by Radclyffe
Synopsis
Bold Strokes Books romance authors give readers a glimpse into the lives of favorite couples celebrating special moments “after the honeymoon ends.” These short stories from Ali Vali, Clifford Henderson, Lee Lynch, Lisa Girolami, Megan O'Brien, Nell Stark and Trinity Tam, Radclyffe, Winter Pennington, and a dozen others provide touching moments in love stories that need no introduction and also offer a special treat to those who have read the original courtships. Enjoy a new look at lesbians in love or revisit favorite characters from some of Bold Strokes Books' best selling romances.
Breathless: Tales of Celebration
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Breathless: Tales of Celebration
© 2010 By Bold Strokes Books. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-60282-495-9
This electronic book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.,
New York, USA
First Edition: December 2010
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editors: Radclyffe and Stacia Seaman
Production Design: Stacia Seaman
Cover Design By Bold Strokes Graphics
Introduction
When we close the book on happily ever after, we do so with a feeling of satisfaction. The lovers have met challenges, overcome obstacles, and ultimately have found their way to a future together. And yet, we wonder: What does the future hold for these characters? Once the dizzying rush of new love fades, what takes its place? After a lifetime together, will their bond remain strong?
In Breathless: Tales of Celebration, twenty-one authors revisit some of their favorite characters to show us the entire spectrum of love: from giddy infatuation to lifetime commitment, from buying a home to starting a family, from asking “Do I?” to saying, “I do.”
Radclyffe and Stacia Seaman 2010
Winter Pennington is the author of Witch Wolf and Raven Mask, the Kassandra Lyall Preternatural Investigator series. She is currently working on Darkness Embraced: A Rosso Lussuria Vampire Novel, which will be published in 2011. She is an avid practitioner of nature-based spirituality and enjoys spending her spare time studying mythology from around the world. The Celtic path is very close to her heart. She has an uncanny fascination with swords and daggers, and a fondness for feeding loud and obnoxious corvids. She can be contacted at [email protected], or visit her blog at www.winterpennington.blogspot.com.
“Harvest Sins” takes place in the time between Raven Mask and Bloody Claws, the planned third book in the Kassandral Lyall series.
Harvest Sins
Winter Pennington
Detective Arthur Kingfisher smiled at me as I entered the double doors of the Oklahoma City Police Department. I did not return the smile. It was ten o’clock in the morning. I do not make a habit of smiling at the person responsible for waking me up. In my experience, it only encourages them.
Lady knew, it wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last time I lost precious sleep just to help the police.
Holding a recycled paper coffee cup in my hands like a lifeline, I skirted around an officer in a dark blue uniform. I’d managed to convince myself that swinging by Starbucks and spending five dollars on a cup of white mocha goodness was not frivolous, it was necessary. Thank the corporate gods they were open on Thanksgiving.
“Heya, Kass.” A lock of sandy brown hair fell over Arthur’s eyes and he pushed it back. Arthur approached me wearing a light blue men’s dress shirt and navy slacks. White penguins romped on his black tie.
Arthur had been promoted to detective not long ago. I was still trying to get used to seeing him in a tie. He wasn’t a tie kind of guy. A tie with penguins, however, was another story.
“Morning,” I grumbled.
“Aren’t you just bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?” His very blue eyes sparkled with cheer.
I had a moment to think if only you knew before taking a long swig of coffee. Arthur didn’t know, so I was safe. “Where’s the surveillance footage you wanted me to take a look at?”
“What, were you up all night banging Vampira?” He gave a cheesy smile.
I didn’t answer his question, since it wasn’t any of his business.
“Her name is Lenorre, not Vampira. She’s a Countess, Arthur. Show some respect.”
Lenorre was one of the head countess vampires of Oklahoma. Every state has a handful of counts and countesses that oversee the vampire community. Lenorre’s sovereign trickled through Oklahoma City and the surrounding area. I’m not exactly sure how many counts and countesses are in Oklahoma, as I’d never really thought to ask Lenorre, but I do know for sure that there is another countess in Tulsa. Okay, so sometimes the media can be informative.
Lenorre and I had been dating for a while. We’d only taken our relationship to the level of sleeping together a few weeks ago. She’d surprised me on my birthday by buying a new shoulder holster to replace the one she’d broken. She’d worked something out with my friend, Rupert, who owns a gun shop in the city. Rupert, like me, is a licensed paranormal hunter. Both Rupert and I legally hunt down bad paranormals that the local cops usually can’t catch due to, well, a number of reasons.
Though, unlike me, Rupert had never been a cop. Also, unlike me, Rupert wasn’t a lycanthrope working with the police and hiding what he was from them.
After having been infected with lycanthropy three years ago, I quit the force and became a preternatural private investigator. I get to make my own hours and no one looks at me funny for never working the night of the full moon.
Arthur eyed me speculatively as he led the way back to the interrogation room. “Damn, you’re kind of grumpy.”
“Kind of?”
“You’re no fun this early.” He practically pouted. I had thought friend and beta werewolf of the Blackthorne pack, Rosalin Walker, was one of the cheeriest morning persons I knew. Apparently, I had sorely underestimated Arthur’s morning abilities.
I frowned as he held the pale brown paint-chipped door open. Two folding chairs had been pulled out into the middle of the room. The table that was normally in the center was hugging the far wall to make room for a television set on a rolling cart.
I dropped into a chair next to Arthur. He grabbed the remote, and the reflective blank screen blinked to life. I knew the surveillance footage was from a gas station, but beyond that I had no idea what would be on the tape. I didn’t know whether to steel myself or not. I took a deep calming breath, trying to ignore the harsh bite of Arthur’s cologne.
The camera showed the back of an employee’s blond head. The camera angle was wide enough to reveal most of the store with only a few blind spots. The store wasn’t large, four aisles, a row of glass doors lining the far right wall, a single glass door set into white brick at the end of a candy aisle.
If someone had ducked down behind the counter in front of the employee, I wouldn’t have seen them.
The door opened and two figures in matching black jeans, sweaters, and black ski masks entered. It was then that I knew Arthur was making me watch a robbery, but why I wasn’t so certain. Unless a crime had to do with the preternatural, the cops didn’t call
me in.
I leaned forward. “Pause.”
Arthur hit a button on the remote, pausing the video. I compared the height marker in the doorway to both of the robber’s masked heads. If you’ve ever wondered why most gas stations have these, now you know. It gives the police a better idea of a suspect’s height.
“The first person is about five-six,” I said. “Could be male or female.” The second robber was close behind. Arthur pressed Play and the second robber entered, then the door closed. The tape froze again.
“The second one, I’m pretty sure is female. She’s close to my height. There aren’t many men that are around five-one.”
Of course, Arthur had probably watched the video several times by now, but even so, he was quiet and allowed me to check off my own markers. It would help us avoid missing anything.
The two approached the counter. The woman wasn’t wearing lipstick, which was a smart move, but even if her breasts weren’t obvious under the sweater, her build and height still told me she was female. If she’d been wearing makeup, it’d have been a dead giveaway.
One of the first things you learn when examining a crime scene is this: always expect your perpetrator to do something stupid. Crime is not perfect. People are not perfect. At some point or another, everyone fucks up. My job was to find their fuck-ups.
“It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment,” I said. “They’re both wearing gloves. Whatever they’re about to do was premeditated.”
Arthur nodded his agreement. “Keep watching. You’ll see.”
I kept watching. The woman in the video fell behind and kept an eye on the door. The other robber stepped up to the counter, lips moving. The employee opened the cash register and started handing money to the robber.
The masked robber took enough time to count the bills that I noticed the large hands inside the black gloves. I would’ve put money down that the robber was male. How he’d so easily persuaded the employee without a weapon, I didn’t know.
The masked woman paced in the background, her body language jerky and quick, like she was uncomfortable and scared. Her dark eyes kept flicking to the door, as if she was considering running out at any moment.
The masked robber raised his face and gave the camera the full weight of his blue-green eyes. He smiled, showing the dainty tips of elongated canines.
“Well, crap,” I said, watching the two black figures exit the building. “That explains how he persuaded the employee without a weapon.”
Arthur turned the television off.
“We know he’s a vampire. What do you think about her?” Arthur asked.
“If she is, she’s new to it,” I said. “Vampires control their body language very well. She didn’t. She was scared and jumpy. Have you questioned the employee?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He doesn’t remember anything.”
“If he didn’t remember anything, how could he have remembered to call the police? If the vampire had wiped his mind, he wouldn’t have even bothered calling you, Arthur. You said earlier this happened around five thirty this morning? That’s cutting it awfully close to sunrise. Vampires are quick, but if his lair is halfway across town…” I shook my head, thinking furiously. If the vampire would cut it that close to sunrise, his daylight resting place had to be close by.
“It doesn’t make sense, does it?”
“No, it doesn’t. Your vampire didn’t even call his power.”
Arthur looked at me as if I’d started speaking another language he was trying very hard to understand. “Call his power? How can you tell when they do that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know if it shows on camera, but their eyes and skin change. They don’t glow, not exactly. You remember seeing someone’s eyes under bright lights when they’re highly emotional? How the color seems to get richer and more vivid?” Arthur nodded. “That’s how it is. Their skin is naturally kind of luminous, but it becomes even more so when they call their power. It looks like your vamp didn’t say anything to the employee other than asking for the money. Usually, when they go all vampiric and start playing head games, they give a verbal command of forgetting. He didn’t say anything after taking the money.”
“Do they always have to say something?”
A memory of Lenorre going all vampiric on Arthur swam to the surface. When we’d first met, Lenorre had been helping me locate a really nasty werewolf. We’d taken Claire Delaine, a woman who had been attacked by the werewolf, away from the police and under our wing. Lenorre had given Arthur the verbal command to forget everything, and I knew from personal experience that her eyes had changed with her power. Her very gray eyes turned to liquid silver, surreal, stunning, and a little unnerving.
Of course, I didn’t tell Arthur that my girlfriend had wiped his mind. That would have defeated the purpose. The last he knew he’d taken Claire somewhere safe and she was off living a happy and preternatural-free life. The truth was, she had been infected with lycanthropy, and with Rosalin and the rest of the Blackthorne pack’s help was learning how to adjust to life on the wild side.
“From what I know, yeah,” I said. “Is the employee still here?”
“We sent him home,” he said, standing. “But we can go talk to him and ask him why he doesn’t remember anything. I’ll drive.”
On the way out I checked the clock on my cell phone and cursed under my breath.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to drive out to my parents’ tonight. Even though I’m pagan, I do take part in Thanksgiving with my folks. This year, both of my parents had gone to visit my mother’s brother in Missouri. So my sister and brother and I had agreed to an early Thanksgiving. That being done with and out of the way, Rosalin was supposed to make dinner at Lenorre’s.
I fished the black sunglasses out of my coat pocket and exhaled a deep breath before getting into Arthur’s dark blue Crown Victoria.
*
By the time we made it to Jordan Jacobson’s apartment, I was out of coffee and a very unhappy camper.
Jacobson was twenty-one and living with roommates. The roommates weren’t home and when Jacobson answered the door, it looked like he’d been sleeping.
Arthur sat on a futon that was pressed against the wall in front of a small entertainment center. Jacobson offered me a green recliner and I shook my head, preferring to stand and observe.
“Mr. Jacobson, this is Preternatural Investigator Lyall.”
Jacobson tensed and shot me an uneasy look.
“We have a few questions for you,” Arthur continued. “You said earlier that you thought the vampire had erased your mind?”
“Yeah.”
I felt more than saw Jordan’s blue eyes following me as I moved around his living room, pretending to eye the movies stacked on the entertainment center. The brown carpet was old and worn. I inhaled, sorting through a myriad of smells. I caught the distinct whiff of old french fries and ketchup. I turned to glance in the kitchen, spotting the open-lid trash can. How long had it been since the trash had been changed? There were dirty dishes in the sink that smelled like rancid milk. I shuddered. If I ever wanted to throw my mother into conniptions, I’d show her Jacobson’s house. I started heading for the hallway.
A lot of the time, odors mingle and form one big smell. It takes a conscious effort for me to sort through the various ingredients. When I focus, it’s like my body starts separating the scents.
Jacobson was in the middle of explaining to Arthur that he didn’t know to call the police until he realized the cash register was empty when he stopped in mid-sentence. “What’s she doing?”
“I don’t know,” Arthur said. “Investigator Lyall?”
It was the Investigator part that made me turn from the hallway. Apparently, we were throwing titles around to make Jacobson nervous. Fine with me, I could do that.
“I’m going to take a look around while you question Mr. Jacobson.” I stared at Jacobson. “Is that all right with you?”
“I don’t think my roommates would appreciate having an investigator sorting through their stuff.”
“Don’t worry.” I smiled, hoping it wasn’t as predatory as I felt. “I’ll leave everything in its place.”
I heard the sound of chair legs scraping the carpet as I continued down the hall.
“Mr. Jacobson,” Arthur warned.
There were three doors at the end of the hall. I opened the first door on the left. It smelled of Jacobson, salty with an undercurrent of dirty socks and crisp cologne. A twin-sized mattress sat on the floor under a window. Someone had nailed up a dark blanket in place of a curtain. A stereo with an alarm was within arm’s reach of the bed. I stepped into the room.
Dirty clothes littered every surface. I opened the sliding closet door to find more clothes and a mess of shoes that would’ve made a gay man proud. I highly doubted the mess and tacky blanket would make one squeal with pride, though.
I kept exploring, ignoring the smell of unclean bathroom. I discovered the master bedroom at the very end of the hall. The room was much cleaner with a neatly made four-poster bed in the center of the room. Ah, a woman’s touch. No, I wasn’t gathering that from the bed alone. The scent of floral perfume and scented candles hung in the air.
I checked the closet, relying on my vision as well as sense of smell. The closet was lined neatly with clothes, one side his and one side hers.
Something about Jacobson wasn’t right. His story wasn’t right. He was too tense and nervous, obviously hiding something.
Crossing to the nightstand by the bed, I picked up a small picture with a metal frame. A woman with dark eyes and bleached blond hair stood next to a male with shoulder-length brown hair. He was smiling widely, and if it hadn’t been for the unkempt eyebrows, he might’ve been one of those guys other guys call pretty. The white and dark green building of Jacobson’s apartment formed the backdrop. I tapped my hip with the corner of the photograph, scanning the room.
