Mirth: Rian Callaghan

*Rian Callaghan. Wolf shifter. Horse Trainer/Breeder. Character illustration by Nicole Deal (*@nicole.deal.art).

Content Note: language.

He’s not rescuing me.

He’s protecting the horse still dancing and snorting in the ring. Protecting Perseus from me.

My energy is so volatile that a stranger thinks that I would harm —

Shifting his hands from my upper arms, he presses his forearm across my chest, leaning into me and finally switching to slightly accented English. “What the fuck were you thinking? Trying to ride him in the dark? Do you want to die? Do you want him to kill you? Do you want to be responsible for his death when he breaks a fucking leg?”

That’s too many questions to answer. Even if I had the answers.

“Look at him! The ears, the eyes!” the enraged figure spits madly. “He’s scared of whatever the fuck you’re trying to do in the middle of the fucking night.”

Realizing that my arms are free to move and that the ground is once again solid under my feet — as if my mind is still checked out, still expecting the death blow I saw coming and did nothing to thwart — I finally shove my hair out of my face.

I look at Perseus in the ring.

I look and see everything I’ve willfully ignored.

My rescuer eases back, slowly removing his arm from across my upper chest and muttering a disconcerted, “Fuck, fuck …” under his breath.

I stay pressed up against the side of the stable, knowing I’ve fucked up and not really wanting to face it. Cowardly, yes. Except …

I’m no longer coming out of my skin.

As stupid and reckless as my actions might be, I feel invigorated for the first time in months.

So I meet the stranger’s gaze.

He’s fucking gorgeous. In that way that only a pretty boy transitioning into a grown man can be.

Sharp jawed, wide green eyes, slashes of prominent cheekbones, medium-brown skin flushed with health. Full lips. Straight teeth. A shifter of some sort.

He’s holding his hands up now, his gaze flicking between my eyes and my left shoulder.

Because he can’t remember if it’s okay to look royalty in the eyes? Or because he’s noticed the purple hue to my gaze?

His palms face forward placatingly. No, pleadingly.

He’s just realized who I am.

Who he’s pinned up against the side of a stable.

Putting unwanted hands on me is technically punishable by death. As in, there’s an actual archaic law covering that, still logged in some ancient tome in my father’s study.

“Your Highness …” he murmurs, his tone gentle as if waiting for me to bite back. To lash out with whatever my purple eyes declare I can do.

I am, however, not my father’s child in essence. Not like Armin was.

“Have I …” He stammers as he continues, “I didn’t know … I would never hurt …”

A slow, wide grin spreads across my face. I’m all riled up, but invigorated rather than desperate now — and I’m not sure I’ve ever been so struck by someone in my life. Attraction is usually a slow sort of burn for me.

Confusion mars his perfect fucking brow, and he swallows hard.

Maybe he’ll be less pretty in the daylight. But as inappropriate as the impulse is, I’m moments away from asking him to press me against the side of the stable again. Even if it doesn’t go anywhere sexual, just being … dominated? No, that isn’t the right word, not the right feeling.

Just being out of control of my own body, my own choices, even for just a moment was … freeing? But not in a destructive way.

His hands and guidance are forceful, but not —

A soft smile finally overtakes his confusion, possibly because he’s noticed I’m still just staring at him and still smiling myself. As if I’m shocked dumb by his beauty, by our abrupt … introduction.

And maybe I am.

– Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part One

Mirth: Princess Euphrosyne

[I just realized I hadn’t shared this illustration here, and I need it for the Extras and Freebies page 😁][it is also in the limited-edition eBook of Mirth, Part One].

Her Royal Higness Princesss Euphrosyne. Aka Mirth. Awry. Heir to the United European Nation. Character illustration by Nicole Deal (@nicole.deal.art).

CONTENT NOTE: language

The door to the suite opens. Anne hustles in. She’s wearing a light-gold full-length wrap-style silk dress. She pauses just inside the door, blinking at me, then taking in Sully, then Bolan.

“Oh,” she finally says. “Good. Sully. You’ll help Mirth get into her dress? Mimi and Tavi have been roped into service by the Mertons. Apparently, our lack of ability to house all the staff they would have preferred to bring is … irksome.”

No titles in private. No formalities.

Unless I impose them.

But only after I explicitly lift those protocols in the first place.

That was Sully’s point. About protocol.

“Yes, of course.” Sully grins widely and wickedly. “Why else would I be in Her Royal Highness’s suite?”

Anne huffs, playfully pleased. “I have your father waiting to escort you,” she says to me.

“Escort me?” I echo, abruptly displeased.

“We’ll go straight through to dinner,” Anne says, ignoring my tone. “The rest of the guests will start arriving around nine for the ball.”

“Of course,” I say. I did know that already, but apparently I’m still having issues with holding everything in my head all at once. As if new information is at constant war with the continual grief and the continual state of overwhelm.

Anne casts a look over all three of us again, then smirks. “Ten minutes. Or I’ll send in the twins.”

Sully raises his hands in surrender.

Anne steps back the way she came, snagging the door closed.

“Well, this is going to be a blast,” Bolan says sarcastically.

“It will be awful to do sober,” Sully says blithely over his shoulder.

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Not today. But I do like it when you beg.”

I huff, spinning away from them both.

Sully attempts to follow me, but stops instantly at my snapped, “No!”

Bolan’s laughter follows me back through to my bedroom, then beyond the door that I slam in my wake.

I put on the decadently voluminous silk ballgown skirt and the beaded bustier. Then I carefully slip a diamond-crusted platinum coronet into my perfectly coiffed hair.

Because if they want a fucking princess, I’ll give them a fucking princess.

– Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part One

Mirth: Waterfell Castle

Waterfell Castle from the Mirth duology. Scenery illustration by Kateryna Vitkovska.

The early morning is dark, cloud shrouded, though a half moon intermittently shimmers through thinner patches of that cloud. Tiny flakes of snow filter down from the otherwise starless sky. Not even a hint of the pending sunrise tinges the horizon as I slip out a side door. I immediately dart across the short yard to half-jog down the narrow stone stairway that twists down from the cliff on which the towering edifice of Waterfell Castle is perched. Kilometers away, deep in a valley nestled between neighboring peaks, I glimpse the faint, sporadic lights that emanate from the nearest town, before the path at the bottom of the stairway abruptly changes direction.

The few castle guards, both mages and shifters, patrolling the various ramparts and posted in the towers above ignore me. Not that I look back.

My breath comes out in chilled puffs.

Tiny mage lights trigger as I descend, situated at ankle height so as not to compromise my sight. If I were a null without the ability to actively wield essence, I’d be stumbling around in the dark.

Despite my light sensitivity, I’ve never been much of a fan of the dark. Though curling up on a winter’s eve next to a fire with a book, sipping a hot chocolate, and reading by candlelight is a hazy memory …

Or possibly an unrequited dream.

Before that stupid kiss. Before he shoved me away with pure pain etched across his face, as if I … as if my touch was … is …

I resolve to shred that stupid list of names the moment I get back to my rooms. I wasn’t thinking … in fact, I’m still not certain I moved the pen of my own volition. I never would have rationally chosen to put his name down.

He belongs to Armin more than me, anyway.

Belonged.

Past tense.

I can’t remember the last time I managed to maintain any level of rationality, not even for a full day. Was it the day before I felt my chest crack open and my soul sunder? While I attended some fucking charity event, commenting on the pretty fucking flowers and smiling at children, even as I wondered why my chest was hurting and my texts were going unanswered. Assuming the entire time that Armin had gone on a bender or was romancing someone new for the weekend instead of checking in with me. A rare but occasional occurrence when he needed … when he needed to run …

Just as I now practically ran, tripping down the path, through the snowy early morning.

Had I still been rational as I raced to the mountain township to identify my brother? Before I found him so … empty, and still. So silent.

Armin. Armin was even more trapped than I am.

Or rather, more trapped than I used to be. But never as trapped as I am now.

Because my father never would have forced Armin to choose bond mates only six months after my death. Armin would have been granted more time.

– Grand Romantic Delusions and the Madness of Mirth, Part One [excerpt from Chapter Two]

RELEASE DATE: JULY 25, 2024

eBOOK

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Conduit Series: Maps

The map of Cascadia (by Amanda at Eternal Geekery) appears at the beginning of Awry (Conduit 1) but (for now) the map of North America only appears in the back of the limited edition. I’m posting both here so I can add the link to the Extra and Freebies page. 😁

Conduit World. Map of Cascadia. By Eternal Geekery.

Conduit World. Map of North America. By Eternal Geekery.

Conduit Series: mythical creature shifters, part 1

*SPOILER ALERT FOR AWRY (CONDUIT 1)*

Because these absolutely gorgeous mythical creature illustrations by Jade Merien are spoilers for Awry (Conduit 1) I’m posting them here without any extra info. If you are interested, and haven’t already, please read Awry (Conduit 1) for more info (and, presumably, please avoid reading the comments on this post). 😁

*Celestial Dragon. Illustration by Jade Merien (*@jademerien)

*Gryphon. Illustration by Jade Merien (*@jademerien)

*Cu-sith. Illustration by Jade Merien (*@jademerien)

Conduit Series: Reck

RECK GUERRA

Aka Carlos Guerra. Cu-sith shifter (pronunciation: coo-shee from the old Gaelic). Agent of the Authority, Major Crimes Unit, sergeant. Dark eyes and hair. Olive skin. 6’2” tall. Runner’s/swimmer’s build. Right hand crushed thirteen years before the events of Conduit 1. Bright green rims his eyes when his beast is present. DOB: April 1 (33 in book 1). Even in human form, Reck has a latent lie-detecting ability that doesn’t work on the awry. Oldest brother of Rath, Rought, and Precious. Father is the Cataclysm. Mother (currently) unknown.

Other abilities: wields ‘terror’ when in cu-sith form (also known as a grim reaper). According to legend, if the cu-sith barks three times, anyone who hears him dies from sheer terror.

Birthname and nicknames: Carlos and TBR

First appearance: Awry (Conduit 1).

Conduit Series: Illustration and an excerpt: Rought

*‘Rought’ Guerra. Shifter. Illustration by* Nicole Deal.

The engine hasn’t even died before the driver’s-side door is opening, and a male steps out — dark-blond hair, naturally tanned skin, and shoulders so broad I’m surprised that he slips out of the car so agilely. Though he is clearly a shifter.

The moment his booted feet hit the ground and the energy underpinning the property rises to ghost his footsteps, I know that he is a … presence, a power. He’s in black jeans and a light-gray henley. He lays his hand on top of the Camaro, pivoting toward me — not bothering to look at the barn or the property or anything else as he reaches to shut the car door with his other hand.

He meets my gaze. His eyes are light colored, either blue or green, but I can’t tell which at this distance.

He’s still moving, hand running across the top of the car, then down the back window, then fingers only along the trunk.

He fucking caresses the fucking car as he crosses alongside it, then continues steadily toward me. And for a moment of utter insanity, I want it to be my curves under those fingertips.

The passenger-side door thunks closed. I feel Presh’s presence as well. But I can’t tear my gaze away from the golden god in worn black jeans taking long, steady strides toward me. I’m locked in his gaze.

The nearer he gets, the more I see … in his expression, in his body language, in the way his essence entwines with that of the property.

I’m not lightheaded.

I’m not beguiled or enchanted.

The nearer he gets, the more anchored I feel.

Not frozen. Not overwhelmed.

I’m in this moment. Breathing it. Savoring it. As if … as if … my very soul has been starved? And he is … he is …

– Awry (Conduit 1), Chapter 10 (slightly edited for spoilers)

RELEASE DATE: JANUARY 25, 2024

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Conduit Series: Illustration and an excerpt: Presh

Precious ‘Presh’ Guerra. Awry. Illustration by Nicole Deal.

“I can’t push you,” I say gently. “Some choices have to be your own. Not everything is determined by fate alone.”

Startled, her eyes flick up to meet mine. “Can you get me home?”

“I’ll die trying,” I say, aware that I’ve uttered my own destiny — a single, short thread of it, at least — as the words fall from my lips.

I’ve never been great at keeping my mouth shut, even when I’m trying. Or ignoring a knowing even when doing so was in my best interest.

I reach for her.

She steps closer to accept my hand.

The thin threads already connecting us solidify so suddenly and sharply that it’s like a punch to the gut. I lose my breath within the momentary onslaught of sensation. It settles into an unadulterated rightness. More than a simple thread of destiny.

I’ve never felt the like before. Even accepting my inheritance was less … steady, less resolved. But most essence-wielding is like that. Most essence, most power, grows slowly, and not necessarily steadily.

“What … what was that?” she asks in a whisper.

I meet her gaze, blinking and still feeling a little out of body. “Fate,” I whisper back. “It seems … we are meant to be here, in this moment and beyond.”

She smiles. It’s tentative, shaky. Her grip on my hand is almost punishing.

“What’s your name, sweetness?”

“Presh …” She exhales hope along with the gift of her name, fortifying the connection between us further. Then she inhales strength — I can see it flooding through her — and gives me more. “Precious Guerra.”

I lean into her, taller by a half-dozen inches. My necklace swings forward, drawing her attention again. “Zaya Gage,” I say. Then I add, teasingly, “Granddaughter of Necessity, Daughter of Darkness and Night.” Even though I’m speaking the utter truth. As I always must when I’m about to walk the path of my own destiny.

To my death, I had no doubt.

Presh giggles quietly, as I’d hoped she would. Though depending on how much of the family history I’m willing to accept as pure truth, I’m not lying.

– Awry (Conduit 1), Chapter 1

RELEASE DATE: JANUARY 25, 2024

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Conduit Series: Illustration and an excerpt: Muta

Muta.

In his actual form.

Although he looks like a snake — a long gold body with dorsal blotches of dark brown that form inverted triangles, ending in a horny spined tail — Muta is actually an aspect of the divine who was trapped in the body of a snake. As a punishment, perhaps. At least according to family legend.

So kind of like me, but not really. I have opposable thumbs and a more well-rounded diet. But Muta has the wicked fangs and venom, among other otherworldly tricks.

It’s also possible he’s one of my ancestors. Again, depending on how much of the family mythos can be wholly believed.

– Awry (Conduit 1) Chapter Two

RELEASE DATE: JANUARY 25, 2024

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Conduit Series: Illustration and an excerpt: The Gage Estate

The Gage Estate. Illustration by Kateryna Vitkovska (@vitkovskaya_art)

Instead of unlatching the gate, I climb it. The fencing is about six feet high on this edge of the property. Grasslands allowed to go wild stretch from here up to the house, which is set back from the bluff. A long, sandy beach stretches out as far as the eye can see — with enhanced or normal sight — from either side of that jagged, rocky outcropping. A low-lying beach punctuated by massive rock formations jutting out of the surf runs to the right. To the far south, near the very edge of the property, dunes begin to rise.

Except ‘property’ really isn’t the right word to encompass the mass of land that the Conduit and the Gage family occupy along the coast of Oregon. It’s a territory, really. Hectares upon hectares of land and beach. Even the foreshore is protected from public access, with both legal and essence-enforced boundaries. There’s a no-fly zone above, and a no-boating zone set between us and international waters. No entry without permission.

I can’t currently see that much of the property, of course. Not even while balanced on top of the gate. I can, however, see the conical roof of the turret tower on the main house, offset to the left on the asymmetrical structure. None of the usually ever-present soft glow emanates from its windows.

– Awry (Conduit 1), Chapter Six, Zaya