So coming Holiday Spice will be my last anthology release for the year. It’s organized by my fabulous agency, Foreword Literary, and the awesome Pam van Hylckama Vlieg.
You can get it all for a mere 99c!
Here’s the list of stories and the fine folk that I am sharing a Table of Contents with
Homecoming by D.R. Slaten
A Not So Lonely Christmas by Jody Holford
Christmas Spice by Anna Leigh Keaton
Naughty or Nice by Ainsley Winter
Put a Bow On It by Zrinka Jelic
The Silent Stars Go By by Peggy Barnett
The Messenger by Kim Kasch
Office Santa by Jade A. Waters x (THIS ONE IS MISSING FOR NOW. CHASING UP)
Kinky Bells by Sidney Bristol
Snow and Love by Callie Russell
Secret Santa by Kyra Mason
Counting by Numbers by L.R. Wright
Christmas Sex Magic by Philippa Ballantine
The Murder King’s Christmas by Jamie Leigh Hansen
A Second Chance by J.A. Pope
Guardian Angel by Laura Kreitzer
No. 18 by Megan Carey
Ruined by the Reindeersaurus Rex by Arthur A. Author
And to get your started…a little snippet from my story Christmas Sex Magic
“Can I buy you a drink?” The brunette whose breasts were making a valiant effort to escape her dress, shot me an off kilter grin.
The fact that all the drinks were free at this office party was neither here nor there to either or me or this account executive.
She didn’t know who she was propositioning of course, but then if I’d said my name she’d probably have dissolved into giggles rather than being impressed. It was that sort of time in the human world.
What she saw then was merely the surface, the current form I wore; tall, muscled, with thick dark hair and a smile that I was informed made ladies melt.
I didn’t make an effort though to make this nearly incapacitated women weak at the knees; I preferred my women flexible and fully functional.
Though I was known as the Trickster, my tricks did not run that way. My other names had reputations for the kind of mischief I preferred. Puck, Robin Goodfellow, that most beloved of human bards had called me those things, and exposed my tricks of knocking of milk churns, taunting the occasional guard dog, and opening farm gates of those that mistreat their animals.
I raised my glass in the direction of the woman. “No, thank you, as you see I have my own.”
Her brow furrowed, and I could almost hear the gears working slowly inside her head. “What…what sort of accent is that?”
I couldn’t help tightening my hand around my glass, but I did manage from refraining to snap back a reply. My accent was Fey laced with old English, via a few points between the renaissance and the garish colors of 1984.
She was looking me up and down, but I knew she couldn’t see past the exterior. This human most certainly couldn’t observe the glimmer of Fey Art within me—not that there was a great deal of it left.
The realm of the Fey had drifted away from this one, with it taking the source of my powers. As much as I cosseted my remaining strength, kept my shifting to fewer shapes that I changed less, there was no getting away from it; only a few more years and I would be nothing more than mortal.
Even to one such as myself, it was a little depressing. Yet, there is one time of year I would still rise to—one time that I could still revel in. Like humanity gorging on a well-cooked turkey, I too enjoy Christmas—even the great human solemnities of the office party.