Alistair's mouth went dry. There was much the world didn't know, and much he still questioned, but even he couldn't determine what was true and what was just make-believe folklore.
“Come by tomorrow, Lloyd, and I will have a check ready for you,” he said, then nodded his head, dismissing the older man.
Was he the monster doing all the damage and causing calamity?
He shuddered to think that this beast of what he must become was the same one killing. This meant, he'd have to reach out to Freyja again. Why would she require him to take part in such horrible acts? But he didn’t remember a thing of such attacks.
“I have a proposition,” Lloyd said. “I think we can catch it, but I’m going to need a little more money to get all of the people to agree and join in on the hunt. It will take a lot to catch Nessie.”
Alistair frowned again. “I’m sorry. I thought we were talking about the tenants and the land, not hunting Nessie.”
“Aye sir, but that is why the tourist come here. If we can catch Nessie, then we could save our sheep, and imagine the fame the area would get—all of the tourists.”
Alistair could almost imagine it. Lloyd had been seeking one scheme or another since they’d met, and even after working as the castle’s caretaker all of these years, he was still looking for a quick way out.
“Are you not happy here, Lloyd?”
“Of course, sir. This job gives me almost everything I want.”
“Almost?”
“Well, I do think there is more you could be doing to get along with the town’s folk. Throwing open the doors and allowing them a gander around might help.”
Alistair sighed. Every couple of fortnights passed until the next conversation came up about money; Nessie or the town’s people. But he couldn’t blame Lloyd, as the runes still guarded him from seeing the truth throughout the castle. Instead, it appeared just like any other historical structure. He didn’t need to see the ghosts or other supernaturals walking around.
“But Nessie’s been swimming these waters since at least 546 A.D., when it was first sighted... We should capitalize on that and draw in more tourists. That could mean a new world for the town.”
Alistair tried to find a way to let the old man down gently, but so far, he’d been unable to do so. “We’re a little sleepy town and like it that way. Plus, if we catch Nessie, then it will drive all of the other towns on and near the Loch out of business. Remember, we have to think about our kin.”
7
Leslie
“You have to get over your sea sickness,” Claudine said.
I shook my head as if I agreed, but to be honest, there were worse things in life than not being able to take two steps without getting nauseous. I kept my food down, but at a price. I stayed hanging over the rail. That was better than remembering the strangeness from the sigil.
I could’ve sworn someone was there.
“Today is all about you performing.” It was her way of telling me that the cruise was about work; me hustling to remain a brand name even after flopping with the latest release and contract.
“What's on my plate for this afternoon? I asked.
“Well, you have the author meet and greet on Deck C, with the other romance authors from the Fleur group.”
“Why was I signed up for that? I don't write French books, nor are my books translated into French.”
The cruise had been booked prior to my knowing that the anvil was going to fall. If this had been an Acme movie, there would be tons of gags to pull, but this was life.
“No worries. Surely, you'll have enough to talk about and even some rabid fans. Did you send out your newsletter inviting your readers?”
I scratched my head and wondered why I had an assistant.
“That’s what you were supposed to be doing,” I mumbled.
“Well, too late now. You might want to stop grabbing on to that metal pole as if it were going to save your life. This sea breeze isn't helping either. You have to go and engage with your readers.”
I felt like a fraud, letting go of my comfortable nausea for a discomforting smile. Imagine having spent years creating something to have it all go “poof” overnight, and then to have to declare it still a success the very next morning.
My walk from the main deck to C deck was filled with gloom and doom, or at least what I wanted to equate it too. The ship rocked, passengers bypassed me, and with each step, my hands began to sweat, my stomach flip-flopped and beads of sweat dripped down my brow. My mouth parched, I attempted to swallow to create some saliva to relieve what felt like the sands of the Sahara Desert.
Upon arriving to the venue, I noticed the three tables set up—and two of them had lively banners, with cover models showing off their detailed six-packs and hardly any face, colorful table cloths, and amazing swag all set up. Yet, on my table rested a simple white name shield—and my name was misspelled.
“You know, in my day, people cared about their appearance,” Gran began.
“Shh.” I clenched my teeth, sighed and eased my brow. The tension in my shoulders sought to keep me from standing there tall and proud, because what I felt was almost overpowering.
“Ms. Love?” asked an attendant. She reached out and I shook her hand. “Thank you so much for coming. Your books are under your table. Since we were not able to get them to be returnable, any books that you don't sell, you will need to reimburse us the cost.”
“But my publisher...”
“Yes, they stated that you would be fine with that.” She then handed me a copy of the email exchange between her and Maurice.
“I told you those people would rip you off,” Gran whispered.
I gritted my teeth and a laugh erupted. To my own ears it sounded harsh, uncomfortable even. It reminded me of the cutting-edge sound that a maid might make to the child who happened to order her about—unable to chastise him for fear of losing her job; it was the smile that resulted from stress, fear; the smile that resulted from a quagmire's plight.
Here I stood, needing the money—could I even say that? I'd taken my last pittance, betting on a new contract, a new book deal, and a new bout of sales to send me erupting from the red to the black. I'd paid with blood, sweat, tears and my own needs be damned. I'd poured my soul into words that many refused to read. Still, there I stood, and I knew she saw it too—the fraudulent writer who couldn’t speak of success, but of mistakes, failures, and even more missteps.
“That should be fine. With all of these people here, I don't foresee any problems.”
“Of course, don't forget we have the luncheon right after this, and then another signing time. You'll be seated at a table with readers who stated they enjoy your genre. Then you can engage them, build a relationship.”
“I believe in getting to know my readers,” I said. “It's not about if they buy something from me.”
She nodded her head as if she understood, but I knew she didn't. For her, a business was based on if the company's bottom line produced revenue, not if the company increased its social engagement.
“Readers are so much more than dollars and cents,” I said.
“That might be the case, but don't forget the stipulations in the contract that you still have to fulfill.” She let the rest hang. It seemed like my situation was indeed well-known. My contract for work may not have been renewed for an additional project, but it was still expected that I perform according to the contract I was under.
She turned away, and I noticed two other women walking toward me with speaker ribbons on their name tags. They seemed to be deep in a pleasant conversation as their laughter reached my ears.
“Ladies,” the attendant said. “I’m so happy you could make it, especially with your schedules. I must say, you two are amazing, and I love your French heroes. Jean-Luc is so dreamy and Pasquale is just amazing. Maybe you two might collaborate on a future project,” she gushed.
In that moment, extreme peace descended over me. That was why I wrote books. Not
to be idolized, but for characters to become three-dimensional people that readers connected with, and the great thing about romance is that jealousy wasn't something that needed to exist. The pie was big enough for all of us. I moved forward in greeting.
“Hi, I'm Leslie Love. You must be Beverley Hyacinth Madeline and Florence Plusherson.”
We smiled at each other and moved around the table.
“We're so excited to be here,” Beverly began. “This is my first Woo-Cruise, and it’s just so exciting. Don't you agree Florence?”
“It's like a girl’s night out with tons of hot men for eye candy. So far, I've met so many wonderful readers, and did I mention the hot men?” she snickered.
“Don't say that too loud, or your husband back in Texas will hear you.”
“What happens on the Woo-Cruise stays on the Woo-Cruise,” she said. “Besides, there is nothing wrong with looking, and he gave me tons of one-dollar bills.”
“I don't think we're supposed to be making it rain like at a strip club,” I said.
“Oh no, that’s not what I do with them,” Florence said. “I give myself a dollar for every time I don't give in to temptation. I hate to see money left on the table, even my own. But there’s this one model here that is fierce. He did a lot of those vampire and shifter covers. Mesmerizing eyes; muscles that are so hard and throbbing.” She began to fan herself. “Such kissable lips.”
“Florence,” Beverly said. “I'm not sure Jim’s going to be happy with you all hot and bothered about this.”
“Jim?” I asked.
“Her husband and my brother. She's my sister-in-law.”
Florence began to fan herself with her nameplate.
I took a step back. I could feel my eyes widen. If she was getting hot and bothered by talking about a handsome man, what was this woman going to do when the cover models showed up in the next couple of minutes?
“Well, they are just playing parts. We don't invite strange men back to our bunks,” Beverly chastised.
“But what if I really, really want to? I mean, I love your brother and all, but my imagination is satisfying me more than he is. I swear, he's cheating on me with his damn secretary—yeah, cliché, I know, but I can't find any other reason why he's lost interest in me. I started writing some erotica, right—something to get him to read—and he won't pick it up. I'll sit there for hours wearing my best lingerie, and he doesn't even notice. Something is definitely wrong, and I'm sort of sure it's not me.”
“Florence, I didn't know.”
“Well, there's a lot you don't know. So, if I choose to sit in a corner, drink my margarita and undress a handsome model with my eyes, it’s because that's the closest I'm going to get to getting laid anytime soon.”
Before Beverly could respond, a group of readers showed up and made a beeline for the two women, leaving me at my pretty empty table to stare at them.
Whoever this cover model was that she was interested in seemed to keep Florence hot and bothered.
Of course, as that thought popped into my head, Donovan also showed up.
8
Alistair
Not too many people would notice him if he snuck on board, he surmised, and at the nearest chance, he boarded the ship.
He aligned with the cruise ship and hopped on board. Then grabbing the stern of his boat, he lifted it from the water and folded it up until it fit nicely into his pocket. That was one of the many great things about having a magical ship, after all. Not to mention, not wanting to get wet—appearing as a dragon might have been too frightful—that he knew all too well.
The cruise ship was alive with people. They were everywhere—and loud. Of course, seeing all of the banners with half-naked men made him question exactly what type of ship he was on. Some of the men were dressed as Highlanders, others as Vikings, and Arab Princes, and still others had on modern day suits with ties they liked to wiggle. Even more men walked around with fake axes they liked to swing, and swords they didn't know how to hold.
Of course, Freyja hadn’t said which ship he was to sneak onto, and dog’s bullocks, at least this one here came with an open bar and more food than he’d ever seen.
“Are you lost?” asked a blonde woman dressed like a Viking Thrall.
“Is there something happening on this ship that I don't know?”
She leaned over and touched his arm. “Oh, you’re so muscular. I just had to touch and see if it was real.”
Alistair stepped back and straightened. “I don't like to be touched.”
“Then how is it that you’re a romance cover model? All of these women on this ship will be fawning over you.”
“Uh... romance book covers?”
There was a reason he avoided humans. Some thought that he should be petted, felt up, and the thought of their “come hither” glances were nothing more than repulsive to him. He wasn’t asexual, he enjoyed a good romp. But some of these women were so hungry for male attention, he wished he’d sent Killian on this trip.
Killian would have found a way to lay every woman here flat on her back.
The lady shoved a book down the front of his pants and gave it a pat.
“Just want to make sure there’s no false advertisement,” she cooed.
“If you'll excuse me.” He meandered through the crowd, and somehow or another discovered the pool area with half-dressed women and men dancing and splashing water. Bright lights flashed in the background, and loud music reverberated throughout the room. “Party!” someone yelled, then splashed into the pool beside him.
Alistair didn't know a lot about romance novels. He retrieved the one from his pants, and glanced at the passionate cover on the front of what appeared to be a Highlander romance with a lot of wind. The author’s name, Leslie Love, was scrawled across the front in a fancy, soft pink calligraphic font.
“It's true. This is Helheim.”
9
Leslie
We’d made our stop at port, and I was happy to stay behind. But as the ship refilled, it wouldn’t be too much longer before we left Inverness behind.
“There are some fine-looking men here,” Claudine said. She took a seat at my table and began to ogle the numerous male specimens that found their way in viewing distance. Her head turned, following the latest man who walked by wearing Chinos and deck shoes. She picked up her fruity drink, which I’d noticed she’d been sipping on all day.
I yawned, and took a sip of my water to wake up. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate the handsome specimen onboard, but cover models didn't usually do it for me. I liked manly men. Men that looked like they could hold their sword and do something with it.
“Yeah, but they’re just not my type,” I said.
“Is it because of that whole beige rage?”
I frowned. “I like men; strong men, with defined abs, sculptured shoulders and strong jaws.” I began to fan myself. “He can be blue for all I care. He just has to know how to woo me.”
“Girl, this is more of a booze cruise than a woo cruise. If you wanted that, we should have taken a single's cruise.”
I smirked. The last time we'd done that, she'd left with an STD, and I with my credit card overdrawn, planning that the next royalty check would pay it all off. Nope.
“If you want to know the truth, all I want to do is try and relax some, clear my mind and let all of that bullshit go.”
“You and me both.” Claudine turned at the latest man crossing the threshold into author central, and sighed. He must not have tickled her fancy. “I’m going down to the pool.”
“I thought you were devouring all the lobster you could eat.”
“Trust me, I’m having some delivered to the room every night I’m here. Yum.”
“Don't forget they have a nice spa area too,” I called after Claudine. She threw me a wave and headed towards the beautiful blue pool. Her pink flip-flops thunked against the deck paneling, and as I stirred my lemon-ice water, I felt a pair of eyes staring at me.
Turn
ing, I saw a beautiful man who made me pause mid-stir. My hair fell forward over my sunglasses, covering my eyes.
Now, I'd seen pretty men before; I'd seen extremely handsome men before, but this one—he put them all to shame. Tall, six feet two, distinguished, as though he wore the outfit and not the other way around. His ink-black hair hung in long luscious waves, and his beard; neatly trimmed, covered a mouth that quirked at my gaze.
My mouth went dry.
“May I help you, Miss?” His accent was filled with a Londonesque ease, and his eyes as inviting as cool silk on a summer day. He was decadent. I licked my lips. I hated to blink. I could drown in that gaze. A strange feeling lapped in the pit of my belly, churning.
“Um, I was just trying to get my thoughts straight,” I answered.
He smiled a Trident commercial smile.
“Can I help?”
Charming? Check.
Before I could agree, we were interrupted by the model I'd been avoiding.
“There you are,” Donovan said.
I shuddered hearing his voice. He'd somehow gotten fixated on me and wouldn't leave me alone.
“One moment,” I said, and turned away from Mr. Walk-out-of-my-dreams.
“I've been looking for you,” Donovan continued.
“Sorry, I was here talking to—” I turned around and the mystery man was gone. Had I imagined him? Had he been there and just vanished?
“Who were you talking to?” Donovan asked.
I swiveled my head searching for the handsome man, but he'd disappeared like a soft caress.
“Guess I've been in the sun too long.”
“Well, if you don't hurry, you'll be late for the next thing on your schedule.” He proceeded to pull out a piece of paper that had my itinerary on it.
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