Novel Hearts Read online

  Novel Hearts

  Write More Publications

  Copyright © 2013 Write More Publications

  E-book Edition

  Published by Write More Publications

  Novel Hearts

  All rights reserved. The reproduction of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without permission of Write More Publications, www.writemorepublications.com

  First Write More Publications Printing 2013

  All the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All work is from the imagination of the author.

  Reprinting excerpts for reviews is permitted.

  All rights reserved.

  A record of the Library of Congress serial number can be acquired

  from the publisher.

  Manufactured in the United States of America.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-Book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  THE RIVER LIFFEY, By: Rebecca Boucher

  THE TWISTEDLY TRUE TALE OF RUBY HOOD, By: Stephanie Greenhalgh

  MY FOREVER LOVE, By: Theresa Oliver

  BE MINE, By: Jennifer Paquette

  HUNGRY, By: Amber White

  A HEART THAT CANNOT BEAT, By: Elaine White

  FAT CHANCE MY LOVE, By: J.S. Wilsoncroft

  CRAZY LOVE, By: Molly Bryant

  DEDICATION

  Authors tell stories every day. Oftentimes, our characters come alive, taking on personas of their own. Our characters live not only on the pages of our books, but within the pages of our hearts, as well.

  We, the authors of Write More Publications, came together and decided that we wanted to create stories to share the characters of our books with our readers, as we just couldn’t let them go.

  All of the books within which these characters reside

  are published by or coming soon from Write More Publications.

  May these characters come alive for you as they have for us,

  and give a message of love to all who read them.

  This book is dedicated to our readers, whom our characters live for.

  The stories that you will read within these pages are from many genres—fantasy, paranormal, romance and horror—creating a Valentine’s Day anthology that steps out of the box.

  We hope you enjoy reading …

  Novel Hearts

  The River Liffey

  By: Rebecca Boucher

  For Dad

  The characters in this story are based on the book

  Hunting the Moon

  By: Rebecca Boucher

  I remember a Celtic legend my mom used to tell me in my youth. It was a favorite story she would pull out every Valentine’s Day, becoming her way of showing that gifts were not always monetary. It also reminded her of how she met my dad.

  Dad never was a favorite of Grandma. It was a story of two lovers determined to be together, but held apart. The lovers were from warring villages. One was a druid, but Mom sometimes changed the villages from year to year; however, the gist of the story was the same. The lovers had to meet under the cover of darkness in the forest or by the sea to exchange words of love and small gifts. The two were inseparable, but fate was cruel. One night their love was discovered by a priestess from one of the villages. Their punishment was fierce. Under penalty of death, they were warned never to see each other again, but the couple could not be deterred. They refused and fled together to the edge of the sea.

  In Celtic times families were identified by the color of their village painted on a rock and engraved with their name or family symbol. The rock was meant to follow the person wherever they traveled, and when they died, it was to be cast in the sea. The name on the stone was their identity for eternity. The young lovers rejected their stones, leaving them behind. Instead, they created a new one, a single stone with both of their names engraved upon it as a symbol of their love. Fearful that they would be caught, the young lovers cast themselves into the sea with their stone, saying these words, “May we ever be united in love and hidden as long as this stone hides in deep waters.”

  My mother was always careful to point out that the young lovers were never seen again and neither was the stone. By the time I was in high school, I had heard it so many times I began to roll my eyes and flee the room whenever Mom started telling it again. It was always the one time her Irish borough came out. But now, as I sat in a airplane bound for Dublin with my husband of two years by my side and two urns of ashes under my seat, I began to finally realize what Mom was trying to tell me.

  “Do you realize we will be in Dublin for Valentine’s Day?” The soothing voice of my husband, Daemon, brought me from my thoughts. “Which, coincidently, is three weeks before your due date. I really hope we make it back to the states before the baby is born.”

  Instinctively, I placed my hand on my large belly as the plane banked to the right. So far, the flight had been uneventful, but this last leg over the English Channel was filled with turbulence. “You worry too much, Daemon. The doctor said I had plenty of time, and that I could go. Besides, I’m traveling with my own personal doctor anyway.” I reached over and placed my hand on his leg, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

  “I have almost one more year of residency to go and then this doctor is all yours, but in the meantime, I’m still questioning my sanity in letting me be talked into this trip. I mean we could have held on to the ashes for a while, it’s not like they will ever know.” I lifted my hand and swatted him on the arm. “Oww, what the hell was that for?”

  I pursed my lips into a pout. “That’s for speaking ill of the deceased. I made a promise and I intend to keep it.” Just then, the baby kicked me in the ribs and I jumped a little.

  “I saw that. See? Even baby thinks it was wrong for you to hit me,” he said with a sly smile.

  I smiled at Daemon and rested my head on his shoulder. I never got tired of being close to this man. “Well, it’s not like Dublin is known for its romance or anything. I mean the inn we are staying at prides itself as being ‘close to the action and the night scene’,” I replied, doing my best to impersonate my mother’s Irish borough.

  Daemon laughed. “Oh, I beg to differ, my sweet. I was just reading that the relics of St. Valentine are buried under the Whitefriar Street Church. Did you know that Valentine’s Day was originally the pagan festival of fertility?” he asked, as he leaned over and kissed my belly. “And you, my sweet, are very fertile these days.”

  I had to laugh. “Very fertile? What am I, soil?”

  He nuzzled my belly again. “Nice way to change the subject by the way. I still think it was risky to take this trip, but I know what the promise means to you.” I closed my eyes and snuggled deep into the crook of Daemon’s neck. Of all the things we faced together—homicidal fairies, revenge minded ghosts, shape shifters and lost friends—there never was any doubt in my mind that he was on my side.

  Then, a thought occurred to me. “We never took a honeymoon, Daemon. We can use this as an opportunity to be
young lover’s. Does it say anything in your guide book about Valentine’s Day festivities and all that goopy, sappy stuff?” A large yawn punctuated the end of my question.

  Daemon laughed. “Why don’t you take a little snooze before the plane lands.”

  I nodded at his suggestion and closed my eyes, taking in one last, sweet smell of all that is Daemon.

  When the plane landed in Dublin, we are greeted by gray skies and frozen drizzle. We easily cleared customs. As Daemon carried our bags, I held the woven tote that housed the urns. Actually, I was surprised that they weren’t heavier. Until now, I felt a strange kind of detachment from the whole adventure, but as my feet touched the ground outside the airport, and I admired Dublin, I felt a lump in my throat. In my hands I held all that was left of my greatest friend, who was also my greatest adversary. My quest was clear; to cast her and her lover deep into the ocean.

  “You ok, sweet?” I was brought out of my reverie by Daemon’s voice and worried eyes.

  I gave him a weak smile, then replied, “Yeah, just jetlag and the baby’s kicking up a storm. I’ll be better once we’re settled in the hotel.”

  “Ok, let’s call a cab and get this show on the road.” Daemon raised his hand to wave down the next cab he saw. It stopped quickly and he settled me in before placing our bags in the trunk, but I clutched the tote in my lap. I instantly fall in love with the cranky old man behind the wheel.

  He was stereotypical Irish and very opinionated. “Once your lass is settled, I think there’s plenty of room for her satchel in the back.” I saw his ice blue eyes watch me intently in the rear view mirror the whole time Daemon was placing our bags in the trunk.

  “No, I’m holding on to this one. I’m fine … really.”

  He gave me one more look over. “Are you sure? In your condition, I don’t want the baby being born in my cab.”

  I look to Daemon for help. “She’s fine, sir. We’re headed to the Castle Hotel. Do you know it?”

  The kind old man slid the car into drive and pulled away from the curb, fighting the airport traffic. “Aye, I do, sir. It’s a bit rundown, but comfortable enough to suit your needs. Clean and orderly. Can’t ask for much more, can ya?”

  Daemon hid a chuckle. “No sir.”

  The old man moved cautiously down the narrow streets. “What are you two doing in Dublin during such a cranky weather time? You must be planning on visiting Whitefriar Street Church and the whole St. Valentine’s hoop la, aren’t ya?”

  I shifted the tote bag to the seat between Daemon and I. “Actually we came here to fulfill a promise, but we just saw that in the guide book. Is it worth it?”

  The cabdriver absently rubbed the stubble on his chin and screwed up his eyes. “If you are in for that romantic babble. At my age, I have no use for it. There are far better things to do in the Temple Bar area with the pubs and even the art galleries, but there are always the pubs, mind ya,” he said, punctuating the last bit of information with a deep throaty laugh, giving the impression that it was some private joke we weren’t in on.

  I looked out the window through the fog and gloom and made note of the river beside the road. “Does that river go through the whole city?”

  “Aye, it does. That is the River Liffey. It cuts Dublin in half, separating the Southside from the north. If you are looking for the Whitefriar Church and the Temple Bar area, that’s the south side. The Halfpenny Bridge is a good pedestrian bridge close to your hotel. Walking would be the way to go.”

  I reached for Daemon’s hand and continued to stare at the river, as my mother’s legend ran through my head. “And it flows all the way to the ocean?”

  The old man gave me a weird look. “Don’t most rivers lass?”

  “Yeah, I suppose they do,” Daemon cut in. “It looks kind of dingy.”

  “Well, sir, they have cleaned it up the last couple decades, but it’s the peat bogs, mind ya. The river originated from the bogs. That there is what gives Guniess its trademark taste … water from the Liffey … but I don’t suppose the lass will be sampling much of that now, will she?”

  I shook my head and closed my eyes. The cab ride was taking much too long for my taste. Bless my husband’s soul as he tried to change the subject again. “Do you get much snow in Dublin?”

  “Nah, we mainly get cold, icy winters. Snow won’t last long here. You don’t see too much snow on the Liffey. Ahh here’s you hotel.”

  I was relieved when the cab finally came to a stop. A moment later, I was standing on the curb, watching silently as Dameon paid the fare. My mind was focused on the river, thinking that it might be just the place to lay them to rest, to sprinkle their ashes from the bridge and let them float peacefully down the Liffey. Maybe I could find a stone to cast into the river with them. “You ready, sweet? Let’s get you inside to rest. I really don’t like all this traveling for you,” Daemon’s voice brought me from my revive.

  “Yeah, I’m ready when you are.”

  With that, he took our bags and the tote from my hand and carried them toward the front doors of the hotel. We entered the hotel shaking the cold mist from our hair.

  True to the old man’s word, the hotel was rundown, but comfortable. I couldn’t find anything wrong with our room, and I was happy to see that our windows looked out over the Liffey. Sometime later, I stood watching the cold rain fall, when suddenly I felt Daemon’s arms around me and his lips on my neck. He loved my pregnant body and his hands roamed over it under the warm terrycloth of my bathrobe. I was lost in the moment, content to stay here forever … lost in the cold rain and welcoming warmth of Dublin, and lost in the arms of my husband. Since we arrived early this morning we were in our room, making love and sleeping, lost in a fairy tale moment, savoring every caress.

  “We should eat,” I finally said, unable to ignore the hunger pangs. I turned to face him and buried my face into his chest. “Must we? I don’t want to leave this cocoon of happiness you have spun me.”

  “Oh man, you are so sappy. It must be the pregnancy …” Damian said, chuckling.

  “Or the company. Can you get food and bring it back?” I asked.

  He turned to face me, sliding his naked body next to mine, pulling me into his arms. “But then I would have to get dressed, Lilly.”

  I laughed at his theatrics as I got up and threw his pants at him. “Hurry. The baby’s hungry.”

  “Yes, my bonnie lass. Your food will grace the table sooner than you can say Blarney Stone.”

  Rolling my eyes at his horrible accent, I crossed the room and adjust the tote for the tenth time, checking the contents, then stowed them safely back inside. I jumped when I felt Daemon’s arms surround me. “Maybe we should take care of that tomorrow,” he whispered gently into my ear, referring to the urns. “Then we can spend the rest of the week touring Dublin without the weight of the “fae” hanging over us.” I nodded as he continued. “And I was thinking we could go to the ceremony at the Whitefriar Church and renew our vows in the classic Celtic tradition in front of St. Valentine.”

  Tying the robe around me, I walked back to the window. “I was thinking that the Liffey would be perfect. We could find that bridge the cab driver was telling us about and sprinkle the ashes from there.”

  Daemon nodded, kissing me on the cheek. “Sounds perfect. You know, I admire what you’re doing. It takes a big person to forgive and then fly halfway around the world to forget.”

  “I’m not forgetting, Daemon. I could never forget either of them. Their actions led us to each other. What I’m trying to do now is close the chapter; to make peace before the baby is born.” I cleared my throat and brushed a single tear from my eye before he could see it. “Now, where is that food you promised me?”

  He released my waist and pulled his wool coat over a t-shirt, laughing at me. He was still is the most gorgeous man I had ever seen, especially with his golden brown hair tousled from our day in bed. “Be right back. You sure you’ll be fine here alone?” he asked, then ran out the do
or as I tossed a pillow at him. Instead, it hit the closed door and slid to the floor.

  Sometime after midnight, I woke up. I’m uncomfortable and whatever dream was screaming in my head spooked me. I looked over at Daemon, but he was sleeping so peacefully that I didn’t want to wake him, for fear he would think I was in labor. So, I rose from the bed and walked across the room to sit in a chair by the window overlooking the quaint street. In spite of the late hour, sporadic crowds walked down the street, chanting and singing, followed by quiet couples lost in their own little worlds of love. I smiled and wrapped my hands around my belly, softly humming to the baby. A faint whisper brought me from my thoughts. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  I looked over at the bed and Daemon was still sleeping. “Who said that?”

  A petite woman stepped from the shadows dressed in early fifties finery. “I did. I’m Deirdre and you are Lilly. Correct?”

  “Crap! Why do they always find me?” I asked, as she stepped toward me.

  “Did you say something?”

  “Not really. Do I know you?” I asked. Her skin was so translucent that I could see through her, but she was beautiful in a classic Irish way, as if she stepped out of one of the paintings in the Gallery. She almost reminded me of Kat.

  “To quote you, not really, but I heard of you. I was told you could see our kind; that you are sympathetic. I was sent to watch over your … cargo … shall we call it?” She stopped next to my chair and lowered herself to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. Then, she leaned her chin down onto them.

  “So, do you guys have some kind of otherworldly telephone system?” I asked, curious.

  Her laugh reminded me of church bells. “No, I wouldn’t say that, but we have some friends in common among the angels. Rita knew you were making the trip.”

  “And by ‘cargo’ I assume you mean the ashes. Why are you interested in them?” After I asked, I looked over at the bed. Daemon hadn’t stirred.