I wake alone on the last night of the year. Our apartment is quiet, empty. Nye has already woken and left, gone somewhere I don’t know. He’s much older than me, and can rise at twilight, while I’m still young enough that I do not wake until night has fully settled upon the city. Still, usually he waits for me. I’ve grown accustomed to waking to his warmth in bed. There’s a sharp ache beneath my breast to find myself alone now.

I rise and dress. He’s left no indication of where he’s gone or when I might expect his return. I shouldn’t be surprised. In the first months of our relationship, before I learned what he truly was, it was not uncommon for him to disappear for hours at a stretch. I would go walk through the city, or buy a pastry at a patisserie and sit at a table for a while to eat it, watching the people who passed me by.

I cannot go out, now. The day is forbidden to me, and I fear to go out alone at night.

I don’t fear monsters in the dark. Not anymore. I am the monster that lurks in the shadows, now, and what I fear is what might happen if I do not have Nye to watch over me, and keep the hunger from taking control.

It seems absurd that I should be lonely now. It was worse when I was a child, in the orphanage in Ceredigion, surrounded by other children and all alone because they thought I was mad. It was worse when I’d first come to Paris, scratching and scraping for a living and coming home every night to my empty room. There’s no sense in it now, when I have Nye, who loves me, and whom I love more than I’d thought possible.

And yet I am, and I ache with it.

Nye comes home, not too long after I’ve woken, and finds me curled in our armchair, my brow on my knees, trying to ignore the hollow void of loneliness that gapes within me. I’d expected him to be gone longer, so I’m not listening for him, and he sweeps in before I realize he’s there, and sees me sitting there feeling sorry for myself. I unfold quickly, though it’s not quick enough, and pretend he did not catch me at anything at all.

He’s smiling when he comes in, his face bright and flushed with the cold. There are snowflakes caught in his hair and on his scarf, not yet melted. He looks as happy as I’ve seen him, but he’s seen me sitting there being miserable and his smile starts to fade.

“Kynan–” he begins.

“Hi, Nye.” I cross over to him and kiss his mouth, interrupting him before he can ask me what’s wrong. “What have you been up to?” I smile up at him as I ease back, false but bright. It’s not his fault that I’m unhappy. I won’t let him be unhappy, too.

“Errands,” he tells me. When I reach for his scarf to untie it, he brushes my hands away. “No, leave it. I’ve not finished yet.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and gently pushes me back a step. “Go put your coat on, Kynan. It’s cold out.”

I turn away to obey. “Am I going with you, then?” I ask him over my shoulder as I pull on my coat and gloves, hat and scarf. It may not offer the same threat to me now, but I still do not like the cold any better than I did when I was mortal.

“I thought we’d get some supper. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Oh.” I hesitate, just for a moment, as I’m wrapping the scarf about my neck. “Of course. Yes, I am.” I tell him this because it’s the truth, and he’d know soon enough if I was lying. But I don’t relish the idea. I’d rather go hungry, and put of feeding a little while longer.

It’s not the prospect of feeding that makes me hesitate, though, not really. Walking through the city, now, just makes me feel more alone, even when the streets are crowded. I’m not one of them anymore. I’m not mortal. They’d fear me, if they knew the truth. They’d kill me, if they had the chance.

When I turn back to Nye, he’s not smiling at all any more, and his gaze is shrewd as he watches me. My hesitation has given me away. I tuck my hands into the pockets of my coat and keep the smile fixed on my face, even though it’s pointless now, and he’s seen through it.

What he says, though, is not what I expect. He comes over to stand before me and cups my face in his hands, tilting it up to his. “You are doing wonderfully, mo charaid. There’s no need for fear. I will be with you, if anything goes amiss. But you haven’t needed my intervention in quite some time. I don’t know why this worries you so.”

I look away. He’s misunderstood the reason of my concern, but I don’t correct him. I’d rather he think that, than know the truth.

We venture out onto the city’s streets. It’s busier than usual, and I press in against Nye’s side as we walk. When we turn off the street and make our way down a narrow alley between two buildings, I breathe a sigh of relief.

We’d walked the streets like this only a week before, on Christmas Eve. We’d kept to the larger, busier streets, though and everywhere we turned there were people enjoying themselves, sitting safe and warm inside their homes, candles glowing through the windows, laughter leaking out into the night. It had almost been more than I could bear, to stand out on the dark street, the wind cutting through me like knives, as they’d celebrated the season with the ones they loved.

So I’m grateful, now, that Nye keeps us to the narrow back alleys, where we see almost no one at all, and there are no windows to look through. We climb the sloping streets, up the narrow staircases and through the twisting alleys. He’s leading me up the hill, toward the center of Montmartre. We’ve never come this way to hunt before. I wonder why, and where we’re going, but I don’t ask it.

Gradually, the streets level, and there are no more staircases to climb. There is not the same concentration of bars and brothels here as there is nearer our flat, our usual haunts when we must feed. I wonder once again where he’s taking me.

And then we step out of the alley and I realize where we are, where we have come. We are standing at the edge of a lawn at the highest point of the hill, and before us is the stately facade of St-Pierre-de-Montmartre, golden and glowing in the light of the lanterns.

I stand and gawp at it for a moment. “Nye!” I cry, appalled. “You’re taking me hunting in a church?”

He grins at me and hooks his arm around my shoulders. I cannot fathom what he’s so pleased about. It’s an awful blasphemy. Just the thought makes me ill, and I’m reluctant to move my feet when Nye urges me forward.

“Trust me,” he murmurs. His arm around my shoulders is gentle but firm, leading me with him despite my reservations.

I cannot imagine what sort of trust he expects me to place in him. How can he expect to make feeding on Church land more palatable?

But it doesn’t matter, because I do trust him, and we both know it. I have trusted him with my life already. This is nothing, in comparison. I relax and let myself enjoy the feel of his arm around me, the pleasantness of walking close by his side.

We go around behind the church, and slip inside through a small, unprepossessing doorway that leads to a narrow hall and a stairwell. And then we are climbing again, and I think wryly that I’m grateful for the strength tat comes with immortality, or I’d have been winded and breathless long before we reached this point.

The stairs end at another door, but here, Nye stops and turns to me. I’ve been coming up behind him, letting him lead. When I am standing on the small landing beside him, he draws me close and puts his hands over my eyes.

I blink, uncertain. My lashes brush against his palm. “Nye?”

I can feel his warmth behind me, pressing in close against my back. I feel his breath on my throat, and then his lips brush my ear. “Trust me, Kynan,” he murmurs.

I relax, or try to. He shifts behind me as he reaches forward, opens the door. He guides me forward with gentle pressure on my back, but my steps are slow and stumbling, awkward, because I fear tripping on something. I’m not used to being so thoroughly blinded. I haven’t had to worry about seeing in the dark since Nye turned me. I hadn’t even realized how accustomed to it I’ve become.

He guides me forward, patient with my small steps and the way I reach out before me, feeling the way. I trust him not to lead me into a wall, but it’s instinct, and I can’t help it.

Finally we stop. I drop my hand and find it resting on a ledge, like a windowsill, except there is no window here. I can feel the wind on my cheeks, feel it tugging through my hair. The stone is cold, but Nye’s pressed up behind me, and his warmth insulates me.

“What are we doing, Nye?” I wonder, barely a breath.

He speaks close against my ear. “I’ll show you,” he says, and he lowers his hands.

We’re in the church’s tower, high above the ground. The rooftops and streets of Montmartre slope away before us, and beyond that lies the city itself, as far as the eye can see, all of it glittering with snow and glowing with lights, thousands upon thousands of them. We’ve been having flurries of snow all day, and now it lies like a candy coating on the rooftops, and reflects the lights from the streets so that all of Paris is lit with the golden glow, as bright as sunshine. I bring my hands to my mouth and stare out at it, shining like a jewel.

“Oh, Nye,” I breathe. “It’s beautiful. Is it always like this?”

“Every year.” His hands rub over my arms. His breath is warm on my cheek as he speaks, so close I could turn my head and match my lips to his. “I know you’ve been unhappy, Kynan–”

“No,” I protest swiftly, but he doesn’t let me speak.

“I know you have been,” he says, more firmly. “I know the holidays have been hard for you. You’ve been lonely.”

I shake my head hard. Tears prick at my eyes, and the chill winter wind makes them feel like ice.

“I have seen it,” Nye continues, his body pressed close to mine, wrapping around mine. “And I’m sorry for it. It’s hard, Kynan. I know it is.” He pauses, takes a long breath. The wind brings to us the sound of conversation and laughter. The streets are full of it, full of people, as if it really were the middle of the day. “But tonight… Tonight is New Year’s, and you’ve not seen a New Year’s celebration until you’ve seen how Paris celebrates it.

The streets will be full of men all night long, clear until dawn.” He kisses the side of my throat, lingers with his lips warm on my skin. “We can go, mo charaid,” he murmurs. “We can be men like any other, for at least one night. We can go and celebrate and wish people a joyful new year–”

I spin in his arms with a gasp, unable to bear it any longer. I stare up at him, the light and love and hope in his eyes. I cannot believe his kindness. I don’t know how he’s guessed that I am lonely when I’ve tried so hard to keep him from knowing, but I know he planned all of this for me. Because I was not happy, and he wanted me to be.

“Oh, Nye,” I breathe, staring up at him, so overwhelmed I cannot contain myself. “I love you so much.”

I rise up on my toes and pull him down to me, his mouth to mine. He makes a soft, wondrous sound against my lips and kisses me, his tongue gliding along mine, his lips warm and generous and wonderful. I press myself tight against his chest and kiss him harder, wanting him to know the true strength of this love that has welled up within me, so deep and powerful I feel like I may drown in it.

My arm is wrapped around the back of his neck to hold him to me. With my other, I reach up and tug my glove off. The air is so cold up here it stings, but I want to feel the texture of his hair on my fingertips, the heat of his skin on mine.

Nye makes a low sound against my mouth when I slide my fingers over his scalp. I break away from his kiss long enough to bite at the fingers of my other glove and tug that one off, too. He watches me, his eyes kindling. When I put my hands on either side of his face, he turns his head and presses a kiss to my palm.

“Won’t your hands get cold?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “You’ll keep them warm.”

The corners of his eyes crease when he smiles. “I thought you’d want to go down into the city and be amongst the people.”

“I do. In a minute.” I draw my hand down to his throat. His scarf is looped around his neck, blocking my way. I tug it open and work at the buttons of Nye’s coat.

“Kynan,” he murmurs. His tone is mildly reproachful, but he’s still smiling.

I use the ends of his scarf to pull him to me. He laughs as I rise up to kiss him. “I love you,” I whisper against his lips. “So much I can’t bear it.”

“And this?” He curves his hands around my waist, presses his fingers in hard so I can feel him through the wool of my coat. “Will this help you bear it?”

“No.” The corners of my mouth turn up. “There’s no help for that.” I scrape my teeth over his lip, delighting in the quick catch of his breath. “But I don’t know how you expect me to go down there with you and keep my hands to myself, otherwise.”

“Well,” he murmurs. “We can’t have you failing to fully appreciate your first Parisian New Year’s. In the interest of not being a distraction…” He takes my face in his hands and kisses me again, moving his body in against mine so I am pinned against the column.

I moan against his mouth and take his hands in mine, peeling his gloves off, too. He flexes his fingers at the cold and I grab him by the wrists, press his hands against my neck. His skin is cold at first, but it warms quickly.

Nye unwraps my scarf from around my neck and opens my coat. He spreads his hands over my chest, only the thin lawn of my shirt between us now. I suck air through my teeth and press into his touch.

He leaves a trail of kisses down the side of my throat. I gasp when he flicks his tongue across my skin, heat curling through me.

“And how is your concentration now, mo charaid?” His lips brush against my earlobe. “Are you still distracted?”

“Quite.” I shrug my coat off my shoulders. Nye’s gaze skims over me as it falls down to the floor. “Stop teasing and just touch me already.”

The corners of his eyes wrinkle again. He looks so pleased just to be here with me, teasing and fond. “If you insist,” he says, and presses his lips to the hollow of my throat. I let my head fall back to rest against the stone wall behind me, to give him greater access.

He slides his hands under the edge of my shirt, pushing it up. I suck in my breath and twist away instinctively at the rush of cold air over my skin. But then he crouches and presses his mouth to my stomach. My hands find the back of his head, holding him against me, and I forget about the cold entirely.

Slowly, he lowers himself to his knees. I make a low, surprised sound and begin to sink down to join him. But Nye slides his hand over my erection, straining against my breeches, and I freeze, my hands clenching on his hair.

“Oh,” I breathe. “Nye.”

He tilts his head back, gazing up at me. “Yes?” he asks quietly.

“Please.”

He smiles and kisses my stomach again. His tongue skims the edge of my navel. He works at my breeches, gets them open and draws me out. This time, he doesn’t give me a chance to feel the cold at all. His mouth is on me instantly, surrounding me with heat. I groan and lift my hips away from the wall, pressing toward him.

The feel of his tongue on me is like a madness. I shut my eyes. He takes me deep, running his hands over my stomach and the outsides of my thighs. He drags the flat of his tongue over the length of my shaft, then teases across the head of my penis with the tip, until my breath is coming harshly, my shoulders heaving as I strain against him.

I cannot keep still, not when his mouth, his hands, are on me. I run my fingers through his hair, slip them down to the back of his neck, across the breadth of his shoulders. He works his mouth over me, swallowing me deep. I’m sure I must go out of my mind with the pleasure of it.

I struggle to hold myself back, to keep the heat reigned in, until he licks across the head of my phallus. I’m shaking, gasping for air, and it’s all I can do to sink onto my knees and drag his mouth to mine before the heat erupts within me.

This is nothing like the sweet kisses we’d shared earlier. My hands grasp at him, dragging his body against mine. I kiss him fiercely, needy. He catches my head between his hands and kisses me back with a staggering urgency.

I push his jacket off his shoulders. He pulls his arms from the sleeves impatiently, casts it down to the ground with mine. We drag each other down upon them. Sheltered by the low wall, with the warmth of our coats beneath us and Nye’s blazing heat above me, it is not so cold. I don’t protest when he tugs my pants down off my hips. And then his mouth is on me again, driving me to the edge of madness. I writhe away and reach for the his breeches.

He holds himself still as I unbutton him. His breath hisses out audibly when I take him in my hand and stroke.

“Now,” I whisper, leaning forward to skim my lips over his. “I want you now.”

He nods and bears me down onto my back without breaking the kiss. I wrap my legs around him, arch up so my erection slides against his and we both groan. He holds himself up on one arm and slicks himself with saliva.

I cannot look way from him as he reaches down and positions himself against me. His gaze locks on me as he flexes his hips, and bears down into me.

He works his way in with shallow, gentle nudges, stretching me with painstaking care. I rear up to kiss his mouth, his throat, his shoulder, anywhere I can reach. He curls an arm beneath the back of my head when he realizes that the coats beneath us don’t provide sufficient padding, and it brings him in closer above me.

“God, Nye,” I breathe, then cry out when he finds that place inside of me that makes sparks shoot across my vision. I shudder around him. He groans and gives a sharper thrust, burying himself deep within me. I gasp and clutch at him. I hook a leg over his hip and pull him against me.

With his next thrust, he pulls out almost completely, then buries himself in me, a single smooth stroke. I cry out and buck beneath him, and all my breath rushes from me.

He’s pounding into me now, a hard, driving rhythm. Heat rushes through me and sweat clings to my skin, despite the coolness of the night. Every breath Nye takes comes as a gust against the skin of my shoulder as he strains into me.

I dig my teeth into my lip, fighting to hold myself back. But Nye reaches down between us and curls his hand around my erection, and my eyes fly open with a gasp. He’s above me, looking down at me. His gaze is flooded with love and brightness. It’s too much for me. My heart swells to fill my chest, and with his next stroke, I arch up tight beneath him, shuddering and crying out, and empty myself into his hand.

Nye groans, his arm tightening around me. He drives into me. I wrap my arms around his back and hold on to him. Soon he’s locking his hips to mine, moaning and twitching deep inside me as he slumps down on top of me.

I wrap around him, holding him close. I can feel the way his pulse pounds, and gradually feel it slow as we lie together. “I love you, Nye,” I whisper again, purely for the joy of saying it.

He makes a pleased sound against my throat and rises off of me. Without the distraction of his touch, I’m once again aware of the chill in the air, and the even cooler breeze. I shiver hard, just one. Nye retrieves my hat and a wayward glove while I dress, and then I return the favor for him. Soon enough, we’re bundled up again. I step in close and lean against Nye’s chest. My wool coat protects me from the cold, but I don’t feel half as warm wearing it as I had when all I’d had protecting me had been Nye.

He wraps me in his arms and presses his lips to my temple. I can feel his mouth curve against my skin. “And now?” he asks me quietly. “Will you be able to celebrate the coming of the new year without distractions?”

“You’re always a distraction, Nye,” I tell him. I slip my fingers beneath the edge of his coat, to run along the small of his back. It makes him shiver and lean in against me. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He smiles again, then steps away and hooks his hand in mine. We descend the stairs together, and then we walk together, out of Montmartre and into the heart of the city, where the streets are filled with men and women in high spirits, celebrating with strangers and loved ones alike as the excitement of the moment lifts them up.

For a few hours, we are no different than anyone else in the city. Soon enough, the clocks strike midnight, and the cry goes up. “Bonne Annee!” they cry to one another. Happy New Year. I cannot help but grin as I watch them embrace one another, and exchange kisses.

Nye’s hand catchs my arm, turning me to face him. I smile up at him, brilliantly happy, and when he bends to brush his lips over my cheek and murmur, “Bonne Annee, Kynan,” in my ear, I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him lavishly.

I’m not foolish enough to expect the coming year to be easy. But I do think it will be happy, all the same.

—

“Links to other Christmas/New Year Free Reads
Note: I have not personally screened these excerpts. Please heed the ratings and be aware that the links may contain material that is not typical of my site.

Lately, though, that’s been changing, and it’s come to a crisis point the past few weeks. I’ve got too many projects to finish, and now that I’m working full-time, not enough time to devote to all of them. I’m torn!

There’s the finished novella that needs to be revised and resubmitted to my editor. I love this story, and I really want to do right by it and find it a good home. But it needs a lot of restructuring that’s going to require my complete attention.

Then there’s the sequel to All that Glitters. This one needs some more scenes, a slight restructuring of the ending, and a final polish before I submit it. And there are a couple ideas for more sequels bouncing around in my head that depend on it, so I need to get that one sold before I can do anything with the others.

And then there’s the new kid on the block, the idea brimming with NRE that keeps popping up and distracting me any time I let my mind wander. It is shiny and new and terribly, terribly exciting, and I’m very anxious to work on it. So far, I’ve been able to restrain myself and keep to plotting and prewriting, but my resolve is weakening. It keeps calling to me with its siren-song promise of exciting characters, awesome worldbuilding, and a city I can’t wait to lose myself in.

So, I’m stuck. I’ve got too many projects to work on (and a dozen more clamoring to be taken off the back burner) and not enough time to devote to all of them. So far I’ve been managing, doing as much as I can as often as I can, and trying to focus my energy onto finishing the sequel to All that Glitters, but I’m not really happy with the division of labor.

Has anyone else found themselves in this sort of pickle? Got any tips on how to manage your time when there’s not enough of it to go around?

After months of text messaging, Psyche has fallen in love with a man she’s never even met, so when she finally gets the chance to see him face-to-face, she leaps at it. However, their meeting doesn’t turn out quite the way she expected. E hides in the dark and refuses to let her turn on the lights. Psyche’s startled at first, but willing to overlook a few idiosyncrasies while they get to know each other in person. Their relationship flourishes–until the night Psyche’s curiosity gets the better of her.

Light reveals that E is Eros, the Greek god of love and desire, and he is furious that she broke her word. She begs for forgiveness, but he won’t give it. In breaking her word, she broke his trust. She must seek help from a goddess and brave the dangers of the underworld in order to prove herself and win back the man she loves.

All that Glitters, by Aislinn Kerry

Kynan Pritchard has come to Paris to start a new life, one free from the gruesome nightmares–and the accusations of insanity–that have plagued him from childhood. He’s used to a hard-luck existence, but when a stranger comes to his aid, he thinks maybe that luck is changing. Aneirin is strong and brave, everything that Kynan wants to be. And Kynan falls for him. Hard.

But Kynan’s nightmares are about to become reality, and not even Aneirin can protect him from the monster who’s stalked him across the continent. The gwrach-y-rhibyn threatens everything–Kynan’s life, his sanity, even his love for Aneirin.

To defeat her, Kynan will have to risk becoming the very creature he hates.

All that Glitters

Running from a nightmare…falling into the arms of a monster…

Kynan Pritchard has come to Paris to start a new life, one free from the gruesome nightmares—and the accusations of insanity—that have plagued him from childhood. He’s used to a hard-luck existence, but when a stranger comes to his aid, he thinks maybe that luck is changing. Aneirin is strong and brave, everything that Kynan wants to be. And Kynan falls for him. Hard.

But Kynan’s nightmares are about to become reality, and not even Aneirin can protect him from the monster who’s stalked him across the continent. The gwrach-y-rhibyn threatens everything—Kynan’s life, his sanity, even his love for Aneirin.

To defeat her, Kynan will have to risk becoming the very creature he hates.