Beginning January 1, 2013
Stop by and let us know what you think of the new look!
Saturday, October 29, 2011
A Samhain Tryst - The Wolf And The Druidess
The previous post by Lisa Sanchez is about the Celtic Fire Festival of Samhain, where we get most of our Halloween traditions from. My Paranormal/romance - The Wolf and The Druidess by Cornelia Amiri - also takes place at Samhain in Iron Age England. It's a Celtic twist on a Halloween Werewolf story. Please comment below with what Halloween creature you like the best werewolves or vampires. Include you email in the comment so I can send you a free pdf EBook, today only, of either my comedy/vampire/romance A Fine Cauldron of Fish or my werewolf novella The Wolf and The Druidess (based on which creature you prefer). You must be 18 or older for this contest.
Here's an excerpt of The Wolf and The Druidess:
“They used the magic of druid mist to sneak up on the herd,” Seren said.
“Indeed, but their mortal magic is no match for mine.” Gwydion’s voice rang with the power of a god. “They won’t get far.”
Mounted on the horse, with his arms spread, he chanted, “Shroud of mist, vanish at my command. Fog be gone. I break your stealth. Fade around me, beneath me and above me until you disappear.” In that moment, the heavy blanket of mist lifted.
“They cannot stop us. We will get them.” Seren tilted her chin high.
Hywell bobbed his head. “They just rode off. Herders ran into the village, yelling, alerting us. The other warriors and I grabbed our spears and mounted. I was the last.The rest are up ahead, chasing the raiders.”
“What tribe?” Seren asked.
“The Silures,” Hywell said, with an edge to his voice.
“Gwydion, heed my mother’s warning. Shape shift into a wolf, then you can sniff outthe cattle and the raiders.”
“No, I must stay in human form to cast a barrier spell they can’t escape.”
“I will perform the spell.” Seren was too irritated to hide the frustration in her voice. “I beg of you, take my mother’s warning to heart.”
“I must cast the spell,” Gwydion said in a soft yet firm voice. “I can freeze the raiders in place long enough for the warriors to catch up with them.”
“Do it,” Hywell said.
“No, he is in danger,” Seren snapped.
“It is our only chance. If we lose milk and beef, the entire tribe could starve during thewinter.” Hywell shook his head.
“What harm could possibly befall me? The Silures cannot hurt me if I turn them to ice first,” Gwydion said.
“My mother would not warn me unless the threat was real,” Seren said. “I myself sense danger, but it may not be from the Silures. You must be careful.”
“Seren, he is a god,” Hywell said.
“Yes, what could happen to me?” Gwydion said.
Rather than answer, she peered into Gwydion’s eyes. “Swear to me, you will take heed.”
“Yes, I will return to you unharmed.” Gwydion pulled his wand from the pouch tied to his side and brandished it high. “I am ready.” He swirled the ash stick, decorated with Celtic spirals, through the air in a sweeping motion.
“Foes of the Ordovices
Your raid is condemned.
I forbid your flight.
Shall halt your escape.
Frozen like ice.
For the tribe to find.”
A blue light with the power of a lightning bolt shot from Gwydion’s wand. Seren and Hywell clung to each other during the mighty blast, and they watched, knowing everyone in the village could feel the surge.