Cloudy but mild today. Hopefully I’ll get out and walk before the rain.
Today’s letter is V. In my writing, V stands for Vengeance is Mine, my best-selling series. The series consists of five romance thrillers, including A rewritten version of Fire Angel, the first book I ever published.
Come back tomorrow for W.
Check out the other posts here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1nuoAOJ-BUAXE1Yl2yIArhUHInj902PHVX6_gL4oKiSo/edit#gid=1195767304
Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. It’s hard to believe we’re at the end of April. The weather certainly doesn’t feel like it, so let’s hope May will be more spring-like. Tuesday tales is a weekly blog where a select group of authors post scenes from their works in progress. I’m working on a new story, Trouble with Eden.
Jackson sat on the side of the hospital bed, his newly replaced fiberglass cast propped up on a stool and followed the bright penlight as he’d been instructed to, trying not to blink his eyes. In the almost three weeks that he’d been here, he’d been poked and prodded, examined and tested, until he was ready to scream. His ankle had been surgically rebuilt, and his broken leg was healing well inside its cast. He wouldn’t be running marathons anytime soon, but he would walk with only the slightest limp—or so the doctor hoped.
Thanks to the insurance agent who’d driven down from Toronto to check out the damage, he knew exactly what he’d hit—a bull moose standing more than two meters or six feet tall and weighing 750 kg, almost 1600 pounds. Only in Canada did people measure both ways. While the man hadn’t been able to come inside the hospital because of on-going COVID restrictions, he’d phoned and had delivered a thorough report, complete with photographs. Jackson was lucky to be alive, and he knew it.
It wasn’t surprising that the Mercedes was a right-off, but since he carried replacement insurance, there was a new one ordered for him, the same make and model, if a couple of years newer. Everything, including his new car, would be waiting for him at the local Mercedes dealer just as soon as he could get out of here.
The doctor lowered the penlight and raised his stethoscope to his chest. Jackson twisted his neck to the right, focusing on the plant the lawyer had sent, breathing in, and then exhaling on cue. What a fool he’d been. If there was a bonus to spending the last three weeks flat on his back, it was the time it had given him to think.
Naïvely, once he’d received the letter, he’d assumed that everything would work out. As an only child, now orphaned, he was thrilled with the possibility of a sibling, the brother he’d always wanted. As he’d lain here, counting the holes in the acoustic tiles above his bed, he’d thought long and hard about his foolish decision. Here he was, a total stranger, sticking his hand into the man’s pocket and stealing half of what the guy had expected would be his. No wonder E J hadn’t sent flowers.
That’s it. Stay safe and don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales
Heroes in action:
Both in and out of uniform.Whether fighting to save their families, hot detectives in pursuit of the truth, young sweethearts facing difficult choices, or a strong man offering a broken woman comfort, this sizzling set of EIGHT exciting romances from NY Times and USA Today Bestselling authors will get your heart pounding and keep you turning pages long into the night.
PLAY RIGHT BY ME by Patrice Wilton
Pregnant and heart broken, Brittany returns home to Paradise Cove. A handsome stranger renting one of the cottages for the summer offers support and friendship. Can their brief affair turn into a lifetime of love? NY Times and USA Today BestsellingAuthor
FESTIVAL BY THE SEA by Traci Hall
Darcy Smith sees old friend Al Cooper in a different light. Too bad he’s her brother’s best friend and off limits. Then again, why should Al be the one to break all the rules? USA Today Bestselling Author
DEDICATED SERVICE by Susan Jean Ricci
After someone dear to him is killed in action, how far is Michael Burke willing to go to avenge the tragedy, and still preserve his relationship with the love of his life? USA Today Bestselling Author
FALLING FOR CAPTAIN HUNK by Stephanie Queen
Cap vowed not to get involved with another cop, but his heart had other ideas. USA Today Bestselling Author
EXPOSED: Prequel Novella: Sizzling Hot Detective Series (The Criminal Affairs Collection) by Taylor Lee
A renegade police officer infiltrates a dangerous cartel. Can the undercover special operative keep her from destroying the mission — and herself? USA Today Bestselling Author
DEADLY SECRETS, LOVING LIES by USA Today Bestselling author Cynthia Cooke
How far will undercover agent, Genie Marsters go to stop a vicious terrorist and protect her family? Will Kyle, her ex-partner/lover ever forgive her?
THE REBEL’S REDEMPTION by Jacquie Biggar
When an old enemy follows and causes mayhem in the small town of Tidal Falls, can Jared Martin overcome the odds to protect the woman he’s always loved and the child he never knew, or will it be too late for redemption? USA Today Bestselling Author
SWEET LENI by Mimi Barbour
Detective Mike Kowalski adores the spirited boxing chick who has lost so much but feels she’s slipping away. With the help of their friends, he tries to keep her safe from an unknown killer. In the end, the choices were hers to make. All he could do was stand by and watch…
And be ready to pick up the pieces. NY Times and USA Today BestsellingAuthor
Welcome back to the last week of the challenge for this year. The weatherman is being particularly cruel today as temperatures soars up to 70 F, 21 C, but we’re under a heavy rain warning. So unfair!
Today’s letter is U, and while I’m tempted to write about umbrellas, but in my writing, U stands for the uniqueness of each of my characters. They are one of a kind, each remarkable, special, and unusual in some way. They have faults to go with their qualities, and idiosyncrasies, but what makes them unique is that in some way, they do indeed exist — and not just inside my head or on the page of a book.
And why is that true? Because each of my characters embodies traits from people I know. In many cases, I use names of friends and family, draw on what makes them special to me, and then with the Godlike powers only an artist possesses, I bring them to life for me and my readers. Let’s look at Emerald Glow for the example this morning.
The main character is Lee. Her best friend is Janet. Lee, Janet, and I met at university in 1969. Recently, I reconnected with Lee retired from teaching and has become an amateur nature photographer. In that story, you’ll meet Arnold and Teresa, a wonderful couple we met on the trip aboard the Rocky Mountaineer, which is the backdrop for the story along with all the beauty and majesty of the Canadian Rockies. The story is an unusual romance written a little like a travelog, and the Sue and John in the story? Why that’s me and my hubby! As for the title, An Emerald Glow is the signature drink at the Chateau Lake Louise.
Here’s the blurb.
She’s given up on finding the right man. After a painful divorce, he’s sworn off women. But you don’t always get what you want, especially when a typo can spell disaster.
Following a breakup that’s soured her opinion of men, photographer Lee Andrews is hoping this assignment for an online e-zine will help her set her life on the right path. If she can stay focused on her job and ignore the opposite sex, so much the better.
Alexander Fedorov is a burned-out journalist, tired of covering one disaster after another. His recent divorce has left him bitter and determined to stay as far away from the female sex as possible. This new assignment offers a change of pace. As long as he can avoid meddlesome females, he’ll be fine.
When they meet, sparks fly and personalities clash, especially when the full impact of a small typo and making assumptions makes itself known loud and clear. Both are determined to be adult about the situation, keep their distance, and complete the job. But that may be easier said than done, especially when the attraction they feel for each other is magnetic.
How’s that for uniqueness? Emerald Glow is available from any Amazon store or free to read in KU. Come back tomorrow for the letter W!
Look at other U posts here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1nuoAOJ-BUAXE1Yl2yIArhUHInj902PHVX6_gL4oKiSo/edit#gid=1195767304
Looking for a book to add to your TBR pile? Consider Just for the Weekend.
School’s out and it’s time to play with the grown-ups. Kindergarten teacher Cleo James is in a rut and needs a change. For the last three years, she’s been at her widowed dad’s beck and call, but enough is enough. When her best friend suggests a weekend in Vegas at a sci-fi convention, she sets aside some of her inhibitions, and agrees to visit Sin City. After all, it’s just for the weekend. What could possibly go wrong? Multimillionaire Sam Mason is sick of gold diggers. He’s looking for someone who’ll fall for him, not his wallet. The opportunity to disguise himself and mingle might just be the distraction he needs before embarking on his next big job. And, what harm can come from playing make-believe for a few days? When he meets a gorgeous redhead dressed to resemble a green-skinned slave girl, he’s entranced, and it gets even better when he realizes she’s mistaken him for a Chippendale. Between the sexual attraction and too much alcohol, he wakes up two days later married to his redheaded beauty. Sam’s head over heels in love with his bride, but she’s vanished. Finding her will be a lot harder than he thinks, especially when she’s played the name game, too. Click on the link for a chance to read the preview.
Today’s letter is T, and in my writing, T stands for teaser. The dictionary defines teaser as a person who teases, like Mother Nature and this year’s weather. First warm, then cold again–like this morning’s 28 degrees F or -2 C. The birds aren’t happy, and neither am I. But in writing, a teaser is the first step in interesting a reader in a book. It’s a short blurb, sometimes found on the front of a cover that’s purpose is to intrigue the reader and make them curious to know what the story is all about.
Teasers are sometimes used in memes, like this one from The Captain’s Promise.
At other times, they are statements found on the front covers. IN Secrets and Lies, book five in the Vengeance is Mine series, the teaser reads: Graduating from school is easy; getting out alive may be a whole lot harder.” In His Christmas Family, the teaser is: “Lee is getting more than he expected from Santa this year.” In Hello Again, the teaser is a question: “Can she lift the curse and find love?”
At other times, teasers are used to promote a story in ads. Losing the ability to dance almost destroyed Brandi. Now, she trusts no one and nothing. Jarrett has loved Brandi for as long as he can remember. Can he break through the walls she’s built around her and offer his love to ease her pain? Forever and Always, an All for Love book.
Here’s the blurb:
The dance is everything, or is it? Brandi Alexandra Jameson’s entire life has been dedicated to ballet. When an accident she believes was caused by a crazed stalker fan leaves her close friend and dance partner dead and herself barely able to walk, she’s lost, adrift without a future. Jarrett Sullivan has spent most of his life in love with the petite red-headed brunette he met when he was in first grade, acting as her protector throughout school, but just as he was ready to make his move, she left Victoria for the National Ballet in Toronto. He’s followed her career, and now that she’s back home, he jumps at the chance to get to know her the way he always wanted to. Brandi remembers Jarrett, the boy she idolized, and when the man wants to have a relationship with her, she’s thrilled. But that joy turns to horror when she learns the truth about a poster and believes he’s just another fan and that it’s Alexandra, the dancer, he wants, not Brandi, the broken woman. Fleeing her family and Victoria, she runs to the only friend she has hoping to heal her broken heart. Discovering Brandi may have misunderstood the situation, Jarrett is frantic to find her and straighten out the mess, but will she be willing to listen and give him a second chance?
Links to all my books can be found on my website. https://mhsusannematthews.ca/
That’s it for today. I’ll be back on Monday for the last week and the last six letters of the challenge.
Look at other T posts here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1nuoAOJ-BUAXE1Yl2yIArhUHInj902PHVX6_gL4oKiSo/edit#gid=1195767304
How I long for weather that is settled and makes sense. Today, it started out sunny, but cold. Then it warmed up a little, but the wind got vicious. I’m hoping to go out walking later. By then, we’ll probably be having a blizzard.
Today’s letter is S. In my writing, S stands for sensible. I believe that the dialogue and the interactions between my characters needs to not only make sense and be realistic, but it also needs to be sensible. Sensible means practical and reasonable. In other words, I try to make sure that even in a crisis at least one of the main characters remains level-headed and calm, and you make wise decisions.
In Echoes of the Past, events unfold that make the hero question his sanity.
He lies on his side on the animal hide, his head propped up on his elbow, watching her sleep. How long does she think her excuse of gathering roots and snaring rabbits will last, especially when she has so little to show for it each time she’s been away?
The naked woman beside him stretches in her sleep. Her copper skin glows even in the dimmest light. Her ebony hair spreads fan-like around her head. Her features are fine, her lips lush, begging to be kissed. When open, her almond-shaped brown eyes, flecked with gold, add to her exotic beauty. She’s unlike any woman he’s ever known, and he’s known many despite his mixed blood. It’s craziness to stay here like this, but he can’t leave without her. The odds of getting caught increase with every visit she pays to his secret grotto, but he loves her more than he ever thought possible.
He reaches for her, runs his calloused hand down the side of her warm, silky torso. Her nipples pucker at his touch. Her eyes open, and she smiles. She raises her arms and pulls him down on top of her. His lips meet hers with an insatiable hunger. His tongue delves into her warm, willing mouth, feasting on her sweetness, and he hardens painfully.
Without any warning, the dreamscape shifts, and he runs through the brush, fleeing for his life. Twigs and branches tear at his buckskin garments. A thorn bush rakes his face. If he’s caught, it’ll mean torture and death, but he isn’t worried about himself. He worries about her. Did she get back safely? He slows his pace. Through the trees, he looks over at the far side of the lake and sees her tall, lithe figure standing on the beach.
Her beauty, grace, and majesty set her apart from the other squaws. Those harridans point and scream, but she stands still, wrapped in the woven, quilted blanket she showed him not two hours ago.
He doesn’t dare stop for a better look. His heart thunders in his ears, his side aches, but he increases his speed, pushing his painful muscles beyond their limit. The enemy approaches, but she’s safe, and that’s all that matters. He doesn’t see the log across the path. He stumbles and falls…
Tony Steele awoke with a start. His heart pounded and sweat covered his body. His ragged breathing dragged air into his oxygen deprived lungs. His muscles screamed and cramped the way they did after a particularly grueling cross-country race. Not again. For weeks now, these strange dreams had haunted him…Dreams? Hell. These memories lingered as if he had actually done these things.
He shuddered despite the heat emanating from his body. He rose, went to the window, and opened it slightly. He breathed deeply, hoping to calm himself, knowing it wouldn’t happen any time soon. He glanced into the parking lot. Through the curtain of rain, he noticed Aaron’s car parked once more in the lot, but not in its regular spot.
Somewhat cooler, he shut the window. He raised his hand to his stinging cheek, surprised to feel wetness there. He padded into the bathroom, turned on the light, and stared in the mirror. Blood seeped from the ugly red scratch on his face.
Damn! That’s a hell of a scratch. I need to cut my nails.
Using a tissue, he sopped up the blood and touched a septic pencil to his cheek to stop the bleeding. He cursed at its sting, tossed the tissue in the garbage can, and left the bathroom. The stairs creaked under his heavy footsteps. He entered the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a bottle of water. Half of it disappeared in one gulp, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
These dreams disoriented him and had taken on a life of their own. Like a voyeur peeking through a window, he watched the carnal scene unfold night after night. He recognized himself as the man in the dreams, despite the longer hair, the scars, and the tattoos marring his body.
Tony wandered out onto the screened-in porch and looked out at the lake. The strong night winds whipped it into a frenzy as if the water boiled with anger. He checked his watch. Two in the morning again. He needed to break this habit. These unusually vivid dreams had started the first night he’d arrived at the resort. Most of them, exquisite, erotic fantasies, left him dissatisfied, but tonight’s dream had transitioned into a flight for his life.
From personal research, he knew a dream’s meaning rarely had anything to do with its contents. This research project into the source of the water in the lake meant everything to him personally and professionally. He was afraid something would happen to ruin it. That explained being chased, but it didn’t explain the sexual fantasies. Those he understood easily enough.
He recognized the woman in his dreams as the shawl-wrapped stranger who walked along the beach every now and then. Beautiful and exotic, something about her called to his soul. He preferred women who didn’t look like carbon copies of others, and this one intrigued him. He thought about her now.
He had noticed her the night he arrived. He never slept well in a new bed. Unable to settle, he’d stepped out onto the porch and noticed someone else apparently suffering from insomnia. A woman, a blanket wrapped around herself, her hair in a long braid down her back, strolled along the edge of the sandy beach. She had moved southeast toward the edge of the lookout. He stepped outside to get a better look at her, but she’d vanished.
The next night, his imagination and libido had taken over, and in his dreams, she’d entered his leafy grotto, and they’d had mind-blowing sex. The things they had done to one another. Thank God, he awakened before his body had finished responding to his fantasy.
He’d gotten up, frustrated as all hell, and had gone downstairs. Standing in the screened-in porch, he’d looked out at the lake. Unlike tonight, the water had resembled a mirror reflecting the stars on its surface, and he’d been suspended between the water and the sky—everything brighter, crisper, and clearer than he’d expected. Animals had scurried in the brush nearby. Bats had swooped overhead. An owl had hooted, and he’d shivered. Hadn’t some of the Native American tribes believed death followed the cries of an owl?
Tony had just turned to go back inside when he’d glimpsed his mystery woman coming along the beach from the marshy area to the north. He’d called out to her. She’d turned at the sound of his voice and had stopped. In the moonlight, he’d seen the sparkle of silver tears on her cheeks. Naked, he’d hurried into the kitchen, had grabbed his damp swimsuit off the drying rack, and had rushed out, but she’d disappeared.
He blinked, and the memory passed.
Looking out now, he cringed. He’d never seen a storm as vicious as tonight’s. The rain came down in sheets. Thank God the kids had made it back safely. He turned to go inside when a flash of lightning, the first he’d noticed tonight, illuminated the beach.
What the hell?
The woman, wrapped in her blanket, walked along the beach as if all hell wasn’t breaking loose around her.
He ran to the door and raced across the short expanse of grass. He stopped at the edge of the water. Where had she gone? As she’d done every time he’d tried to catch her, she’d vanished. Wet through, he hurried to get back inside. He noticed the light go out in Jackson’s room.
Tony entered the cabin, stripped off his wet clothes, and tossed them into the kitchen sink. Naked and shivering, he climbed the stairs and went into the bathroom. He took a hot shower and then dried his shoulder-length hair. He needed to get it cut. Grabbing a clean t-shirt and a pair of boxers out of the drawer, he dressed and then fell exhausted onto bed, hoping for sleep.
You can read more by downloading Echoes of the Past, which is free to read in KU. Check my website for links to all of my books. https://mhsusannematthews.ca/
Come back tomorrow for the letter R. Read more R posts here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1nuoAOJ-BUAXE1Yl2yIArhUHInj902PHVX6_gL4oKiSo/edit#gid=1195767304
Hello again. Well, Mother Nature continues to be poopy. It’s still cool, and the rain is expected to start again at any time. On a positive note, the grass is greening and some of the trees are getting ready to grow leaves which means the pollen count is high. Hello runny nose and itchy eyes.
Today’s letter is the letter R. I my books, the letter R stands for repetition. Most of the time, repeating the same word or starting several sentences the same way is a no-no, especially when in close proximity to one another. Struggling to avoid the use of the he or she sentence is the same paragraph can be difficult, but it’s up to the writer to make are there are a good variety of sentences, not simply repeating the same thing each time.
Occasionally, repetition is used for effect. How many times were you told to “never, ever, ever” do something again? Never would’ve been enough, but Mom or Dad didn’t agree and doubled up on it.
Sometimes, stories are based on characters repeating an action. For example, in Desert Deception, the heroine returns to her hometown, even though she’s convinced nothing good will come of it. But, in life as in fiction, confronting your demons is necessary. Have a look at the opening scene.
Casey Stevens turned off the Apache Trail, also known as Highway 88, onto the Skansen Mine Road and headed into Fortune, slowing her hot pink and black Harley-Davidson motorcycle, careful to stay under the speed limit. Back in the day, there’d always been a deputy, hiding just up ahead behind the billboard or one of the abandoned buildings, waiting to nail some unsuspecting tourist who’d failed to slow down to the town’s ridiculously low speed limit. This might be her new toy’s first major road trip, but that didn’t mean she wanted a ticket as a souvenir.
The joys of the open road had stopped her from dwelling on her cases, but nothing could ease the disquiet she felt about returning to the town and the memories she’d avoided for fifteen years, and the closer she got to home, the more unsettled she became. Coming back to the scene of the crime, as it were, was a mistake, and she knew it. Nothing good would come of this, but Mom had insisted, and here she was.
The Bluetooth attached to her helmet buzzed startling her out of her reverie, providing further proof that leaving Santa Fe now had been a colossal error. Ken, the second chair on her current case, had called four times since she’d left her apartment this morning. Considering it was only a seven-hour-drive, that was three times too many.
Knowing she needed to answer the call, not wanting to ride while she was distracted, especially if they argued as they had two hours ago, Casey cautiously steered the bike onto the unpaved shoulder and stopped less than ten feet from the sign in front of her. Welcome to Fortune. Population: 26,847
“What are they counting, jackalopes?” she mumbled aloud. When she’d left, there hadn’t been fifteen thousand people in town. That had to be one hell of a population explosion.
The Bluetooth sounded again. Dismounting, she pulled off her helmet, shaking her head, sending her ponytail swaying back and forth. Pulling the smartphone out of the zippered pocket of her leather jacket, she answered the call. “Don’t worry about anything. I’m heading back. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Hello to you, too, Red,” a man said and chuckled. “Someone rattling your chain?”
Closing her eyes, she smothered a groan. “Hi, Ryan,” she said, recognizing the voice. “Sorry about that. I thought you were his highness calling again.”
Ryan chuckled. “Baby Boss giving you a hard time?”
“You could say that. He can’t seem to find anything. I swear he would lose his head if it wasn’t attached.” Pulling a bottle out of the insulated pouch on her tank bag, she squirted cold water into her mouth.
“Probably, but someone’s always picking up after him, so he’s never had to stand on his own two feet before. Now, where is it you’re headed back to on this lovely Friday afternoon?”
“Santa Fe,” she said huffing out the word. “This was a mistake. I don’t know what made me think that incompetent ass could manage anything as complicated as filing papers on his own.”
Ryan’s laughter filled her ears. “I can believe that, but you aren’t coming back here until your vacation is over.”
“I have to. I’ve worked too hard to see it all go down the toilet.” She wanted to stomp her foot, but what good would it do? Pacing up and down the soft shoulder, she fought to contain her annoyance.
“Listen, Cassandra,” Ryan said, using her full name, knowing it would irritate her.
“Bite me.”
“Love to, babe, but it didn’t work when we tried it before, and Sally would have my nuts for breakfast. Call Wanda. Wonder Woman can babysit Baby Boss for a few days. If you don’t want to stay the two weeks you’d planned, fine, but the woman I know is no coward.”
“But—”
“No buts,” he interrupted. “If I find you back in Santa Fe before Labor Day, I’ll personally drag you and your cute, little ass back to your mother’s house. And you know you can’t hide from me. I’m the best gumshoe in the business.”
“Damn you. Fine, but if I lose my job because of this, you’ll be supporting me.”
He chuckled. “I could start my own harem. Listen, before we get completely off-track, I called to tell you I found the guy who filled the order for the building supplies.”
“Get out of here! So is he going to help us or not?”
“Help, big time.”
“Where was he?
“Someone paid him to take an overseas vacation, but his mother and the fear of God convinced him to tell the truth.”
“And you didn’t help persuade him?” she asked, knowing he had probably scared the dickens out of the young man in question.
“Let’s just say I showed him the error of his ways, and before you ask, I didn’t lay a finger on him.” He laughed. “I didn’t have to. My bark is worse than my bite.”
“When you put it that way, this should be all we need to get the case thrown out. How can I ever thank you?”
“By enjoying your time with your family. Hell, go hiking in those spooky mountains of yours … who knows you might stumble on that missing gold mine.”
Casey laughed. “Like that’s ever going to happen. If no one’s found the Lost Dutchman by now, it doesn’t exist.”
“Well, the legend says the man had gold under his bed when he died.”
“Right, and the Apache claim the doorway to hell is there, too, but so far, no one’s found that either.”
“You know what they say: where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Call me if things live down to your lowest expectations, and you need a laugh. Otherwise, I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”
“I will, and thanks, Ryan. You always come through, don’t you?”
“What can I say? I’m gifted.”
Come back tomorrow for the Letter S. See more R posts here. https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1nuoAOJ-BUAXE1Yl2yIArhUHInj902PHVX6_gL4oKiSo/edit#gid=1195767304
Yesterday’s cold miserable weather has gotten slightly better. It’s sunny and warmer but the wind gusts are blowing everything around. Still, I’ll take it over rain and snow.
Today’s letter is Q. Not an easy one, but in my writing, Q stands for questions of the rhetorical kind. A rhetorical question is one that won’t be answered, one that can’t be answered, and one posed for dramatic effect.
In my books, I often have my characters using questions about their motives or another character’s motives.
In my paranormal detective novella, The Tigress, the first book in The Punishers series, I use questions in the prologue.
My name is Ellie Taggart, at least it is now. Over the last thousand or so years, I’ve had many names—too many to count, too many to remember—but this will be the last one I’ll need. Times have changed. Evil doesn’t hide in dark corners. It lives in the light. This world we live in is filled with more monsters than humans realize, more than one being can deal with in a lifetime, even if that lifetime does span centuries.
I’m tired. I would like to fall in love, have children, grow old, and spend the last of my days quietly sipping tea on a porch swing, surrounded by purring cats, not battling the forces of evil. But that’s not going to happen. It can’t. I’m the last of my line—maybe even the last of my kind—and that’s how it has to be.
If you saw me on the street, you might not notice me, but if you did, you would see a thirty-something woman with the golden skin and deep brown hair of her Asian ancestors. If you really looked at me, you might note my pert nose, wide mouth, pouty lips, and unusual almond-shaped eyes. What you wouldn’t see is who I am—what I am.
I was born deep in the jungles of the Indian Subcontinent, at the base of the Himalayan Mountains, during a time when few kept track of dates the way they do today. My father was a Royal Bengal tiger, the largest and most majestic of his kind, while my mother was a rare and unusual rakshasa. Don’t recognize the word? Not too surprising. So many people have forsaken the religion of their ancestors to swear allegiance to greed and corruption, the very thing that gives evil its power.
Even those who know what a rakshasa is don’t believe we exist anymore, and other than me, they’re correct. We are the shapeshifters found in Hindu, Buddhist, and countless other mythologies. We’re also known as “Maneaters”—not that I’ve ever indulged. Give me chicken or fish any day.
People have always been afraid of what they don’t understand, and shapeshifters of any kind certainly fall into that category. In truth, in human form, my mother was petite, delicate, and so very beautiful, with black hair, bronze skin, and almond-shaped amber eyes—my eyes now, orbs I hide behind tinted lenses.
Sadly, like witches with warts and hooked noses, rakshasa were depicted as huge, ugly creatures with fangs and long, sharp, claw-like fingernails. They were considered cruel, growling beasts with insatiable appetites for human flesh. I’ve seen them portrayed with flaming red eyes and hair, drinking blood with their palms or from a human skull, a lot like the less than fair representations of vampires. Most of those I know these days aren’t a bit like that. They sip wine in crystal goblets and get their blood online from specialty stores.
Can I fly? No, but my mother could. She could assume the shape of any creature, even the fearsome yeti, but for lack of a better term, I’m a half-breed, with sorely limited skills. While I have superhuman strength, I can’t vanish, but I’ve learned to be an expert at camouflage. I have some telepathic ability, which makes it easy to make people forget what they saw, or imagine they witnessed something else. Afterall, who really believes in the creatures of the night? It’s the stuff of television programs, movies, and books. But the legends are real—too real.
Am I immortal? No, I’m not a god or a demi-god, but my lifespan is impressive, and like my mother who died at Draug’s hand, killing me takes a lot of work.
I lived deep in the jungle until my father passed on, and then mother moved us up the mountain to a safer place. There she taught be to survive and guided me through my first changes. Unlike the shapeshifters controlled by the moon’s power, I can shift whenever I need to, and while in that form, heal and recover from whatever damages have been inflicted on me.
When I reached my maturity, many years older than I appear, she told me that if anything were to happen to her, I needed to seek the Chou-Lan Monastery in the hidden valley. There the monks would tutor me and teach me how to use my powers.
Life was pleasant, uneventful, until that fateful day when Draug and his revenant found us. Unlearned in the art of battle, unable to defend myself, I did as Mother requested, I shifted into my tigress form, ran, and hid.
The sounds of clashing swords and tearing flesh were horrific. Four against one. In the heat of the battle, no one thinks clearly, but in the end, it was my mother’s headless body that lay upon the field. Draug’s angry cries at the loss of his prize, killed by his own hand, split the silence. That night, I vowed to avenge her, but it was centuries before I understood the real reason for his agonized screams, and that while she’d died, she’d won the battle.
When the monsters had gone, I crept from my hiding place. There was nothing left for me there. Mourning, the pain so deep it made it hard for me to retain any shape, I searched for Mother’s head, but it was gone. Claimed as a trophy? Proof that he’d killed her? To this day, I don’t know. With grief ripping me apart, I built a pyre and cremated what was left of her the way she had my father. The mountains no longer held any appeal for me.
Leaving our sanctuary, I made my way into the hidden valley and searched until I found the monks she’d spoken of. Shifting into human form, I told my story. Decade after decade, century after century, I lived hidden among the holy men where I studied, practiced the arts I would need to survive, and learned of the responsibilities I carried as one of the punishers, beings born of the light whose sacred duty is to fight the forces of darkness and defend those unable to protect themselves. When the time came, I said farewell to the last of those who’d become family to me and headed into the world to fulfil my destiny as the scourge of evil.
Since then, I’ve roamed the earth and watched century after century as the powers of darkness have grown, turning the innocent into monsters almost as evil and corrupt as they are. Not all of the non-humans and undead dwelling amongst humanity are evil, just as not every human is good, but in the last century, those who foster hate and greed, jealousy and envy, and the rest of the deadly sins, have grown more powerful, more daring.
When my enemies crossed the line, I found them and dealt with them. I’ve wiped the minds of witches, wizards, and warlocks who dared practice the dark art and turned their empty shells over to their authorities. I’ve dealt with the undead and shapeshifters myself, battling those who posed a danger to humanity, consigning their unholy remains to oblivion. With each battle, I’ve learned and grown stronger, for power comes from knowledge. But I still have much to learn before I can face Draug.
I serve the light, going where darkness dwells, watching it insinuate itself more completely into modern society each year. It needs to be stopped—but I’m just one.
Draug doesn’t know I exist, but I know him. I remember the sight and smell of him, and one day, we’ll meet on the field of battle. It’ll be a fight to the death, one I’ll fight in my true form—my father’s form. But until then, protecting humanity from those who would use and abuse them for evil purposes is my mission. Who am I, you ask? I’m the Tigress.
If you’d like to read more. The Tigress is included in the Heroes Fighting for a Cause boxset.
Read romance stories about heroes fighting for a cause and to protect others by 12 Award Winning, New York Times and USA Today bestselling authors, PLUS 2 Bonus Stories.
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What’s a hero? Are people destined to be courageous, ready to step up to danger, protect others or their pets or property? At what age does it begin? Or does it ever show up?
Small acts of kindness are the beginning. One author came to her fellows with the idea of a box set filled with heroic romances. We could put this together and offer all the proceeds to Ukrainian Refugee Relief. The response was fantastic. The turn-around time was quick but manageable. Depending on how much this set earns, we have at least three different vetted organizations that will receive 100% of the earnings. Buy it now.
The Stories
Stephanie Queen – The Beachcombers: Ex-special ops legend Dane Blaise never wanted a partner, but he owed the governor. Working alongside gorgeous Scotland Yard detective Shana George to find a missing heiress would either drive him crazy – or get someone killed…. And now the human traffickers have their sights on Shana.
Desiree Holt – Rogue’s Return: Transitioning from being a SEAL to civilian life was tough enough without romance bumping in.
Zoe Dawson – Ruckus: Seal Team Alpha: Gratitude for saving her takes a back seat to falling for the alpha male who’d risk everything to see her safe
Stacy Eaton – Mission: Believe: The wounded warrior and the idealistic doctor join forces to overcome physical and emotional odds to build a better environment for returning soldiers.
Suzanne Jenkins – A Greektown Wedding: What does a lawyer using a cop as a beard, a beautiful detective in love with a member of the SWAT Team, and a guy with a broken heart have in common? A Wedding!
Tamara Ferguson – That Incredible Kiss: After Ten Years Apart, will unveiling their families’ dark family secrets Heal Two Wounded Hearts?
Dani Haviland – One Arctic Summer: Sparks and sutures fly as the Inupiat medico and brash college student work together in the America’s most northern city.
Patricia Rosemoor – Rescuing the Virgin: Will the young American woman’s special skills help him bring down the human trafficking ring he’s been after so long?
Susanne Matthews – The Tigress: There’s a new villain in New Orleans and Detective Ellie Taggart wants to take him down alone. Multi-talented Steve Cassidy insists he can help. Will their feuding – and desires – get in the way?
Christina Tetreault – Born to Protect: Sixteen years ago, he disappeared from her life. Now, he’s the only one who can protect her.
Bonus Stories:
Mimi Barbour – Special Agent Francesca: This special agent flies her own plane, drives like a maniac & jumps at the chance at real undercover work. Nothing scares her except for one thing… MEN.
Suzanne Eglington – High Priority: Gun toting Tiffany was born wealthy, but her hero self has no time for materialism and is convinced she’s always right. A stop for cat food changes everything.
Check out the other Q posts here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1nuoAOJ-BUAXE1Yl2yIArhUHInj902PHVX6_gL4oKiSo/edit#gid=1195767304
Snow! Can you believe it? They’re calling for rain and snow today. UGH! I wish Mother Nature would get the message. I love snow–on Christmas Eve! It’s April. Enough is enough! It’s just after seven, and the roofs and grass are covered. This sucks!
Today letter is P. For me, in my writing the letter P stands for personality. Personality can be defined as the individual differences in the way a person thinks, feels, behaves, and reacts in different settings. Depending on which guru you ask, there are any number of personality types. The Myers Briggs tests classify people into 16 different categories.
Another way to look at this might be to examine various personality traits and see which fit and which don’t.
When I create a character, the most important thing for me is that the character be believable. Often times, I start by identifying them with someone I personally know, and then I build on that. Words that I might use in their description include:
According to the Myers-Briggs test, I’m INFJ
This comes close to describing me. In my first career, I was a teacher for more than 35 years, then I spent almost 20 years as an Elder with my church. Now, I’m an author. How does your personality define you?
What’s your personality?
Read more P posts here: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1nuoAOJ-BUAXE1Yl2yIArhUHInj902PHVX6_gL4oKiSo/edit#gid=1195767304
Living the Dream 