffy blue boots, a thick ski jacket, a knitted hat, and a scarf pulled up over her face nearly to her eyes. Deborah. 

Deborah was one of her regulars. She lived just a few streets away and was passionate about supporting small, woman-owned businesses. She came in a few times a week, bringing clients in for lunch, complimenting the food, and ordering carry-out for her extended family. They always seemed to be getting together to watch a game, or celebrate someone’s birthday, and Viveinne couldn’t be more grateful for her patronage. There were days where it seemed as if Deborah alone was keeping her kitchen in business. “Everything you make just tastes so fresh,” Deborah would exclaim. “I love it!”

That would be Juliette’s doing, Vivienne would think. She can actually cook, and understands the recipes. And she spent two semesters in China in college.

Just about two weeks ago Deborah had come rushing in to order the largest single order the restaurant had ever had. “My brother’s sick and now everyone is coming to my place for Hanukkah! Shit! Help me!” Deborah had laughed. “There’s like sixty of them!”

And while they had worked out the order together, Vivienne had felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Joy. Deborah’s laughter and merry attitude were contagious; her generosity made Vivienne want to be generous. Deborah was bold, and funny, and opinionated, and Vivienne found herself admiring her. I wish I could be more like that. Deborah felt…alive.

But as Deborah unwound her scarf from her face, Vivienne noticed a change. It wasn’t just the wind and cold that was making Deborah’s face red and her eyes water. She looked like she’d been crying. And her normally bright, warm energy was gone; she looked subdued. Beaten. She looks like me.

Vivienne stared. What’s happened to her?

“Hey,” Deborah said, sniffling and avoiding her eyes. “Um, Merry Christmas. I think you said you celebrate Christmas. I…I’d like to place a carryout order, please.”

And Vivienne found herself having strange thoughts. She felt suddenly fiercely protective of this woman. Tell me who made you cry, she thought. Tell me who stole your light so I can go get it back for you.