M. Garnet

Do I really want a Christmas present? Wouldn’t it be more fun to have a personal present from a Pagan King who celebrates in his ancient religion on the same Eve? How about Celebrate A Holiday Eve?
Alli had gone to a party one night, had great sex with a rich man who practiced a pagan religion—then was tossed aside. She knows there’s more to her life than that one night on Halloween, so when she receives a priceless antique from a nameless source right before Christmas, it has to be from him. She’ll show him—she’ll travel to his home in Ireland, throw the gift back in his face and refuse any offer he makes. She’ll show him. Unless…unless he reaches for her, unless he holds her, unless he kisses her.

Dreams are successions of images, ideas, emotions and sensations, but what if Someone could harvest these and use them?
 
She found out at an early age that she often could decide what she dreamed about when she settled down to sleep. She also was aware that she spread a calm feeling to the patients in the children’s wing of the hospital wing where she worked.
He served worlds Earth had never heard of, being able to read the emotions and dreams of very evil beings, but the toll on his mind was heavy. Her soft emotions and dreams gave him a release, but could she survive his control and could they help his own world?

I don’t have a sister, I was an orphan.  I don’t believe in Vampires, they are myths that make interesting movies. 
Say this three times and three women find out that what they had believed in all their lives was wrong, they had sisters and there were Vampires.

Blood Sisters.
I don’t have a sister, I was an orphan.  I don’t believe in Vampires, they are myths that make interesting movies. 
Say this three times and three women find out that what they had believed in all their lives was wrong, they had sisters and there were Vampires.
 

I don’t have a sister—I was an orphan. I don’t believe in Vampires. They are myths that make interesting movies.
 
Say this three times, and three women find out that what they have believed in all their lives is wrong. They do have sisters, and there are Vampires.
Among the Vampires are those who just want their blood, because it is better than normal mortal blood. But there is also a special connection for each sister with three male Vampires who want more than just blood.

I don’t want to carve a pumpkin. I don’t want bags of candy. I want a party that I would not trade for anything, that would give me memories that nothing could take away.
 
How could a quiet, reticent woman, raised by the nuns, but who resisted their teachings of the Devil and God, end up as the centerpiece of a Pagan celebration? Why, when the horned man with the beautiful Celtic tattoos covering half of his naked body, drew her in a way that no other man had ever touched her--not only her body, but her mind as he invaded her dreams before Oct. 31.
So she was caught up, against her will, in a strange Halloween custom of trading parties with fellow workers until she ended up on that final night, at that special party.

If you had to do something really good for someone else to remove a curse, but no one could see you, where would you start?
 
Think how much fun it would be if you were a puff of smoke. If you were a naughty ten year old, you would look at your sister’s diary. If you were a teenage boy, you could drift into the girls’ locker room. If you were a man, wait, if you were a man who had been born centuries ago, and you and your brothers had done a thoughtless deed to a sweet young girl and had a curse put on you, well, drifting around as smoke could become something else.
It did not help if the witch who put the curse on you let you form a small part of your body now and then. You could talk, but that often scared people away, a voice from nowhere. You could produce a hand, maybe one foot, and, yep, that impressed people.
Then, after all the centuries of drifting with forest fires, and campfires, and wherever the wind sent you, there was a woman who closed her eyes and only smelled cinnamon and sandalwood. But you needed to do more than just pleasure her with a hand.
 

Any curse has to have a good side along with the bad, or it will come back to bite the one who placed it.
 
The mists that swirl within the highlands of Scotland give a different feeling to each person who sees them. Some find them relaxing and calming, as well as a tie to the past because the mists have been in these valleys longer than man can remember. To some, they were frightening, a reminder of ghosts and demons and those things that go bump in the night. To Breadon, they were what he was now made of; the curse of a witch had transferred him into Moisture until he performed a selfless deed. But since he could only speak, or form a hand, most of the time, he just scared people and floated with the wind and rain, waiting for his chance, waiting centuries for Bethlyn.