Blazing bright, it guides our paths. Its light dimmed by scudding clouds, it makes us look over our shoulders. It draws on the oceans, influences our moods, inspires poetry, strengthens magic, arouses love. The full moon hangs beyond our reach and yet who among us has not gazed upward and felt a personal connection to it?
In my novel Wait Until Moonrise, the full moon rising over the Welsh castle of Beaumarith is a key to freeing Nicholas Pierce from the spell that has imprisoned him for more than two hundred years. “As one who is dead, yet warm of flesh, walk ye within these walls. Unseen. Unheard. Untouched…” Thus begins the curse cast by the sorceress Saffira. Only the full moon and Nicholas’ one true love can free him.
Readers,
has the moon had any special influence on your lives that you’d like to share? Fellow
writers, please include a paragraph or two from one of your books where the
moon is featured in a scene. Links to your books are also welcome.
All
of you are invited to email me at terithackston@yahoo.com with
“Moonrise” in the subject line and I’ll enter you into a contest to win a $15
Amazon.com gift certificate. I’ll draw the winner’s name on July 7, 2012 at
8:00 pm CDT.
And
now, to get things started, here is an excerpt from my paranormal romance, Wait
Until Moonrise.
Moonlight bathed half
the room. Delight touched her as the silvery air stirred at her entrance,
humming like invisible music just below the level of her hearing.
Crossing the glossy
floor, she opened one of the doors that led out to the patio. Scents of roses
and honeysuckle embraced her with their lush, romantic smell in spite of the
cool night air. A breeze sighed around her, sweeping inside to stir the
crystals of the chandeliers, like music of a magic sort.
Turning, Bria
imagined lovely ladies and handsome men whirling about the floor, colorful
gowns and sparkling jewels shimmering in starlight. She could almost hear the
strains of a waltz in the crystals of the chandeliers, and she moved to the
center of the room, slippered feet miming the rhythm.
Closing her eyes,
she raised her arms as if embracing a partner. Some long-ago learning took
over, and she danced with childlike grace. Her slippers flew from her feet, and
she felt the cool parquet with her bare, sensitive flesh. The belt of her robe
slipped loose. The fabric of her robe and nightgown whirled around her like a
graceful partner as she dipped and swayed.
The music of the crystals
ceased.
Opening her eyes,
Bria whirled to a stop facing the glass-paned wall. The door to the patio was
closed.
Cautiously, she
approached the door and peered through the glass. But for plants and flowers,
the patio was empty.
“Georgie wasn’t
kidding when he said some of the doors don’t hang plumb around here,” she
murmured, opening the door. Once more, a breeze swept around her, cool but also
full and fragrant with life.
Backing away, she
listened as the melody of the breeze began again, one crystal moving against
another, swelling and shimmering down around her. She swayed to the rhythm then
resumed her dance as if the silence had never broken it.
“I must admit you
dance almost as well as your mother.”
Startled, Bria
whirled around. A man stood in the doorway leading onto the patio, arms folded
over his chest, one shoulder resting against the door’s frame. Moonlight
surrounded him like an aura, forming a halo about his black hair and shadowing
his eyes. Then, he tilted his head, and silver light poured over his features
like clear, sweet water.
Bria stared. Only
in dreams had she seen such a beautiful masculine face. Dreams and one
disturbing portrait…
“You look prettier,
though, when your mouth isn’t hanging open,” he went on in a bored tone.
“Who…who are you?”
As her voice
whispered across that hushed, moonlit room, the stranger fell still. Then,
slowly, eyes black and wide, he lowered his arms. “You can see me?”
The query came to
Bria as a hoarse, disbelieving whisper, words of doubt trembling on a precipice
of mad hope. Frightened by the emotion in his voice—by the sudden, stark
sensation burning in his black eyes—she backed away. He, in turn, moved toward
her, away from the open patio door, into a patch of shadow…and promptly
vanished.
Fear welled in Bria’s
throat, and her flesh crawled. Turning, she ran for the ballroom door, away
from the whisper that drifted after her.
“Please…”
