Sheritta Bitikofer's Blog, page 10

An abandoned son may have the heart to forgive…

A bit of chapter eight from my latest novella, The Scholars. This story continues with Geoffrey and Adam as they travel to the budding penal colony of Sydney in New South Wales. Back then, it wasn’t even called Australia. Taking place in 1791, the colony has only been around for three years. But they find more than aborginies and dingos. They find Geoffrey’s father, Alfred, who abandoned his family over four hundred years ago.

Broken Bay, New South Wales

A once clear blue sky was now darkened by pregnant storm clouds that had yet to let loose their torrents. The air had long been electrified with the coming tempest as Geoffrey neared his father’s hut in the tree grove. All he had to do was follow the most-hated scent trail.

He had walked all night from Prospect Hill where he left the injured settler to be discovered by his neighbors. Heeley and his small gang would no doubt tell them of the attack on the homestead and an investigation would be taken up soon enough. With hope, they would all forget about the one bolter that disappeared. Perhaps Heeley would make up some story that Geoffrey was carried away by the natives. It wouldn’t be unexpected.

What piqued him more than the long journey from Prospect Hill, more than the days he had spent in captivity amongst convicts and scoundrels, more than the constant evasion of natives or the moments he wasted feeling lost in this strange wilderness without a guide, was what waited for him when he came to the grove.

Nothing. The scents were stale and about to be obliterated by the rain that now fell to strike on the leaves of the canopy over the grove. Not a sound disrupted the silence in the clearing, neither breath nor movement. Geoffrey, his stomach growling and wolf bristling in agitation, went to the vacant hut to confirm it.

Neither Alfred nor Adam were inside, and it was enough to make him want to tear the house down. Heavy raindrops landed on the thatched roof and all at once, the sky opened up to let the rain come pouring down. Inside, Geoffrey was dry, though there was a leak toward the back of the hut.

On the poorly pieced-together table, he saw some parchment with words written in Adam’s hand.

Gone to the mountains. Will return soon.

Geoffrey crumbled the paper and let his now unsheathed claws rip into it without mercy. Why would they have gone to the mountains? How long had they been gone? Why didn’t Adam do as he asked and come to look for him in Sydney when he didn’t return?

Adam wouldn’t have disobeyed him, not after his show of concern before they parted ways. Had their argument aided the decision to leave the grove before Geoffrey came back? This had to be Alfred’s doing. His son wouldn’t have changed his mind so carelessly.

He let the mangled and wrinkled strips of paper float to the dirt floor, drove his heel down to bury them in his anger, and then turned to the open doorway. The veil of heavy rain that drenched the grove encouraged him to stay. There was little use in trying to track them now. Their scents would be washed away by the storm. With luck, the note would hold some truth and both of them would be back before nightfall. Although, he knew he would need to go hunting before then.

At least thankful for the shelter, he sat on the edge of his father’s thin straw mattress and hung his head in his hands. Patience was never his virtue. Waiting was a nuisance that brought more pain than pleasure, even when it was at its end. Sitting now, with only the din of rain to keep him company, a heaviness settled over Geoffrey.

He looked up, his eyes falling upon the slivers of water that snaked through the blades of grass to darken the dirt around the doorway. He watched its slow, creeping progress as the puddle formed and widened in the dip that had been dug for the express reason of catching any intruding rainwater.

With the heaviness came a numbness that tingled across his skin, and a feeling that speared through his chest. Loneliness.

At least when he journeyed to Sydney, and then from Prospect Hill, his mind was occupied with the task at hand. But now, with nothing to distract him, he felt it so acutely that it made his hands tremble with the need to be employed.

Geoffrey stood abruptly and paced the length of the floor. If his hands couldn’t be busy, then his feet might as well be. With each turn of the one room, he studied every detail. How the furniture was made, down to the angle of the cuts that were applied to the wood and the stitching on the mattress cover. The rain proved incessant and what might have seemed like hours, were only moments.

The one other constant torment was in the scent that saturated every article of the hut. His father’s scent. In those brief seconds when his mind had nothing else to think of, nothing else to examine, memories from centuries ago resurfaced. Memories he thought had long been dead and buried with his mother in England.

He remembered running to Alfred once when he had jammed his hand between two logs of firewood. His father had tested the bones and assured him there would only be a bruise, just as Geoffrey had done with James Castles the night before.

He shook his head to banish the mawkish scene from his head, but another soon took its place. The four of them were working in the fields together. Hugo and their mother carried the bushels as Geoffrey and Alfred tore the ears of corn from their stalks. There was laughter, sunshine, and a feeling of family togetherness that was soon forgotten in the events that unfolded just a week later.

Geoffrey held onto that next memory to destroy the happy ones that came before. The one of his mother crying in their bedroom, clutching one of the few remaining garments that her husband had left behind. The one where tears streamed down all cheeks except for his own. He could shed none, not while the rest of his family suffered. Geoffrey had to pick up the pieces and be the patriarch, filling the role his father had discarded.

That familiar, comfortable rage came and fought away the loneliness. He looked around the hut once more and hated it again, as he should. But fresher images came to taint that wrath and stayed his hand from tearing the place apart.

His father’s reasons for leaving were now known and he couldn’t discount them, nor the selflessness that spawned it. Alfred left because he wanted them to be safe. He didn’t want that once bruised hand of his son to be marred beyond recognition by a beast who didn’t keep his distance. He didn’t want that blissful family picture to be missing a member because he lost control. He didn’t think that he would cause so much pain, because if he stayed, he thought he would inflict much more.

Geoffrey stood in the center of the hut and flexed his fingers, trying to make sense of it. Staying too long in this place was toying with his mind, making him believe that Alfred was worthy of some pardon for his actions. He resisted it, until his gaze fell upon something that snagged his attention.

It peeked out from beneath the edge of the thin blanket on the mattress, creating a sizable lump beneath the covers. If Alfred were trying to hide the thing, he did a poor job of it. Geoffrey, desperate for anything else that might villainize his father, snatched it up.

A figurine, only slightly bigger than the palm of his hand. The dry wood that had been whittled away over time looked old and brittle. Its edges were smooth to the touch, all splinters and uneven edges had been filed down. What he held was another ghost from his childhood, but back then its shape hadn’t been so refined.

When he was a boy, Geoffrey had sat on his father’s knee to learn how to carve. The sculptures were rude impressions at first. Lopsided balls, disproportionate squares, failed attempts at capturing the likeness of his family. Alfred had always been an excellent carver, but not quite skilled enough to be a master craftsman. Reduced to the occupation of a farmer, he still practiced and willingly passed on his self-earned knowledge to his son.

Before his father left, Geoffrey had begun a carving of a dog. Only the head, ears, and neck had been cut from the wood. The day before Alfred disappeared, Geoffrey grew frustrated with the project and tossed it aside, ready to begin something new that didn’t require him to fashion so many sharp and delicate features. When Alfred vanished, so did the partially finished dog. Geoffrey had supposed that it was lost or his mother threw it away, since her son had not taken up a carving knife since his father left.

Now, he knew the truth. Alfred took it and finished the dog.

He lowered himself to the edge of the bed again as the rain began to lessen. A light breeze blew in a cooling mist that calmed Geoffrey’s now dissipating ire. He stared at the carving and how his father had perfected the finer details of the dog’s fur, eyes, and even the claws on its feet. Turning it over in his hand, he could feel the senseless anger leave him.

A less sophisticated marker along the underbelly caught his eye. His initials were struck into the wood, claiming it for Geoffrey, even though his father had no plans to ever return the dog to its rightful owner.

He kept it. The bastard kept it after all these years. Geoffrey wanted to break it, to snap off the finely formed legs, the ears, the muzzle, the tail. He wanted to smash it under his foot and bury it in the dirt where he stood until there was nothing left.

But his fingers wouldn’t comply. They squeezed the dog figurine, but not hard enough to cause the wood to crack. Hot tears came unbidden to the corners of his eyes. Geoffrey didn’t know if they were shed in rage or from the heartbreak, culminating after years of wishing things could have been different.

He thought of his family, how they would see Alfred now and what they would think of his excuses. Would they forgive him? Would his mother understand, since she saw the danger in letting her husband stay? Would his brother see his side of things since he, too, forsook his own family for the sake of sparing them the truth of what he was? Would they have embraced Alfred and accepted that the past was behind them now?

And then, what should Geoffrey do? Could four centuries of hate be snuffed out by a silly sentimental thing like this? Could words alone erase all that Alfred had done? And if actions were required, would this be it? This child’s toy that he kept and cherished.

Continue the Loup-Garou Saga on Audible!

Precedents is now available on Audible! Check out the fourth book of the Loup-Garou series, narrated by the talented Katherine Billings!

It’s been a long road for this series and I’m so proud to have it finally available in ebook, print, AND audio formats! If you haven’t started the series and love a thrilling, emotional paranormal saga, The Loup-Garou Series should be on your To-Be-Read/Listened list!

Get it on Audible!

[image error]Katey Keith never expected to marry so young. She also never expected to be pregnant, or the first female loup-garou – werewolf – to give birth in thousands of years. As the embodiment of a Spirit of Peace, Katey’s carrying more than just her precious babies. She’s also carrying the future of her race. Her husband is doing what he can to help, but he has his own troubles. What does Logan Keith know about being a father? He’s never had a good example in his life. And babies cost a lot of money. Logan’s doing whatever it takes to support his family, even if his sometimes dangerous jobs ignite clashes with Katey. Then Katey and Logan, along with their pack, are summoned to an ancient castle carved into the snowy mountains in Switzerland. The council is meeting for the first time since the great Arnathian civilization fell apart due to the feud between werewolves and vampires. Can these two races make peace after spending centuries at war with one another? Katey’s supposed to be a great figurehead for the proceedings, but what does she know about politics or negotiating peace? But after an assassination attempt, one thing is clear. Someone is determined to unleash a great evil and make sure that Katey and her loup-garou family have no future at all.

The Loup-Garou Series on Audible

   The Enigma – Book 1[image error]

 Becoming the Enigma – Book 2 [image error]

Beast Within – Book 3

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What happens when the past refuses to stay in the past?

Wicked Endings: Book 4 in the Wicked Cries Series

Get it today on Amazon!

[image error]As a mediator to the dead, Sadie must constantly face fighting those that refuse to let go and the occasional angry dead girl. After a dangerous and almost deadly first year in Salem, Sadie’s parents decided to send her away for the summer to visit her Aunt Morgan in the small town of Nicholasville, Kentucky. After uncovering a murder hidden for centuries, she embarked on a deadly mission that led to several other exciting and almost deadly adventures. Now, as Sadie finally feels at home with her role as mediator and friendships with Noah and Lucy, a twist brings everything crashing down. Uncovering a mystery that has plagued the residents of Roanoke for centuries, Sadie takes on a job she may not even be able to solve. In Wicked Endings, the fourth installment of the Wicked Cries series, Sadie must fight the biggest battle and mystery she has ever encountered. And what makes it worse- she has to fight alone.

About the Author

Michelle Areaux is a wife, mother, middle school teacher, and author. As an avid reader and lover of all things literature, she followed her dream of becoming a published author and has never looked back!

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Something About Sheritta #6

If you could spend time with a character from any of your books, whom would it be? And what would you do during that day?

It’s probably a no-brainer, but if Katey McCoy from my Loup-Garou Series were a real person, I’d want to hang out with her all day, every day – if she would tolerate me. Katey was one of the first characters I ever wrote and she’s honestly the closest to me both sentimentally and personally. Much of myself was written into her character, from the way she reacts to certain triggers and how she thinks of herself – especially in The Enigma. Because we’re both introverts and don’t like going out too much, we’d probably stay at her place all day and watch movies or hang out with her loup-garou pack. I wouldn’t mind spending time with that bunch either for the same reasons. They were my first pack, my first batch of characters that I threw together and they’re based on some people I admired while in my high school years. I’ve grown up with them, learned from them, and they are as real to me as any living, breathing person on this planet. If I could just crawl into my Loup-Garou Series, I totally would, and you’d never hear from me again.

I am… me

I am the child sitting cross-legged, waiting for story time.

I am the woman who clutches her purse a little tighter when a man walks by.

I am the administrator behind the scenes, helping everything run smoothly.

I am the colleague who wants recognition.

I am the wife who tries to please her husband while maintaining her own happiness.

I am the jilted lover crying in the shadows.

I am the nerd, researching things that no one cares about anymore.

I am the sheltered child who doesn’t know enough.

I am the old soul singing to Fitzgerald, Sinatra, and Crosby.

I am the dancer with the full hips when that Latino beat drops.

I am the unloved creature when I hear the guitar of rock and heavy metal.

I am the star-crossed optimist when I hear the twang of country.

I am the friend who is always there to listen.

I am the mouth that sometimes says things it shouldn’t.

I am the reader who craves the classics.

I am the writer trying to bring back the style.

I am the student who follows the rules.

I am the rebel that does things her own way.

I am the daughter that should try harder.

I am the mother that does too much.

I am the driver who will go anywhere as long as it’s away from here.

I am the homebody who needs security and a place to call my own.

I am the one who remembers the small, insignificant details.

I am the one who will forget your name ten seconds after you’ve said it.

I am the overthinker who can’t let go of the past

I am the romantic dying for a better future.

I am the heart that lays open upon the sleeve of a person who wants to be accepted.

I am the one with my shields up high, shunning hopes and dreams.

I am the teenager shouting out, but no one hears a word.

I am the adult who knows that screaming will get me nowhere.

I am the quiet one who dreads to be approached.

I am the desperate one who needs to know they matter.

I am bleeding.

I am healed.

I am broken.

I am whole.

I am tired.

I am alive.

I am weak.

I am strong when I want to be.

I am… me.

Love, Your Baby Girl

I have so many amazing friends in the writing/author community and when I see that one of them is releasing something new and exciting, I’m going to try and share it with everyone I know! Shaunna Rodriguez has been an awesome sounding board and encouraging women as we both work through this tough, sometimes stressful, career. She’s releasing a book that echoes a song I absolutely love by Sugarland. It’s about following one’s dream, knowing the first few steps of the journey are tough, but so worth it in the end. And that’s what her new novel is about! Check it out if you love romantic mysteries with a Grand Ole Opry twist!

Get it on Amazon today!

[image error]Charlotte Davis has been stealing hearts with her melodic voice since she was knee high to a grasshopper. Singing in the spotlight on the Grand Ole Opry stage is a life-long dream she is determined to fulfill. Drawn to the neon lights and country sounds, Charlotte seizes the courage to start a new life and moves to Nashville to find her big break.

Kasey Brooks is spellbound the second he sees Charlotte’s shimmering blue eyes and flaxen hair. Lucky for him, her craving to play guitar and croon gives him the opportunity to spend every spare second getting to know her.

Booking as many gigs as she can, Charlotte hopes to catch the ear of a talent scout, one in particular. Marvin Doyle is the top of the heap when it comes to spotting talent. The names of country mega stars he has endorsed and promoted is long and notable, and Charlotte has every intention of being on that list.

A breaking news headline declaring a mysterious murder has Charlotte reeling and asking oodles of questions.

Will the stage see another star in the making, or will it be lights out for Charlotte when the murderer strikes again?

 

Something About Sheritta #5

Who is your hero and why?

It’s going to sound terribly cliché, but when I really think hard about it, I have two heroes.

The first is my mom. She was a single mother, raising a little girl with some help from her parents, but for the most part, she was fiercely independent and still is. I remember her doing things that were normally the “man’s job” because they had to be done. Stuff that I would rather give my husband to do, like mowing the lawn, taking out the trash, replacing garage door torsion springs, etc., my mom would have to do herself. I recently wrote a novel that really shifted the way I look at my mom and the struggles she went through without a husband. She didn’t find love again until I was in high school, so the majority of my life, I saw her stand alone. Never a week goes by when I think to myself “My mom would have done it this way” or “This is something my mom would do, so I should be able to as well”. As often as she frustrates me, I see more of her coming out in my personality all the time. Even today, I’m listening to some 80s music that her and I used to listen to and it brings back fond memories.

My second hero is my husband, in the sense that he saves me so many times that I am forever indebted to him. He’s been my rock, my foundation, my leaning-post, my sanity for the last ten years (five dating, five married). There have been times in my life when there was no sunshine, no light at the end of the tunnel (or if there was, it was an oncoming train). But he never fails to come in and bring me out of a funk with his goofiness. A few times, he’s stopped me from making terrible decisions that could have caused me some real harm. When I say I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him, I’m not exaggerating or being dramatic. He’s held my pieces together when all I wanted to do was fall apart. No man could tolerate me the way he does and I’m forever blessed that I get to be his wife and lover.

The Packs Are Growing, But For How Long?

The seventh novella of the Legacy Series is live! Follow Dustin Keith from Ireland to France and see what troubles follow him!

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[image error]*Ireland, 1770*

Dustin Keith only wants two things in life; to have fun and marry his childhood sweetheart. When he finally wins the approval of her traditional father, he thinks that things couldn’t get better. But when what should have been a blissful wedding night turns into a walking nightmare, Dustin must come to grips with a part of himself that harkens back to the old-world superstitions that he thought he could leave behind when he said his vows. After shifting for the first time into a faoladh – werewolf – Dustin flees from his homeland and washes up on the shores of France, where an alpha and his family take him in to nurse him back to health. But Dustin couldn’t completely escape Ireland and danger follows him all the way to Darren Dubose’s homestead.

 

A Taste of Ireland, Teasers

Just one more day before The Irishman goes live on Amazon and Kindle Unlimited! Don’t forget to reserve a copy so it’ll be delivered right to your Kindle!

 

Rules are broken and hearts are put in peril on the long highway…

New Release by Marie Savage! 

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From Author Marie Savage who brought you the Holiday Love Series comes a NEW sexy story

On the highway, bad things can happen …

Aimee Jo Elliot isn’t having a good day. Her long anticipated journey to California is cut short when her car is stolen. Stranded at a truck stop in Alabama, with no car, no money, and most of all, no hope, she’s desperate to get back on the road. California holds the answer to her dreams and an escape from the danger she’s left behind in Georgia. Accepting a ride from the sexy truck driver has its own set of risks, but she never considered it would be to her heart.

The life of an asphalt cowboy …

Luke McIntyre has life all figured out. He owns his own rig, makes his own rules, and only answers to himself. The solitude of life on the road suits him just fine. Not one for permanent relationships, he has no problems picking up temporary lovers. And he always makes sure they know the score—hot sex, respect, but no strings. His quiet life is shot to hell, however, when he offers the Georgia beauty a ride. He soon discovers that rules are made to be broken.

In for the long haul …

Luke and Aimee Jo soon realize their simple four-day journey is anything but simple. An instant attraction sidetracks their well-made plans and dreams. When they reach California, decisions must be made. Will they go their separate ways, or journey on together?

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