Archives for posts with tag: #tuesdayteaser

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Rehab is For Witches

“We will make direct amends to such beings whenever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.”

Some witches might have bent the rules. A teensy bit.

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Potions do NOT equal consent!
Rehab is For Witches

potions

BN: http://bit.ly/1QhszBz
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Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000447_00008]

Focussing hard, he gently pushed down on the door lever, popping it open with a soft click and letting a crack of light through. From where he stood, he could make out a small child laid on the bed, still as death, tubes all over his body leading to complicated-looking machines. Ryder closed his eyes shut for a second, needing to stop himself from running away from the private room. It hurt his heart to see the pitiful boy lying there with pale skin, no flush of youth colouring his cheeks. A woman was seated by the boy’s side on a green plastic chair, but Ryder couldn’t see her face. A cloud of blond hair, tousled and long, fell down her back in waves, over the summery, bohemian dress she wore long to her ankles. Her hand was closed around the child’s, and Ryder could hear the sniffles of her preventing herself from crying.
As he hovered in the doorway, she spoke softly to the boy. “Oh, Thomas. Come back to me.” Her voice cracked on a sob, and a tissue was produced from her other hand, wrinkled from earlier use. “I need you, little man. You’re all I really have in the world. The most important person in my life.” Her golden head bent, and she whispered, “Don’t leave me.”
I can’t hang about eavesdropping. Time to get on with it. Clearing his throat loudly, almost dramatically so, Ryder swept the door open in a rush and stepped into the room, hoping she wouldn’t notice. Wait—what the hell are you doing? She can’t see you anyway. For a second, the cardinal rule floated around his head, but he brushed it away angrily.
The woman looked up towards him with glassy green eyes, her anguish reflected in their depths, and she sniffed loudly as she forced a smile onto her face. Hurriedly scrubbing at her face, she gave a hollow laugh. “Sorry, doctor, I didn’t see you there. Don’t mind me.”
Doctor? Oh, shit…she can see me. What the hell? Frozen to the spot, Ryder opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish gasping for air. His pulse became a livewire again, drying his throat with panic. The woman continued staring at him questioningly without looking away, raising her eyebrows and offering a sad smile when he didn’t make any sound. Snapping his mouth closed, Ryder managed a wry smile, brightly replying, “Please, it’s fine. It’s okay to be upset.” I don’t understand this. How can she see me? Greek has some explaining to do. I can’t take the boy while she’s here though. Hell, maybe I can console her a bit. Ankou and Morrigan wouldn’t mind that, right?
“Maybe, but I know I need to keep my spirits up, too.” Rising up sharply, the woman held a hand out, scrunching the worn tissue tightly in her other hand like a comfort blanket. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. New, yes? I’m Elizabeth Davies, Thomas’ mother.”
“I’m, er…Doctor Thompson. Yeah, I’m new. I’m…sorry about your little boy.” Thank fuck I’ve got a common surname.
Elizabeth cocked her head, shrugging her shoulders. “Thanks. He’s going to be okay though. I know it.” Another nervous laugh. “I know you guys say otherwise, but…I know my little man. He doesn’t give up without a fight.” She gazed down at the still child for a moment, her lip wobbling, before she burst into tears once more.
“Oh! Mrs Davies, please sit down,” Ryder gushed, racing to her side. Forgetting for a second that he had to concentrate his energies, his hand slipped through the small of her back, but she didn’t seem to notice. Charging himself, he placed his hand around her shoulders, helping her sit down as he moved his palm to rub small circles on her back. Crouching down, he smiled up into her tear-streaked face, suddenly taken by how much more beautiful she was up close. Tiny freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, and her lips were so pink they were almost blushing. “You’re right,” he agreed vehemently. Regardless of his mission, he had to give her some hope. At least at this moment. It wouldn’t be right to take that away from her. “It doesn’t matter what we say. We’re often wrong, you know.”
“Yeah?” Elizabeth asked, hope lighting her features for a moment.
Reaching over to squeeze her hand, Ryder whispered, “Yeah. So you hang onto that. Thomas will wake up, you’ll see.” What the fuck are you doing, Ryder? Grim Reaper, remember? You’re meant to take him to the Otherworld, not tell her he might wake up. He gazed up at the hope shining in her eyes, and he collapsed under her stare. Fuck it. Maybe he will wake up. Maybe Ankou and Morrigan are wrong about him. Ryder glanced around the room, frowning as he noted a ghostly figure of the little boy wasn’t anywhere in the room. After all…he’s not floating around like Abigail was. Shit, that’s it. He’s not going to die. Surely. It was the only explanation. Why else wouldn’t he be here? Although in his heart of hearts, Ryder knew it probably meant nothing, he couldn’t take Thomas away from Elizabeth just yet. Not when she was so broken. He knew how it felt.

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The fire crackled loudly, and popped as a log fell down into the coals. The room was in total darkness except for the warm light from the fire. A black leather chair was in front, high-backed and shining in the light. A deep, smooth voice sounded from it, calling for someone.
“William! Bring me that map! I need to work out where our little friend is going. I have an idea, but it never hurts to be sure.”
There was a hurried movement from the end of the room as someone inclined their head, and then slid out through the door. The figure in the chair shifted, clearing their throat.
A hand appeared over the arm of the chair, a refined, strong hand. It looked as though it belonged to a man. A man who had never done a day’s work in his life—a rich man.
The flickering light of the fireplace revealed other areas of the room. Tall mahogany bookcases lined the walls, filled with rich literature of every kind, on every subject. There was a large painting hanging above the fireplace, in a classical style. It showed a young man, dressed in the costume of the aristocracy in seventeenth-century England. His face was handsome, and yet had an undeniably cruel look about it. The fireplace was carved out of almost black marble, glinting in the fading and rising light.
The figure sighed contentedly, and stretched in the chair, making the fabric squeak with the sudden movement. The figure that had rapidly disappeared through the main door reappeared again, holding a rolled up map in their hands.
They passed the map to the person in the chair, inclining their head once more as they did so. The figure grabbed the map, almost snatching it. After a few seconds of silence, the figure spoke, in his suave rich voice.
“So, it would appear he is coming to us—up to his beloved Scotland. To his home, I’ll wager. I wonder who the woman is that has made him return to us?”
“Sir…if I may be so bold…even if he comes up here, I don’t think you’ll have much chance of getting him to do as you wish. After all, he believes-“ The figure, timidly speaking, was cut off by the rich-voiced stranger in the armchair.
“Are you arguing with me?” The figure spoke quietly, but the voice dripped with venom. As he spoke, the flames from the fire burst upwards, as though also fanned by his fury.
“N..no, Sir, I would not dream of-“
“Because you know how I deal with insubordinates, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir, I beg your pardon, I wasn’t thinking.”
“Yes. I do believe that is the problem. You weren’t thinking.” The fingers of the hand drummed a steady rhythm. The man who had brought in the map swallowed nervously.
“But I do think-“
The figure never got to finish their sentence. The stranger in the chair moved his hand, as though directing something invisible towards the figure. A great flame shot out from the fire, following the path of the stranger’s hand, and flew onto the timid figure.
He screamed in agony, rolling in pain on the carpet, somehow not setting fire to anything else. The flames grew and licked at him, turning his skin black and cracked, his mouth still open in an endless scream. He became more frantic as the flames grew hungrier, flapping at himself wildly, trying to beat the flames off. After a few minutes, the figure slowed his movements, eventually ceasing effort altogether.
The figure in the armchair beckoned to the flames, which leapt from the charred servant lying on the floor in a terrified pose…one he would forever be trapped in. The flames lingered on the stranger’s wrist for a second, wrapping around it as though it were a snake. The figure in the chair spoke to it softly, lovingly, as a mother would her child. The flames licked at him for a second, before leaping back into the fire.
“I hate backchat,” the figure murmured to himself, his voice smoothly ringing around the room.

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Watching Erin slowly make her way through the dark living room with Rob leaning heavily against her shoulder, Conner went over the mental list of things he needed in his head. “Passports, money…we don’t need anything else, I hope,” he muttered to himself, darting his eyes about for anything else he could have missed. Seeing in the dark was easy, listening for any tiny noise was not. He didn’t have any idea where the wolves had gone, no idea why they were here.
He walked through into the kitchen, swinging the bag up on his shoulder. He was about to open the front door, when a sudden waft of metallic blood around him hit his nostrils. Mouth welling with saliva, he muttered, “No, Conner.” His hands trembled like an alcoholic’s. Swallowing, he tried to ignore the coffee table in the living room, slathered in blood and chunks of the other wolf’s flesh. He closed his eyes, savouring the scent that sang to him in tones only heard by the few.
As if hypnotised, Conner dropped the bag from his shoulder, staggering towards the bloodied room. The memories of that nectar. Before he knew what he was doing, Conner let his hand go out to the large pool of liquid dripping from the edge of the dark wood, almost as though his hand was possessed by someone other than himself.
Conner let his fingertips lovingly trace a circle in the blood. Lifting his hand to his face, he stared half in lust, half in disgust at the redness on his fingertips. “Hello, old friend,” he murmured. Without thinking for a second further, he thrust them into his mouth, sucking the blood off with a licentious moan. His eyes slammed shut with the force of the ecstasy he felt. The metallic sweetness had a shocking effect to his senses. He felt stronger, more powerful, more alive, more like himself. His canines slid out. I need more. So long since I’ve had this…
Almost driven by an unseen force, he leaned down and licked the small table with abandon. Conner moaned in rapture as he tasted the life-giving liquid, growling in response to the wolf inside him, urging him on.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a moonbeam falling across the werewolf’s hand, still sprawled on the floor where he had left it. Curled in its grasp was a rolled curl of paper. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Conner stooped and retrieved it, unfurling the short letter with trepidation.
Bring her home. Bring our Queen home.
Conner snapped to his senses with a jolt.
He heard the clunk of Erin’s car doors closing, and the sound made him realise what the hell he was doing. He hurriedly wiped off the corners of his mouth with the thumb of his shaking hand, wiping it on the back of his jeans. Leaning away from his temptation, he steadied himself. What have I done? He took a deep breath and stepped quickly to the back door.
Part of him felt disgusted at what he had just done, but part of him felt elated, and loved the old, powerful, familiar rush of power surging through his body, awakening the wolf inside.
He hoped it wouldn’t last.

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000447_00008]

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Rehab is for Witches – A Diary Full of Names – Dierdra Lovelace
“We will make a list of all persons or beings we have harmed, and become willing to make amends to them all.”
Welcome to Little Raven, a town…for witches…
BN: http://bit.ly/1QhszBz
Kobo: http://bit.ly/1FZeBUC
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Goodreads: http://bit.ly/1Jvmkoe
US: http://amzn.to/1R8mdVL
UK: http://amzn.to/1iBDFGk
CA: http://amzn.to/1LdtXqM

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This book is available for #free – why not check it out?

Amazon U.S.
http://amzn.to/1OSYkUi

Amazon UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Vigilante-Shadows-Scarlet-Rain-Book-ebook/dp/B00AFHIO06/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1445896908&sr=8-1&keywords=B00AFHIO06

Amazon Canada:
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Aodhan sat up in a cold sweat, breathing heavily. Realising he had been dreaming, he groaned and put a hand to his head, closing his eyes. The bright chinks of sunlight peeping through his window speared into his eyes, temporarily blinding him.
Yawning, he pulled the twisted covers from around his legs, still trying to shake off the cold chill of his dream. He must have been moving about a lot during the night, which was why he was so tangled up in the heavy fabrics. He swung his legs over the side of his bed, and sat there for a second, resting his hands on the mattress. It squeaked as he stood up and stretched, reaching over for his jeans.
The old stairs out on the landing creaked beneath his weight as he made his way downstairs. The staircase looked much the same as the hallway, the same patterned wallpaper continuing up the stairs.
Padding across the floor in his bare feet, Aodhan crossed to the front door, stooping to pick up the local paper that had been pushed through his letterbox. He passed through into his kitchen, the early morning sunlight streaming in through the 1930’s style French doors, glinting off the brass handles. The dirty laminate tops were even worse in the bright light.
Clicking the kettle on, Aodhan shuffled over to his kitchen table and scraped a chair out, sitting down on it heavily. Blinking to clear away any sleep, he unfolded the paper, shaking it to even out the creases.
His eyes widened as he scanned the headline on the front page.
‘BRUTAL KILLINGS IN YORK BACKSTREETS’
Groaning, he sank his head into his hands. He thought he had been careful. He didn’t think anyone would come across it, at least for a while. They hadn’t found his last two ‘cases’, so he didn’t think they would find this one. Obviously he was being watched.
That meant he hadn’t finished the case.

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