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Widdershins, my nano project Chapter 7

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This has not been edited. It might change when this happens.

Crimson light glistened off the snow, casting an angry glow on the world. Rowan sat in the truck, his hands clenched around the steering wheel, waiting for retribution. The sounds of Morgan dressing ceased in the back, making for a charged silence. She climbed over the seat, easing down into the passenger side. The stiff anger on her face told him exactly what she thought of him.

“How?” She balled her fists hard, pushing them into her lap and took a deep breath, facing him. “How did you do that to me? There was no bite. Everything I have read about werewolves or seen at the movies says there has to be a bite. You told that creature he would change if he got bitten. I heard you.”

Damn, why did she have to start with that question? He briefly considered running, but she would follow, demanding her answers. He stared straight ahead. “The virus is in the fangs. I don’t have to break skin to inject it. I can let it flood into my mouth.”

“You …” She covered her face with her hands, rocking back and forth for a few moments. She looked away into the darkness of the trees. “You kissed me.”

She might as well have said ‘You pulled my head off’ from her tone. “Yes, it happened then.”

“Does this always happen when you kiss someone, or share a glass, or cough, or sneeze?”

Damn, she hadn’t been listening properly with her rage upon her. “I can kiss without infecting. Letting down the virus from my fangs is a choice. I chose to alter you.” Rowan braced for the screeching to start. He glanced at her when silence continued. She trembled, making him wish she had screeched. He could live with noise, but not this guilt trip.

“Why.” She still didn’t look at him.

“Because I knew who was behind the killings as soon as the henchmen on the skidoos arrived. His scent was all over them. I knew the old bat would find you eventually. He has all the time in the world to look.”

Morgan examined her hands in the light, especially the palms. Did people really believe the nonsense about hairy palms? “Vampires don’t exist. They are a myth. Werewolves aren’t real. I had an accident, and now I am in hospital in a coma and I’m dreaming this. I’ll wake and find the witness protection program has more men guarding me. I haven’t turned into a werewolf. This is part of my nightmare. It is an hallucination caused by a brain injury.”

“You’re not dreaming.” He tried to take her hands in his, but she slapped him away. “Vampires, us, and other creatures have always existed. We benefit from disbelief. All the movies about us have led to a peaceful life.”

The shaking increased.“That vampire is real … he is going to find me, isn’t he?”

Rowan sighed. “He is going to be busy back-trailing me for where he thinks I might have stashed you. He knows me. We are old enemies, and he knows I don’t increase my kind by choice, so he won’t imagine you, a werewolf with me, ad his target, not yet.”

“What happens when he does?”

“I would imagine he will have a serious problem. His instinct is to bite, and he can’t without getting infected. He’d go for a bloodless kill, but he needs to fight me to get to you.” Rowan basked in the first rays of the rising sun with spiteful relish. “Stanislav was responsible for almost outing me not so long ago. I would welcome a final reckoning.”

She wasn’t listening to him. Now she was out of fur, the shock consumed her. He revised his plans, for going to Siberia wasn’t going to prevent the old bat coming after them. Once Stanislav found the trail cold, he would have people looking out for a couple buying a ship passage. No, he’d take her to Vancouver Island for the winter. The climate was temperate, and he could teach her how to adjust in the untamed forests of the north of the island where they would blend in with other packs. Let the old bat chew down his talons down to the flesh in frustration.

Rowan started the truck. He had daylight hours to drive through the interior, get the ferry at Vancouver to Nanaimo, head north from there until he could hook up with the Pacific Rim highway to Sprout Lake and then they could take a back road to Strathcona Provincial Park.

Heavily forested in a wild way, the park was not vehicle friendly, and definitely not friendly to large aerial objects. Rowan couldn’t remember there being any motel near the place, which meant a long flying distance. The vampire was going to have to send his henchmen unless he chose to fly his wings down to stumps and walk his feet off.

If he were Borinsky, he would be phoning the moment he had put a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on his motel room door and secured the drapes over the window. Given the truck hadn’t been reported as stolen by the absent owners; it would take the old bat a goodly while to convince someone to run the plates. That someone wouldn’t act without contacting the owners.

Morgan fixed her wig in place with an expression of distaste. She clicked on the overhead light to touch up her old lady makeup in the rear view mirror. “How are we going to get a boat if that monster has the harbor watched? He will, won’t he?”

“Change of plans. We stay in Canada, but move across to Vancouver Island.” He readjusted the mirror.

“How? On the ferry, in this truck with the description circulated? I saw the monster write down the plate number while he waited for you to stir. Have you forgotten I am wanted for murder?”

Damn. He must be getting old to not wake sooner in the presence of danger. He should have stirred before the vampire had found a perch. Maybe they wouldn’t be getting the ferry to the island with the truck. Perhaps it was time to call in a few favors. Terminals would be watched but they couldn’t station people at every single jetty pocking out into the ocean. No, he needed a smallish fishing boat with an outboard motor and new exactly where he could hire one.

“First, lose the old lady makeup. It is possible someone saw us together with this truck and may remember when Borinsky wakes up from his nap and starts reporting in. Then we get you some new clothes and a smart phone for me. I need to access some funds for a car hire since the truck is of no use, not if he took the plates.”

“What about the money you took off those men?” Her face radiated disapproval.

“Morgan, if you were a car hire company, how would you feel about hiring to someone who couldn’t produce a credit card, proof of identity and was a tad shy on luggage to boot? I can book it remotely through one of my companies. They won’t ask questions if it is a corporate hire.”

“Oh, I see. The ferry will be good, then.”

No, it wouldn’t but he was too tired to explain right now. The old bat would have the port watched by now and he was smart enough to figure out the truck would be history. The watchers would be for people. He would have made those arraignments the moment he settled into his room for the day. Rowan didn’t intend to leave a trail when he went to ground this time.

 

And now for some cat spam because I love my fluffies.

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^Darkspire Reaches #Sale^

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Read a snippet of this dark, romantic fantasy.

The late afternoon sun gave a red tinge to the sky as Raven emerged from the rank tunnels onto the lake shore. She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the smell coming from her wet clothing. Foul water found and polluted every dry shred of fabric on her body.

The hunters used vargel hounds to track, and they would come to this place, so she would spread her scent to confuse them. Raven waded out into the lake, keeping within her depth, then, using the sun as her guide, she headed northwest. They would figure a direct north line of escape to the settlements of the tribes. Raven didn’t doubt Margie would help foster that notion to save her own skin. Again, a bitter smile curled her lips upward. As long as she remained in the water, she left no trail. Almost as an afterthought, she dipped her torch into dull, gray waters and let it fall.

Cold seeped into her bones while she waded on the fringe of the lake. It made a harsh contrast to the foul, but warmer, temperature of sewer filth. Hunger clawed at her insides, bringing another form of cold, one that started from within. The baying of hounds startled Raven into a misstep and she fell; her feet rose to the surface, turning her on her back, the motion warring with the wet clothes pulling her down. If she shed them, she would give the hunters another clue to her passage, and how would she get new ones? The fabric belled out to catch a current and draw her to the center of the lake.

She drifted north to the sounds of the horn call of hunters and the baying of their hounds. Maybe they would burst from the thick line of trees almost reaching the edge of the lake. No pyre could send her spirit on its journey now.

She didn’t know the size of the lake. She hadn’t seen the other side across a vast expanse of water, sunlight sparkling off the waves and ripples. No doubt it drained in the direction of her passage for the current to pull her, but that soon ceased to concern her as the icy waters leeched at her, sucking out her life. A small bird fluttered down to settle on her chest and under his bright gaze, she let herself become enveloped by death’s cold arms.

Waves of sleep lapped around her, washing away hurt. She closed her eyes, feeling the wind on her face, on her body, as she hurtled through the air. For a moment, she imagined herself back at the citadel, throwing herself off a turret to ride the wind. One last image of Margie, a smile lighting her face after a good scrying session, and then flashes of gold lanced through the picture in her mind’s eye until only gold remained. Gold upon gold, fading down into nothing—nothing but a pair of shining, golden eyes.

And here is a trailer for the sequel.

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http://bookShow.me/B00DJE8RP4

An Interview with Author Jan Petken

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Tell us about your past careers.
I joined the (British) Royal Navy at the age of seventeen. I was a leading Naval Policewoman, equivalent to a sergeant in the Military Police. After the Navy, I went to work for a travel company as an overseas representative. During the first Gulf War I was a security guard at the BBC World Service radio station. After I left the BBC, I spent twelve years as a bodyguard for a Saudi Princess.
My final career outside the house was with British Airways. I was a cabin crew member on the worldwide fleet, which allowed me to travel extensively to every corner of the world, at least two or three times. Unfortunately, I had an accident on board a flight. The aircraft, a Boeing 747, was flying at 39,000 feet above Africa when it was caught in clear-air turbulence. As the plane dropped my body flew upward causing my head to hit the cabin’s ceiling. As a result of this accident, I have had three major operations on my spinal cord and am now retired. I missed the busy and interesting experiences that my job had brought me, thus turning my attention to writing.
I’ve lived in so many countries, I’m dizzy. I’m a jack of all trades but master of none. I’ve made so many mistakes in life that I often wonder how I managed to survive all these years – But, I feel blessed to be able to call writing, my last stand. Long may it last x

Why historical fiction?
I can still picture the day my passion for history was ignited. I was a little girl, sitting with my mum in a cinema watching a re-run of, Gone With the Wind. Whether it was the costumes, dialogue, accents, or horses that caught my attention, I don’t know, but that was the moment my love affair with the past began.

Do you stick to the same historical period, and do you have a formula?
No. I don’t really have a favourite historical period, or event. I’m a Gemini, and as changeable as the weather. It will be impossible for me to cover all the historical periods that I would like to write about, in my lifetime, but I’ll get through as many as possible, because I want to share as many historical stories as I can. There’s an old saying: We are only passing through. That’s so true when you think about thousands of years, full of historical events that we can only read about.
When choosing my books’ themes, I think about where I’d like to be and what I’d like to be involved in. When I write, I see, feel, and go with gut feelings. I enjoy the journey, and rarely plan ahead. There are no outlines, notes, or list of characters. My preparation is negligible, and I rarely follow rules. Right or wrong, this is my method, and I guess I’ll continue adhere to the proverbial saying, ‘going with my flow.’

 

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Reviews
The Guardian of Secrets
“An epic in every sense, The Guardian of Secrets is War and Peace for a new generation. Jana Petken is a natural storyteller and in The Guardian of Secrets she weaves an engrossing, passionate tale of family life, of love, of betrayal, of war and redemption. These are classic themes and they are combined here to produce a classic tale in the finest traditions of historical fiction.”
Dark Shadows: Mercy Carver Series
“Dark Shadows, is the first five-star book in Jana Petken’s exciting Mercy Carver series. This meticulously crafted and riveting tale had me captivated from the very first page.”
Blood Moon: Mercy Carver, Book Two
“The author did a fantastic job weaving this story. I admit I was surprised at some twist and turns. Many times, I found myself holding my breath!”
The Errant Flock
“A glorious read, I was totally captivated by this story. Her descriptions of the people, the country and the history put me right in the picture and I couldn’t put it down. She is a great storyteller with lots of depth to her writing.”
Links
Amazon page
http://www.amazon.com/…/B00I2W…/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1…
Twitter @AuthoJana
FB https://www.facebook.com/AuthorJanaPetken/
Website
http://janapetkenauthor.com/

Widdershins my nano project chapter 6

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This has not been edited and may well end up being tweaked.

Rowan reached sight of the Rockies just as the sun was setting. The low light on his face seared his tired eyes after thirty-six hours driving but the satellite navigator on the truck had helped, particularly at crossing frozen farm fields to avoid a border stop. Neither of them had papers and he wasn’t up to giving explanations. He could just imagine the reaction to his statement, ‘Well, I am a five-hundred year old werewolf and this is a young wolf in the making. No, we don’t have passports because we aren’t really human anymore.’ He’d deal with getting new identity documents once he had Morgan safe.

Luckily, the truck was a four-by-four or he would have been in trouble with the snow. Morgan hadn’t stirred, despite the two stops for gas and one to change to Canadian currency at a bank just as they opened in the morning. He hadn’t thought she would waken after the strength of stuff he had given her. Five more hours to drive through Calgary and Banff and then he was into the interior of British Columbia. Any side road would do after that point. A whine from the rear of the truck raised the hair on the back of his neck. His time was running out. He pulled over on the hard shoulder to check on Morgan. She twitched and moaned. The change was coming sooner than he wanted. Not good. He might not have time to strip her before he released her if he didn’t do so now, a necessity, if not his preferred choice. He tried to be gentle to keep her hibernating. Stars, she had a great body now she had put on a bit of weight and wasn’t such a skeleton. Down boy, he couldn’t think about that. He wrapped her in purloined duvets to cover everything except her head.

The world spun when he tried to climb into the cab again. He took a moment to clear his head. Five hundred years of endurance kicked in. He could do this and he could do it safely for both of them. He rolled down the window, sucking in a blast of arctic air to keep him awake for the next stretch. Calgary flashed by in a glare of garish Christmas lights, followed by Banff with more subdued decorations. The noises from Morgan became louder but this didn’t disturb him as much as an overriding sense of dread. Something stalked them, and yet he couldn’t see any vehicle behind him, not on a consistent basis. The sense of oppression continued until three hours before dawn. Now he knew who hunted him. A vampire and a long distance one at that. Someone needed to check into a motel with vacancies, which wasn’t easy, given the ski season in full operation. Someone needed to make quite sure he had a nice dark room before daybreak. Good, it gave him time to set Morgan free. He turned off on the first side road, driving until he found a cut out. The growls from the back of the truck were getting serious. He pulled over, opening the rear door. One yank got the covers off her. He retreated to the other side of the truck to let nature run its course. The cold would make her change to get her fur, but he had to stay out of her scent pattern or she would attack him. A vibrant howl reverberated. It had begun. He climbed up to the cab roof, out of the way. A slim and beautiful wolf erupted from the rear of the cab. She sprinted into the trees in easy bounds. Rowan slid off the roof to get inside, shutting all the doors. Now, at last, he could sleep. The vampire was going to have to check every vehicle on this route to find the right one and at Christmas time, with people traveling, it was going to take time. Morgan would run and she would hunt until her human memories kicked in, and then she would return to deal with him for what he had done to her. He didn’t imagine she’d be thrilled. Rowan clicked the door locks shut before he surrendered to exhaustion.

***

Morgan came awake suddenly with an overpowering urge to run. She leapt out of a smelly area into clean forest. With the stars above her head and the sounds of nature all around, her world had no end. Crisp snow bore her weight for the fleeting seconds her feet made contact, leaving only a slight indent. Other fresh tracks snagged her senses with the aroma of prey. Mm, bunny, yum. She found it scrabbling in the snow to get at withered grass under the mantel of white. Carefully she edged around the clearing until she was downwind, her tail now wagging in anticipation. One step at a time, she crept closer, belly low. One mad dash, with the white hare squealing, bounding off at jagged angles and she had it. A bite to snap the neck brought the taste of fresh warm blood to her mouth. She started with the entrails, working her way to the muscles and then crunching the marrow out of the big bones, licking out the goodness. A full belly came with disturbing thoughts. This was not right. Memories of her other life bubbled to the surface in that lonely glade. He had done this to her, the man who was wolf. Yes, she wanted freedom, but not in this form. Her damaged leg began to ache in the cold. She must find him; make him answer for his sins. Her own scent gave a trail back to his truck and an impossible sight.

***
Rowan’s wolf sense roused him from slumber. A predator stalked and he thought he knew who it was. Being inside a locked truck was no security if he guessed right. More pressing, Morgan might walk into a trap if he didn’t spring it first. This showdown was long overdue. He stepped out into the frigid night, snow crunching underfoot, every sense keyed to the slightest movement or sound. Darkness ruled in the time before dawn.

A rustle in a nearby tree spun him around. Stanislav Borinsky, now called Jack Stevens, crouched on a limb, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. The vampire watched, waiting, intent on the cabin of the truck.

“Where is she, old wolf? What have you done with her? You know you will tell me when I’ve finished with you. Why not spare us both the inconvenience?”

Rowan assessed the killing field with a swift glance. Every boulder, depression, fallen branch mapped in his head, every slight depression or hummock in the snow; he smiled at the old bat. “Borinsky, you missed the boat by so much the ticket office closed down hours since. She will never be your prey.”

The vampire leaped off his perch to float gracefully to the ground. “I will have her. I won’t have my operations disrupted by a human. You must see this from my point of view. I need Mullen to front my North American operation and she has fingered him. What is a puny human to us? Come, give me the girl and I will forgive what your pack did to my men. ”

“The girl is mine. Shall we fight?” Bring it on. It was past time they stopped dancing around each other and settled this for good. This wasn’t about Morgan any longer. It was about who was going to survive.
Borinsky hesitated, looking into the shadows of the forest. “How careless you have become in your dotage. Your pack appears conspicuous by their absence. One last chance. Where did you leave her and where is she going?”

A whiff of frigid air brought the scent of wolf. Rowan did have a pack mate, but was she on his side? The old bat missed the spore of a werewolf. Too bad for him. “How about you consider giving up flying? Sink your fangs into me and that is what will happen.”

Borinsky snapped his cloak back from his shoulders. “What makes you think I would want to ruin my dental hygiene on your sorry carcass? We both know I am stronger than you in your current form. I’ll settle for snapping your back to let you freeze to death.” He rose from the ground, floating into battle position.

A sleek gray wolf sprang out of the bush, bounded to the truck bed, and then onto the roof of the cab. She crouched, ready to spring, her glowing eyes intent on the vampire’s throat. The vampire sailed up onto his former perch, shaking out his cloak like ruffled feathers. “That is not a wolf.”

Rowan smiled again. “Not all of my pack are lupine. Shall we discover what happens when a vampire gets bitten by one of my kind? Normally, I am kind to new pups, but in your case I could make an exception. Oh, and by the way, if you want a fight, you had better get on with it. I spy a silver streak in the sky. Still, this shouldn’t be a problem for you in your new life.”

Borinsky made the mistake of looking east. Morgan leapt at him, missing by a spider’s leg, when the vampire flew up in panic. His hiss of outrage made the night colder. “I’ll not forget, or forgive. I’ll find the girl without you.”

Rowan moved close to the wolf, reaching down with one hand to stroke her luxuriant fur. “Oh look, is that some red I see in the sky?”
The vampire took flight in a blur.

Morgan bit his hand, just a little. Reckoning time. “How about if I go get your clothes and turn my back while you change? We can argue all you like after that.”

 

Snow day May 29 2010 297

Widdershins, my nano project chapter 5

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The truck fired into a healthy sounding purr when Rowan turned the ignition. He had finished packing the trunk in the box with anything he thought they might need, plus Morgan’s stash of potential weapons under the passenger seat while the battery was recharging. With twilight approaching, he wanted to make a start if he could cut her loose from that computer. Knowing who was after her wasn’t going to change her problem, so why keep digging into the grubby details? She was only going to upset herself even more as he guessed the weapons she gathered were to self-eliminate if those men caught up. Morgan wasn’t a hunter…not yet. He left the engine running to heat up the cab while he went to fetch Morgan.

As he guessed, she was hunched over the computer in the master bedroom nook. She had a medical website online and was looking into tingling sensations of the extremities. Waves of guilt rushed over him for what he had done to her and yet there was no choice.
She’d be grateful one day.

“Time to go,” he said.

“In a moment. I think I am coming down with something and I just want to see if this site has any suggestions.”

“You do know that if we are tracked to this cabin the laptop will be checked for your browsing history?” And then the searchers would know someone had a problem. Not a good thought. He would rather the man in charge of the hunt not know what he had done to Morgan.

Morgan turned to him, “Just how does a werewolf know so much about tech?”

She had a point. “I have another personae, who happens to be a rich property owner and who has all the toys to go along with the lifestyle. ‘Brandon’ became a tad too interesting to various government people a few years back, so now he is on an extended vacation overseas.”

She closed down the site, deleted her browsing history from a proxy server, deleted the proxy server, emptied the trash box and turned off the laptop before turning to him again. “What did you do to interest them?”

“I got sloppy and didn’t pay attention to my appearance as much as I should have done. I had gotten very comfortable with ‘Brandon’, who someone noticed wasn’t aging. ‘Brandon’s’ son will be able to take on his role in another couple of decades, but for now, I need to have him elsewhere and out of sight.”

Shock stiffened through Morgan. “You don’t age? How old are you?”

“I don’t keep an exact tally. I’m old enough to remember the Pilgrim Fathers settling in America.” He shrugged.” Now if you are quite ready, I would like to move out before someone gets worried about our smoke signals. It would be nice to drive a vehicle that isn’t reported as stolen.”

She got up, only to lurch sideways. Rowan caught her before she fell. “Hey, you need to take a nap. I have a nice, warm cab with a blanket on the back seat.”

“I’m fine. Put me down.”
“No, I don’t think so. I can feel you trembling. How about if I get you settled in the truck and then take a look around for something to help you when we stop?” He marched down the stairs with her cradled in his arms.

“I didn’t find any match for my symptoms on the site,” she objected.

Now at the door of the truck, he settled her in place. “Old Rowan knows the ways of nature and herbs. You just get some rest while I drive.” Yes, he did know herbs to help her. He had found them around the lake shore and cabin before she her symptoms started. Once they came to a place where they could rest for a while, he’d brew his concoction, and then she would sleep through the worst of it. Guilt wracked him for taking the choice away from Morgan. Her star burnt too bright to fizzle into oblivion, which it would if nature to took its cruel course. Her hunters would never stop until she was dead, even if one culprit was incarcerated. This man’s boss had very long arms, as Rowan knew from personal experience in his other personae. Morgan wore a huge target engraved on her back for as long as she remained among the accountable.
The night beckoned. He put the truck into drive.

***
Morgan awakened on a hard bed in what looked like a poor motel room. The requisite TV was anchored high to a wall. Underneath, a coffee maker festered. A smell of rancid fat permeated the air. A small kitchenette emitted fumes from the concoction Rowan brewed over the stove. She tried to sit up, but the room whirled and she was on fire. She groaned. Had her leg become infected? The wound seemed to have closed up nicely with the fine stitches Rowan had sewn. It hadn’t felt uncomfortable for a while now.

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Rowan tipped his concoction into a mug, using a tea filter. He walked over to hand her the drink.

Morgan viewed the contents with distrust. It smelled nasty. “Why should I drink this?
“Because you are sick and it will make you feel better. Of course, you can decline and suffer.” His eyes dared her to refuse his help.

“It is herbs, right? I drink this and my fever goes down?”

“Something like that. How about trying the brew? He hunkered down by the side of her bed.

Her head spun, her guts churned and she couldn’t focus. Whatever it was he offered might help her. His painkiller concoction at the cabin certainly worked like a charm. She sipped the drink. Not unpleasant, with the faint aftertaste of herbs. At least it quenched her thirst.

“How long before I get the benefits?”

“As we are three days from a full moon, it is difficult to say. Just try to sleep.”

Not a problem. Already, her eyes couldn’t focus. Strange his medicines always seemed to have this effect. She drifted off into a cloud of fluff.

***

Rowan cleaned up his mess with a heavy heart. Yes, Morgan was going to recover. Of that, he had no doubt. If she ever forgave him was another issue.

He slipped the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the outside handle of their door, drew the curtains and positioned a padded chair with its back against the door. Next, he took out a pack of beef jerky from his backpack and hooked the comforter from his bed. Morgan might rest quiet tonight, although he wanted to make sure she didn’t wander. She would have to wake him to get outside, should the urge strike her. Satisfied, he gnawed on both the jerky and the problem of the next stage in their journey. He had to get them to the forests of British Columbia before the next full moon.

Frank_the_upright

Research for historic characters.

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Here is something I think people might enjoy. If a character is linked to a place, even by implication, it is needful to know extensive details about the aforesaid place to get a greater understanding of the character. Now did Merlin have a hand in the construction of Stonehenge? He was an enchanter by repute. Just how long did he live and was he human or not? Legends begin with some element of truth.

Oh, and the picture is my personal property taken on a visit over the pond. As I said, I believe in extensive research.