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New Contract, New Opportunities #HistoricalRomance #WIP

I'm super excited to announce that I've recently signed a new contract with The Wild RosePress to publish my historical romance tentatively titled, The Pirate's Lady.

This is a step in a new direction for me.

My books are primarily paranormal romances, however The Pirate's Lady will be straight historical romance without even a hint of supernatural goings-on!

Shocking, I know!

My readers and friends know that I am a huge paranormal lover, so what's with the change of scenery?

Well, it's exactly that. A change of scenery. A chance to let my writing muscles grow and perhaps to reach a new audience. I'm avidly interested in history. I've done immense amounts of research into many time periods that I've yet to dip my publishing toe into. I have several works-in-progress stories set in various time periods and locales. This just happens to be another one.

And pirates are fun! 

This is also an amazing opportunity for me to work with a new (to me!) editor, one who works in the historical department of TWRP. I hear those ladies are very serious about historical accuracy! I'm eagerly looking forward to learning more!

But, that doesn't mean that my paranormal romance editor won't be busy anymore. I have two more romances in the works with supernatural elements that I hope to send her soon. Despite branching into a new genre, that doesn't mean I'll abandon my first love!

If you'd like to keep up with my upcoming stories, 

please join my newsletter! 

Or if you'd like to catch up on my paranormal romances, 

check out my website.

Chapter One ~ The Witch's Kiss by Tricia Schneider #paranormalromance

      

       The dancing couples spun in colorful clouds of satins and silks. Sage Merriweather wandered the sidelines, his lengthy stature making it easy to search above the heads of the men and women occupying the crowded room. 

            “Ah, Sage, there you are! I’ve been searching for you.”

            He turned at the sound of his name. Marianne Grey walked toward him, swaying to the music as she deftly avoided contact with the near crush of guests that filled Winfield Park. Once she reached his side, she spun before him, holding her arms out in invitation.

            “Won’t you dance with me, Mr. Merriweather?” A twinkle of merriment lit her blue eyes. “It’s been an age since anyone asked me to dance. And I do so love a waltz.”

            “Of course, my dear,” Sage spoke through smiling teeth, his lips barely moving. “I can’t imagine why anyone might care to call Bedlam when they see me waltzing with thin air.”

            Marianne sighed dramatically. “I’m not simply air. I’m a ghost. A spirit. A phantom. However, I do exist.”

            “True,” he said. “And invisible to all but me.”

            “And my sister.”

            “Yes. Your sister who has sent her husband to introduce me to someone of importance. Someone who might have information to save you from this bodiless existence. So if you please, I have work to do. Why do you not watch the dancers perform? It’s quite lovely and will keep you entertained while I attend to business.”

            Marianne’s shoulders sank. “I cannot bear it any longer.”

            “You were happy as a lark moments ago.”

            “Yes, until you denied me a dance. I’ve never before been set down. Even without a body I find the insult unbearable.”

            Sage had the audacity to grin, which annoyed Marianne all the more. She bristled with wrath lifting his sagging spirits at the sight. Of late, she had become more docile and glum, not at all like the feisty Marianne he had known for most of his twenty-eight years. Being neighbors in the small village of Meryton had thrown their families often together, enough so they became more than simply friends. They had become family. It became official after his brother and her sister wed four months ago.  

            “Are you not pleased to hear we might be at the end of our search for someone with knowledge to assist you?”

            “Yes, of course,” Marianne said. “But if I cannot dance then what shall I do while I wait for you? Believe it if you will, but being a ghost is not all excitement. In fact, it's dreadfully dull.”

            “Then come with me,” he suggested, still keeping his lips as stiff as possible when a couple nearby darted curious glances in his direction. He experienced difficulty at times when talking with Marianne in public. People took note when he spoke to no one. “You may give your opinion of the man’s character after we leave Winfield and return home.”

            Marianne nodded. He marveled again at the lifelike resemblance. If he reached out to touch her, instead of feeling flesh and bone, he’d sense nothing more than frigid air. Yet she stood, looking as real and alive as he, just as solid as anyone currently on this ballroom floor. It was remarkable to know that while her spirit stood in this room speaking, her body remained in one of the upstairs rooms in Merriweather Manor.

            “Is that Basil?” Marianne tilted her head in the direction of the open doors leading to the gardens.

            “Yes.”

            Together they pardoned their way through the dancers and wallflowers. At least Sage did so while Marianne did her best to avoid contact with anyone until they reached the edge of the mass of guests. Some rather sensitive people spoke of the cool air surrounding them.

            Basil stood by the French doors, waiting until Sage approached.

            “Come with me,” he said, without any word of greeting.

            Sage spared a glance at Marianne who shrugged. They both proceeded to follow as he led them onto the patio and down the steps leading to the giant fountain in the center of the garden. The sculpture boasted a trio of mermaids, entwined in an ethereal and slightly erotic dance, their faces stretching upward and mouths open in song. Rather than notes, a stream of water gurgled from their mouths. It was a peculiar piece of art, one of which Sage hoped he’d never have the misfortune of seeing again.

            Basil strode passed the hideous fountain until he came to the hedge outlining the massive labyrinth where couples wandered, all with smiles of anticipation. Sage took note that most who wandered out busily adjusted their clothes.

            “In here,” Basil said, stopping to face them. “I enlisted the help of someone I met while traveling the wilds of India. I’ve spoken to her, and she’s agreed to meet you.”

            “India doesn’t seem very wild,” Marianne mumbled as she stepped beside Sage. “Not compared to that fountain, at least.”

            Sage suppressed a smirk before turning back to his brother.

            “Her?”

            “Her name is Desmonda Green,” Basil said. “She will try to help. Marianne…” His gaze darted to either side of Sage. Seeing nothing, he inquired, “Is she here?”

            Sage nodded to his left.

            “This woman knows people who might have access to spells and other scientific knowledge. Alchemists and the like. She might offer some insight we haven’t explored as of yet.”

            “What we need is a necromancer.”

            “We had a necromancer,” Basil said, sharply. “It does not bode well for us to continue down that path. Marianne is not dead. She’s merely…sleeping. In a deep, death-like sleep.”

            Sage grunted. They had searched every spell book and grimoire in Merriweather Manor and their London house in Mayfair. Sage’s father had been a historian with a penchant for recording details of magic folk cultures and practices. Before his death, Philip Merriweather had taken it upon himself to record the known spells practiced by family, friends and other relations. He had collected such an extensive library the books needed to be hidden for fear they might be used as tools to those with darker intentions, such as Drake when he attempted to steal them last winter.

            “What does she look like? This woman.”

            “Red hair,” Basil answered. “Like fire. You won’t mistake her.”

            “Very well.” Sage attempted to ignore the chill suddenly creeping along his back. He took a step toward the entrance of the maze. Basil remained fixed in place. “Are you not coming?”

            “No. I’m eager to return to the manor.”

            And to Julia…

            His brother’s unspoken words rang loud. Sage nodded, glad Basil had found the love of his life. While they traveled the English countryside searching for clues to aid their quest, Julia remained at Merriweather Manor swollen with Basil’s child. It would not be long before another Merriweather entered this world, and he knew his brother itched to be back before the miraculous event occurred.

            “Give Julia and Aunt Petunia my love.”

            “I will.” Basil grasped his arm, slapping his back in a brotherly embrace. “Send word as soon as you can. Good luck.”

            Sage nodded. His brother walked back up the steps to disappear into the crowded house. Sage felt a momentary desire to follow. It would be so easy to give up this foolhardy quest. They had searched for months with no hope of a spell to help Marianne. She seemed doomed to remain a ghost forever. As for Sage, his difficulties were insurmountable. Nothing he did, not a spell or a plan of action changed the darkness he had fallen into as of late. It became apparent that the demon’s curse affected his very skin and bones. He had little hopes of ever escaping that bond. And his dreams of late had grown worse…

            “Shall we?” Marianne’s voice snapped him out of his dark reverie.

            “Of course,” he said, then reluctantly took the necessary steps toward the entrance.

            “Would you like me to go first?” Marianne asked, no doubt aware of his hesitation. “I can alert you to any danger. After all, no one can harm what they cannot see.”

            “Do you sense danger?”

            Marianne paused, considering. “Not danger. More like a threat.”

            That she possessed any of her witch talents marveled him, but now was not the time to dwell upon it. He sensed the same. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck lifted like a cool breeze had blown passed. Basil would never knowingly send him into danger, so he had nothing to fear. That did not mean he wouldn’t take every precaution to keep Marianne’s spirit safe.  

            To send a woman, even as a ghost, into the unknown to preserve his own safety simply would not do.

            “No need, my dear. I’m certain our trepidation stems from mere excitement at the prospect of finally finding a new avenue for our search.”

            “Perhaps you are correct,” Marianne conceded.

            Sage nearly reached to take her hand. She needed comfort. Her eyes were wide and her breath quickened, but he could not do anything as human as take her hand to squeeze her fingers in reassurance. She was a ghost. Humans, even witches, were unable to touch ghosts.

            “Come along,” he said instead and proceeded to walk into the maze. The walls of the trimmed hedge towered over him, a substantial distance considering his height. Lamps lit at incremental distances illuminated the path in the darkening twilight giving the maze a gothic aura like something he might read in a novel. The murmurs and whispers of the guests reached his ears, but with no sight of people at present, the voices echoed like bodiless apparitions. To anyone else, the belief that monsters may exist might creep into their imagination sending a shiver of fear along their spines. Sage, who knew for a fact that monsters did indeed exist, took the precaution of walking warily along the path. He was well aware that evil lurked in dark corners but that knowledge would not stop him in his search. He had faced evil and survived.

            After several misguided attempts at traveling the maze, Sage began to lose his sense of direction. He had taken several turns, of which he lost count, and passed a few couples in as much confusion as he. Some guests had given up solving the puzzle of the labyrinth and decided to partake activities of the more sensual nature. They found hidden alcoves along the way and ensconced themselves there, hoping no one noticed the fornication taking place.

            Again, he wished to touch Marianne so he might cover her innocent eyes from such carnal play. Although she was of marriageable age and had been introduced to society shortly before Drake cursed her, he was aware of her youth and innocence, something many a rake and scoundrel preyed upon during a night such as this.

            A guilty flush crept along his neck as he realized less than a year ago he himself might have tempted her into a similar alcove for a night of seduction. Of course, this was Marianne, his neighbor and friend. He’d known her since she was in nappies. He could never have feelings of such a nature for her. He regarded her as a sister. And even as a rake, Sage always played the safer game of seducing widows or women unhappily wed to distant husbands. He was quite aware of marriage traps and stepped carefully to avoid them.         

            “There,” Marianne whispered.

            He turned in the direction she indicated. A woman dressed in a long silk gown of greenish hue akin to the color of an emerald stood alone. The vibrant red hair wrapped and braided in intricate design upon her head like curling flame in the dim light. The contrast between hair and gown was striking. He took in the beauty of her classical features as she stared boldly at him with one arched brow.  

            “Mr. Merriweather, I presume,” she said, her voice husky with intrigue.

            “I am,” he answered, stopping a few paces in front of her. “I’m told you possess information I desire.”

            She smiled, sliding her hand lower on her hips. “I have many things you may desire.”

            Marianne made a distressed choking sound.

            Sage didn’t know whether to grin or be embarrassed. Although she was a grown woman, he still thought of Marianne as a child. He should protect her from women such as this, who might lead her into the temptation of baser natures, assisting her down a path best left untraveled for women of Marianne’s status.

            Then again, Marianne knew Sage to be a rake and a rogue, his habits of seducing women well known. She often made comments of his conquests, although he never acknowledged if she’d guessed rightly or not. He may behave as a rake, but he was still a gentleman.   

            “She cannot truly be serious,” Marianne said the disgust evident in the scorn dripping from her words.

            “I believe she is.” He did not bother to hide his obvious one-sided conversation. According to Basil, this woman was aware of Marianne’s predicament.

            The woman’s chin tilted. Her gaze darted to Sage’s left. “Your friend is here?”

            Sage nodded and sighed for dramatic effect to irritate Marianne. “She rarely leaves my side.”

            “How unfortunate.”

            Marianne made another choking sound of disgust which only made Sage smile with amusement.

            “May I present Miss Marianne Grey,” Sage introduced with a wave toward Marianne. It seemed rather comical that the woman nodded toward what she could only see as space beside him.

            “My name is Desmonda Green,” the woman replied. “I was contacted a fortnight ago by your brother who requested I meet with you. Since I am not fond of being viewed in the company of witches, I arranged this private assignation.”

            “If she doesn’t like witches then how does she know your brother?” Marianne inquired, the distrust in her voice evident.

            Sage repeated her question, thinking it a competent one. The tingle on the back of his neck intensified since approaching this woman, warning him of danger. He suspected Marianne felt the same.

            “Your brother has traveled extensively in the past,” Desmonda explained. “We met during one of his travels. I could go into details if you like, but it is a rather long story. I don’t believe we have time for a lengthy discourse. At any moment someone might turn the corner and discover us.”

            “And you don’t wish to be seen with me. I understand.”

            “I have no particular reason to avoid you, Mr. Merriweather, but you are not the only being capable of acknowledging the dead. I have enemies. I don’t wish for anyone with that ability to happen upon me while in the company of your little witch friend who stands at your side.”

            “I’m not dead,” Marianne muttered.

            Sage ignored Marianne’s disgruntled indignation. Instead, he glanced at her, confused by Miss Green’s misidentification of his particular inborn talent.

            “Miss Green,” he said. “Perhaps you misunderstand. I am a witch, too.”

            “Oh no, Mr. Merriweather, that you are not. Not any longer. You’ve bonded with a demon. You carry demon blood.”

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Prologue ~ The Witch's Thief by Tricia Schneider #paranormalromance

England 1814

            "She's asking for you," Julia Grey said softly at the door to his laboratory. Drake Merriweather sat at his desk hunched over one of his spellbooks and continued his search for some manner of spell to cure his dying wife. Even Julia knew it was too late. Susanna had suffered enough from the disease that wracked her body with unendurable pain.

            "It's here," he said, not looking up from the book. "I know it is."

            Julia stepped into the room and flinched from the sulfuric smells of past failed experiments. Some still smoldered in a bowl on the table near the wall. For months Julia and her father had helped Drake and his wife with their crusade. While her father assisted Drake in his laboratory casting spells of all kinds, Julia cared for Susanna, assisting her in the battle to survive each day. She fed her, clothed her, helped carry her to the window to gaze upon her garden.

            "She doesn't have much longer," Julia said, resting her hand on Drake's shoulder. At her touch, he trembled. He crouched further over the ancient text of the book he gripped tightly in his hands, covering his face with the pages. Very slowly, Julia pried the spellbook from his fingers, placed it onto the table and closed the cover. At the sound of the book closing, Drake took a deep breath and straightened.

            "Come with me. She needs you." Julia helped Drake stand, holding his arm for support as they walked out of the room. She guided him through the hall and up the stairs until they reached the door to his wife's chamber.

            Drake paused. He stared at the door for several moments before taking Julia's hand away from his arm.

            "Thank you for all that you've done," Drake said, squeezing her fingers. He looked at her, and Julia flinched at the pain in his eyes. It was something she had seen shadowed there before, but now that the moment had come, that he'd at last accepted there was no cure, no saving his beloved wife, she saw the last vestiges of hope wither and die. It faded slowly into oblivion. The only thing to remain was pain. A dark, depthless pain.

            Julia's eyes filled as she watched him straighten. Another change came over him. He tilted his head up and took a deep breath. Then he opened the door and walked in.

            Julia entered behind him. The sight of the woman, sunken within the sheets of the bed, her skin as pale as the snow falling outside the uncovered window took Julia's breath away. Every time she saw Susanna, the poor frail woman appeared worse. Now that the end was mere moments away, Julia could see clearly the signs of strain on her face. She appeared to have aged several decades in the single year since they discovered she suffered from Belit’s Curse. Unlike a magical curse that could be cast by a practioner of dark magic, Belit’s Curse was an illness. It was a horrible wasting disease that took the magic and the life away from witches and sorcerers alike. It was said an ancient witch named Belit was the first to succumb to the disease. There was no known cure. Nothing could be done to dispel the pain that slowly crept into their limbs, crippling them until they could no longer walk or function. It did not stop until it ravaged their bodies, leaving naught but an empty, lifeless shell.

            No one knew how the disease was transmitted, if it was transmitted at all. It seemed to only strike a few random unfortunates. In all of Julia's four and twenty years on this earth, Susanna was the only victim she had ever known.

            "My love," Drake said, his voice strong and cheerful where moments ago Julia could barely hear him speak from his grief. "Miss Grey has said you have need of me. I am here, my love."

            He sat on the bed beside her, taking one delicate pale hand into his. He smiled at her and his eyes reflected the love he felt deep in his heart.

            "Drake..." Susanna said, relief transforming her features.  "At last..."

            "I'm here, sweet." He brushed her dark hair away from her face. She leaned into his hand, tears streaming from her closed eyes.

            "Oh, Drake, I do not want to die!"

            The sound of the woman's pitiful cry brought tears to Julia's eyes. She grasped the doorframe, and squeezed her nails into the hard wood. She marveled at Drake's strength, at his ability to not be visibly crushed by his wife's pain and fear. He smiled, brushing her hair, and speaking softly into her ear. There were no tears from him, no moments of agonized anger at his helplessness.

            In the last few months, she had seen Drake break down again and again in his laboratory, but he never showed any fear in the company of his wife. When in her presence, he was strong, confident, cheerful, unafraid of the possibility of losing her. His confidence always lent strength to his wife, offered her hope and the will to go on even during those many days when she simply wanted to fall into a deep sleep and never wake.

            "I do not want to leave you," Susanna cried out. "I want to love you. I want to have children. I have so much to do yet in this life!"

            "Of course, my love, and you will," Drake murmured. "You will, I promise you. Did I not say that I would find the end to your suffering?"

            Susanna nodded, her sunken eyes appearing huge in her sallow face.

            Drake lifted his head to look for Julia's father. The gray-haired man stood in the corner of the room, his face ashen.

            "Roger," Drake said, one hand waving for him to step forward. "Bring the potion."

            Her father's head dropped. Julia saw he held a bottle in his hand, one she'd never before seen. He stepped forward, his steps slow and reluctant. When he reached the bedside, he hesitated.

            "Are you certain?" Roger asked, his normally booming voice now a faint whisper. Julia leaned forward to hear. "If you do this... There will be no turning back. You cannot undo what will be done."

            "I have no choice, my friend," Drake returned, a grim determination glinting in his dark blue eyes. He extended his hand.

            Roger's hand trembled, his large fingers turned the bottle around and around. Coming to a decision, Roger backed away, and took the potion out of Drake's reach. "No. I cannot allow you to do this."

            Drake's face contorted with rage and shock. He released his wife's hand, grimacing when she cried out for him. He stood and walked toward Roger, who backed away.

            "You will give it to me."

            Julia's breath lodged in her throat. She stood frozen, uncertain what was being played out before her. What was in the bottle? Why was her father so reluctant to give it to Drake?

            "I cannot let you," Roger repeated. There were tears on his cheeks.

            "Drake! Do not leave me!" Susanna wailed, reaching out for him.

            "Roger, I demand you give it to me. There will be consequences, I promise you!"

            "It will damn you both! I'm saving your eternal soul, my friend, as well as hers."

            "My soul will be in torment without her!" Drake growled as he advanced. "I can save her. I will save her. I vowed it. This is the only way I can achieve it."

            "No!"

            Drake lunged at Roger. Susanna cried out, reaching for her husband. Julia raced across the room, well out of the way of the struggling men. She reached Susanna's side, grabbed her hands and blocked her view of the fight taking place.

            "All is well," Julia said softly, crooning to her as if she were a child. "A mere disagreement. All will be well."

            Inside Julia raged. How dare they fight over a silly little bottle while this poor woman battled for each and every breath! But, she knew her father. He was a good, peaceful man. He would never act with violence if he did not have reason.

            "Take me to the window, Julia," Susanna said, her voice raspy, her eyes filled with tears.

            Julia nodded, then pulled back the blankets and helped the woman slide out of the massive four-poster bed. She took one arm around her neck and helped Susanna stumble a few feet to the seat by the window. Ever since she had weakened to the point where she could no longer walk, they each took turns carrying Susanna about. Drake would carry her to the laboratory where she would watch him work. Roger would carry her to the kitchens where she watched Cook creating masterpieces out of their meals. But when her strength left her so frail that she could not leave her room any longer, Julia helped her to sit by her window every day, so she could look upon her garden below.

            Susanna loved her garden. She had spent hours upon hours working her magic on the plants, helping them to grow for her spells.

            The once beautiful and elegant garden appeared ashen. Even with a thin layer of snow covering what remained of her favorite spot, it was obvious to see the destruction cast upon it. Drake had tested each plant, using them in his experiments and spells as he searched for a cure. He was certain it was a matter of time before he found the right combination that would stop the disease. But, the disease never treated each of its victims alike. One could suffer for ten or more years, while another might waste away within a few short months.

            "So little time we have," Susanna said. She leaned her forehead and one hand against the glass. Her warm breath puffed onto the wintry glass. Drake and her father continued to struggle behind them, while Julia knelt beside Drake's wife watching her eyelids blink wearily. "Do not let time escape you, Julia. You are blessed with it. Use it well."

            "Yes," Julia said, holding Susanna's other hand.

            Soon, the fogged glass of the window cleared.

            Susanna's hand grew limp and lifeless. Julia rested her cheek against it as teardrops fell onto Susanna’s skin.

            "No!" Drake roared. He shoved Julia aside and took his wife into his arms. The potion successfully obtained in one hand, he uncorked the bottle and poured the contents into his wife's throat. "Drink, my love. Drink!"

            The liquid splashed across Susanna's face and onto Drake's hand. He did not stop working it into her throat until the bottle was empty.

            "All is well, my love," Drake said, tossing the bottle to the floor where it smashed. He lifted Susanna onto his lap and held her, gazing out of the window. "All will be well. I'll have you back again. I vow, my love. I'll have you back again."

            Roger took Julia by her arm, helping her to stand. While she cried, Roger helped her from the room. She glanced at her father, his hair mussed, his lip bloodied, and his shirt slightly torn. He had fought well, but Drake was the younger, stronger witch.

            "It's over now, Papa," Julia said, sniffling between her sobs.

            "I fear not, my pet," Roger mumbled. He turned his face into her hair to place a kiss upon her head. "I fear it has only begun."

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