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Now, picture me doing the happy dance. This is the fastest any project has come flying out of my fingertips. The horrible weather we’ve been having kept me inside, so I had plenty of time at my desk. Now it’s time to start the revision process. I really enjoyed writing Tirzah and Teka’s story, and now I’m looking forward to rounding out their world a little more. And I have to say, Teka and Tirzah introduced me to some other characters who might just need their own HEA someday. 

 

Please note that this excerpt is from an unedited, unpublished piece. It may change or even be discarded by the final draft. It is shared here in a spirit of fun–to show a glimpse into the world I’m writing and the characters who live there. Enjoy this first look at Tirzah and Teka from Solomon’s Passage.

“Teka…” She breathed. “You’re beautiful.”

His eyes closed and he sat back up, cupping the back of her head in his hands. When his eyes opened, they were full of the haunting she’d noticed earlier. It plucked at her heart and she crooned, a soft shhhhing sound as she stroked her hands down his arms.

“Tirzah, may I see you too?” He asked. She shuddered. She knew this would happen eventually if she accepted his invitation into his quarters. Her body urged her to throw caution to the wind and just do it. His body urged her as well, pulsing against her in hot, hard thrusts. But the little voice in her head, the one that was still afraid, it had pounced on this moment like a dog on a bone. You’re ugly. Damaged. Disgusting. No one wants to see that.

“I can’t.” She whispered, scrambling to get away from him. She stood, her chest heaving with interrupted desire and fear.

“Pixie, please.” He stood, reaching out to her. “Don’t be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.” She said, shaking her head, but holding her arms out protectively between them. The fear was dancing for joy in a tight little circle on her heart. “I’m not, I’m not afraid.” Yes you are and you always will be. Walter made sure you’d know your place.

A sob escaped her then. “No. I’m not.” She reached behind her head and began gathering her hair, twisting and tucking it back into place. Teka was bending over the table, collecting her hair pins. Quietly, slowly, he came to stand behind her and helped her secure them. Clearly their interlude was over.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his voice tight.

She nodded as she turned to face him, nibbling on her lip. “Do I look okay?”

“You look beautiful.” He said. He touched her hair. “Very proper.” His hand skimmed down her heated cheekbones. “The perfect shade of pink.” A finger stroked her bottom lip, coaxing it out from between her teeth. “Like you’ve been kissed by a lover.” He cupped her chin, tilting her head up so he could look in her eyes. “Forgiven.” He smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips before gathering her into his arms in a hug.

“Oh god, Teka.” She breathed. “I’m so sorry.” A sob racked through her as he held her gently, rocking her in his arms. He shushed against her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Tirzah, I don’t know what you’ve endured. But I can see, clearly, that you aren’t ready to engage in a simple no strings affair. You’re not ready to trust me with your body.”

“I want to.” She confessed.

“I think there’s a bit of a disconnect right now between your brain and your libido.” One corner of his lips turned up. “Do you want to talk about what scares you?”

“God, no.” She shook her head. “I was hoping to forget what scares me.”

“Well, sex can definitely make you forget things that are bothering you, but I think what’s going on here is tied to sex for you.”

“I thought you were an archealogist, not a psychologist.” She mumbled, resting her forehead on his still-bare chest. She felt the chuckle rumble through him.

“Pixie, it doesn’t take a psychologist to see that you’re uncomfortable getting naked with me.” He held up his hands when she began to protest. “It’s okay. You just met me. Lust at first sight isn’t the same thing as trust.”

“I came in here willingly. I knew that you were attracted to me. When we sat down on that chaise, I wanted you so much.”

“You changed your mind.” He shrugged. She stared at him in disbelief.

“You can’t be for real.” She felt the words spill from her mouth.

“Because I’m not mad at you for changing your mind?” He looked confused. “Tirzah, I would rather go to bed with blue balls every night for the rest of my life than harm a hair on your head. I don’t know what your husband did to you, but if he made you think that…” He swallowed.

She saw a vein throbbing in his forehead and she inched away from him. He was mad.

“I’m not mad at you.” He whispered. “I just can’t believe what a waste of skin your husband was.”

I’m a little smitten these days with writing my villain. I’m not a particularly religious person, however, living where I do, I am exposed to both the good and the ills of the Christian faith. Among the Christians I know are some of the kindest, most selfless people you could ever meet.

And then there are those who identify as Christian but do not live very Christian lives. My bad guy is one of these, who twists a beautiful faith into something cruel and corrupted. I knew I would be walking a fine line in choosing to characterize my villain as an evangelical Christian, but to be honest, I am finding exposing his corruption is allowing me to explore the issues of faith and skepticism in a more nuanced way than I can with my werewolf hero and heroine, who feel the pull of the Goddess during every full moon, and have never lacked for faith.

So now I have to ask myself: will I give the bad guy a shot at redemption? Or is werewolf vengeance going to bring him down?

 

When I was a little girl, I had a hardbound copy of Black Beauty. I read it cover to cover, and when I finished it, I started over. I must have re-read that book twenty or thirty times over the next few weeks. I loved it so much, I wasn’t ready to let it go. I don’t know what happened to that little blue hardbound book, but I have a new one now, and can’t wait to share it with my own children.

In middle school, I fell in love again, this time with Marion Zimmer Bradley’s “The Firebrand.”  I read and re-read until the spine cracked and the pages were loose. I still have that battered book on my shelf here in my office.

In high school, it was Orson Scott Card’s “Ender’s Game.” I’m on my fourth paperback copy now. When I did my study abroad in college, I realized on the plane that I had forgotten my copy. So, upon arrival in Paris, I marched down to the nearest bookstore and picked up a copy in french so I wouldn’t be without it. (the french title is Le Strategie Ender)

More recently, I read Audrey Niffenegger’s “The Time Traveler’s Wife” and it had a similar effect. I’m now on my second copy of that book, having read and re-read the first to tatters.

Every book I read between these touches me somehow, but some of them have the emotional impact of a friendly person at the grocery check-out. We become familiar, they say hi and remember my kids, but we aren’t smitten with each other.

The great literary love affairs suck all the air out of the room until I’m dizzy with it and can’t get enough. Until I’ve bitten down my nails to ragged stubs and chewed my bottom lip half off.  So I guess when it comes to my books, I’m a romantic, always looking for my next great love, but happy to make lots of friends along the way.