Realms of the Raven - Erotic Romance Author Maura Anderson

remember that you can read my Friday Flash archive on this page of my website.

Caress of the Sea Witch
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

She stared at him from the safety of the ocean’s rhythmic waves. Breathing deeply and raggedly, he lay above the tide’s marks on the peaceful beach. Bronzed skin glowed in the sunlight and the white, sun-warmed sand stuck to his damp, muscular body as if dusted on.

Every day for the last month, he had dove into the ocean before dawn and swam until the sun was high. His hard, defined muscles worked for hours, swimming through the waves almost as if born to the sea. Almost as graceful as she was. Exhausted, he would drag himself from the water to collapse on the beach until his taller friend finally came to collect him, to coax him to his feet and force him to walk away from the water.

Who was this dark-haired man?

He came into her watery domain as if compelled, yet she never sang for him, never drew him in. Instead he entranced her until she found herself waiting near the shore for him every day, ever afraid that each day would be the one that he would appear, would not come to her.

Today she finally gave in to her fascination and touched him with her magic. Slick as the water he swam in, she caressed his warm, laboring muscles. Learned the texture of the hair on his head as well the coarser hair on his body. Her magic swirled over his chiseled abdomen and slicked over his growing erection.

Too soon, he swam to shore and stumbled away. But she could no longer take the chance he would stop his visits. She needed to know this human, a need she’d never before felt in all her long life. A need that consumed her.

She floated toward the shore, closed her eyes and gathered her magic to her, casting the spell she’d only used once before. Power swirled around her, encased her, then receded. The sensations of having legs and a human body were so strange she collapsed to her knees.

Let’s see who can guess the inspiration for this snippet And remember that you can read my Friday Flash archive on this page of my website.

Right On Time
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

All my instincts told me I needed to figure out just what this code did – quickly.

I’ve never understood how my magic works, let alone been able to explain it to anyone else. Instead of cauldrons and grimoires, I worked with computers, software and programming manuals. I can’t create a love spell to save my life, but I can craft the perfect matchmaking application. A source of continual embarrassment to my very traditional mother, I was the family techno-sheep.

With the USB fob plugged into my specially crafted hub, I sat down at my secure system. As soon as the fob powered up, I could feel the intent of the code like a dark, malevolent fog washing through my nervous system.

Deep breaths helped trigger my long-ingrained training and I sank into a slight trance. Eyes closed, I visualized my shields like a bubble of reflective metal, then deliberately thinned them until they seemed like a layer of shiny mylar. The heavy shields normally protected me from the plethora of electronics in daily life but I couldn’t work with them up.

In and out. In and out. With each breath I traced my magic along the code paths, sinking gradually deeper as I explored it. I avoided the couple of traps I felt, easing around them so I didn’t set off whatever payload they would trigger. They weren’t the most sophisticated traps, signaling that the person who wrote this code wasn’t a highly skilled developer. It felt more like the cobbled together code of a script-kiddie but I’d never seen this nasty a code from them. It wasn’t their style.

Still without a clear idea of what the code did other than receive commands to spider the network and send details back out. It wasn’t complete and I couldn’t tell much more from this snippet than I had from the prior two I’d examined.

There had to be some connection between them.

Thickening my shields again, I kept my eyes shut. I didn’t know how long I’d been immersed in the code but I was so tired I could feel my own hands shake. Damn, I needed some food and some sleep soon or I wouldn’t be worth anything.

A commotion broke out in the break room down the hall and the loud, excited voices caught my attention. I’d call it parental instinct if I had any children – maybe zoo keeper instinct in my case. Something was going on that might need intervention.

Annoyingly shaky, I steadied myself with a hand on my desk for a moment before I dried my sweaty hands on my jeans, tugged my leather halter top down and went to see what the hell was going on now.

One of my newer developers, Jade, was hopping up and down in front of a machine I’d never seen before.

“What the hell are you doing, Jade?”

She shot a guilty look at me and seemed about to answer. But when the machine made a clicking sound, she immediately turned back to it, almost quivering with excitement. I’d apparently been forgotten.

“Jade, did someone give you lemonheads again? Last time you ate two pounds in only a couple of days and you couldn’t focus enough to stay human for more than ten minutes at a time. We had to peel you off the ceiling, then you slept for the next three days.”

My office manager leaned against the doorway next to me. “I took care of that.”

Another click and Jade got even more frantic. By now a crowd had gathered to watch her crazed movements, accompanied now by high pitched chittering.

“What did you do? Why is she going nuts?”

“It’s an automatic feeder. It dispenses one lemon drop every two hours. No more, no less.” She chuckled and pointed at Jade. “It’s about to give her a treat.”

Just as I thought my young developer would fly apart if she vibrated any faster, a bright light flashed and a cute sable ferret was hopping around on the floor below the dispenser, still tangled in Jade’s clothing. Wiggling free, the ferret war-danced as the dispenser clicked again, then a chime rang out and a large, wrapped candy popped out.

Jade the ferret managed to catch it in mid-air, then sank her teeth into the wrapper and drug it after her, heading backwards out of the break room and toward her office.

I tried not to laugh. Really.

Note that Erin is to blame for this week’s flash idea :) And remember that you can read my Friday Flash archive on this page of my website.

Eclipse
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

“Oh come on, Nettle. A total eclipse only happens every few years. Come outside with me.”

Scott shook his head at the small blue-eyed wolf. “You know, wolves are supposed to love the moon and you seem to hate it. You have to be the least wolf-like wolf I’ve ever encountered.”

He chuckled. He was doing it again, talking to Nettle like she could really understand him. Her unknown owners had extensively trained her and she understood quite a few commands, but she wasn’t up to a conversation.

Nettle gave her thick, almost white-blonde fur a thorough shake, her collar jingling. Cocking her head at him for a moment, she laid down on thick bed near the door with almost dainty movements.

Just what was her story? She’d been rescued by a bystander after being hit by a truck. She been brought to Scott and his wildlife sanctuary when they realized she wasn’t a dog but a full-blooded wolf, if an unusual one.

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Coyote Run
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

Damn he hurt.

What the hell had happened? He remembered going for a night ride on his big palomino gelding, Nikki, feeling unusually restless and lonely. Just riding randomly around, he’d come across something he’d only heard legends of – a Coyote Run.

There must have been a dozen coyotes, weaving in and around the shrubs, playing and dancing in the moonlight. The full moon illuminated their antics and he just watched in awe from atop his horse, hoping they wouldn’t mind his presence.

Sudden, searing pain exploded across his back and darkness rushed through him.

Mitch slowly opened his eyes. Lethargic and cold, he saw the outlines of the familiar furniture of his own bedroom in the darkness. Was it a dream? He reached for the light beside the bed, then hissed at the sharp pain that jolted through his back at the slight movement. Nope – not a dream. But what the hell had happened?

He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, willing the pain to recede. He felt the bed next to him shifted a little and a soft whine made him open his eyes to see the long snout of a dog come to rest on the bed next to his face. Warm golden eyes looked steadily into his own with what seemed to be un-doglike intelligence.

He didn’t even own a dog.

The crunch of gravel, accompanied by the sound of a motor, told Mitch someone had pulled up outside the small cabin. He braced himself to try to sit up, only to have the dog snarl at his movement.

“Someone’s here. Back off, dog.”

When he lifted himself up on his elbow, Mitch realized two things. He wasn’t going to be able to stand up and that was no dog. With those ears, that had to be a coyote. His awe was quickly overwhelmed by fiery pain and he collapsed back onto the bed and into darkness.

* * * * *

Warm. He felt surprisingly warm and comfortable but there was something important he had to remember. Something just outside his awareness.

Mitch couldn’t remember being this tired in a long time, yet he’d obviously been asleep for a while if the dryness of his mouth was anything to judge by. It felt like a herd of army boots had marched through but he wasn’t sure it was worth the effort to get up for some water.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes to discover it had to be midday, judging by the amount of light coming in the cabin’s main windows and bleeding into the sleeping loft. Enough light to see the coyote curled up in the bed next to him, taking up over half the mattress. The light snuffling of the sleeping animal hadn’t even penetrated his consciousness until now but he’d obviously been curled up against the coyote’s warm fur.

Mitch realized he was naked and his soft swearing woke his bedmate who cocked his head, at least he assumed it was a him because it was a really big coyote, in return. “Umm. Hi, boy.”

Mitch turned onto his back and almost swore again at the pain radiating from his shoulder and upper back. He waited a second, then tentatively wiggled. He’d been hurt somehow but it felt as if there were bandages or something on his back. Maybe he’d been in an accident?

The coyote rose to his feet and hopped off the bed to stand beside it, looking at Mitch with a steady gaze.

“Did you get help for me? Who are you?” Mitch chuckled at himself. “I must be loopy, here I am talking to a coyote who can’t possibly answer me.”

The coyote snuffle, as if laughing as well, then Mitch’s attention was caught by the shimmer that surrounded the gorgeous animal. Almost instantly, the large coyote was replaced by the form of a man—a naked, slender man with hair the color of the coyote’s fur and golden brown eyes. And an impressive erection that no self-respecting man could fail to notice.

“My name is Jamie. And my family helped get you home after the hunters shot you.”

With an eerie grace, Jamie propped one knee on the edge of the bed and bent to capture Mitch’s lips in a kiss that made the rest of the universe disappear. As Jamie slipped back under the covers with Mitch, he released his lips just long enough to change Mitch’s life forever.

“I am your mate.”

Beltane Dance
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

After slipping her sandals on, Shannon threw a light coat over her thin, flowing dress and let herself out into her parent’s backyard. Nervous energy flowed through her, making her shiver a little in anticipation, despite the warmth of the May evening.

Shannon shut the door behind her, harder than she’d intended, and winced at the slam. It was a good thing she was alone tonight. Not that she wasn’t alone most nights, too. The reminder sparked a familiar sense of loneliness she forcibly pushed away.

It was Beltane. A night of new beginnings, sensuality and fertility. A night for wishes to come true. It wasn’t a time for regrets or self-doubt. It was a time to finally think of herself and her own happiness.

A beautiful moon hung huge in the sky overhead, almost full and so bright it made her path easy to follow. The light breeze was just enough to cause her skirt to caress her bare legs and remind her that she wasn’t wearing anything under the dress. The unaccustomed sexiness made her pussy clench. Soon she’d dance naked around her small fire—a dance in the moonlight to draw love her.

At least if I make a fool of myself, there’s only me to see it.

Stepping carefully, she made her way to the small ring of bushes her mother had planted around the hill. Well, more of a mound. She stopped for a moment at the edge of the hill, and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her nerves.

She braced herself and took off her coat, neatly folding it and placing it on the thick grass. Her sandals joined it and she walked barefoot in the cool grass to the small fire she’d laid in the iron fire ring. Sacred woods, carefully selected and saved all year, were seasoned and waiting to be lit. She pulled a fireplace lighter from her skirt pocket and set the rolled paper tinder on fire.

For a few moments she just watched the paper burn and the wood begin to flicker with tiny tongues of yellow and red. After a few minutes, the fire was beginning to burn well.

It’s time. Now or never, Shannon.

She reached up and pulled the band off her hair, unbraiding the brown strands to flow loose down her back. Fingers slowly unbuttoned her dress, focusing her will on opening herself for love. Finally ready, she pulled the dress off her shoulders in a single motion and let it fall to the ground before kicking it off and away from the fire.

She shivered, nipples hardening from the air that was suddenly not nearly as warm as she’d thought when she still had clothes on. Time to move.

“Beltane Fires, light the way
Love to me, come to stay”

She chanted her wish, walking slowly around the fire. Shannon’s steps and her words found a common rhythm and she soon began to sway and turn as she chanted.

“Beltane Fires, light the way…”

The beat of a drum seemed to accompany her, then lead her. The heartbeat of her dance, the drum thumped almost in time to her heartbeat. Thumpa, thump, thump – the drum drove her on, sped her dance, and drew her into a trance of movement and sound.

“Love to me, come to stay”

Her trance deepened as she chanted faster and faster. Her walk turned to a spinning, graceful dance.

Thumpa, thumpa, thump, thump.

Moving so quickly around the fire, she could no longer spare the breath or attention to chant. Instead she held onto her focus and let her body move as the drum demanded. As the dance demanded.

Finally, she could no longer dance and collapsed to her knees in the grass, facing the now roaring fire. The sound of drumbeats faded away and she panted, struggling to catch her breath.

Suddenly Shannon saw movement from the edge of her vision and looked up to see a man setting a large drum aside. He was as naked as she, tall and pale with the whitest blonde hair she’d ever seen. And incredibly sexy. As she stared, he walked toward her and smiled.

“You summoned me and I played for you.” His face was a gorgeous as his body, brilliant blue eyes shining out from a face so pretty it seemed unnatural. He tucked his long hair behind one ear and Shannon realized his ear was not the shape of a human ear.

On My Grave
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

Gary stood, still as a statue, in the cover of the overgrown blackberry brambles. The full moon dominated the sky and lit up the abandoned cemetery, so bright it could almost have been daytime. The once pristine and tidy graveyard was in ruins. The few headstones had been toppled or broken and the wooden markers had long since rotted away.

A small part of him mourned those now lost to history and memory, even their final resting places receding into the shadows. Another part of him envied them.

He noted idly that it was a cold night. The cycle of the seasons was continuing, as it had all his very long life. Unstoppable and relentless, the years crept by. Soon the snow would come and blanket the cemetery in the semblance of pristine purity, hiding the carnage that lay beneath.

Where was he? The young man was usually here by now. At first it had taken the man sitting on Gary’s unmarked grave to wake him. The man would sit, sheltered by the drooping limbs of the weeping elm Gary’s sister had planted, and daydream.

He couldn’t know Gary’s grave was there, let alone know what Gary was and that the ties of his kind to their mortal grave meant they could sense anyone and anything that touched it. For most of his kind it meant a tie to their relatives while they still lived and visited, along with the occasional caretaker tending the plot.

But no one had visited Gary’s grave even before the cemetery went to ruin. Only the occasional animal had sent the shiver of awareness down his spine and forced him to remember that he, too, was once human.

Then the stranger had begun to spend time here. At first annoyed by the strong reaction his body had to the intrusion, he’d tried to ignore it. Before long, the lure of the emotions that flowed off the young man in waves seduced Gary into acceptance, then longing.

Who was this visitor? Why did he go from sorrow to happiness to lust to despair?

The crack of twigs underfoot alerted Gary to his visitor’s approach. As the steps moved closer, Gary was careful to make sure he was tucked out of sight. He wanted to see the man, not be seen.

A figure, slender for all it was bundled up in a wool coat, pushed through the clinging brambles to the huge old tree. He slipped between the drooping limbs and almost tossed himself onto the ground near the trunk.

A shudder ran through Gary, so strong it raised goosebumps on his skin, something he’d not experienced in nearly a century. I wonder if that’s because I’m so close to my grave again?

Gary pushed aside the idle question in the face of the barrage of emotions that flowed off the young man. Loneliness, longing, a touch of sorrow—they were all entwined in a confusing morass. But so very human.

A quick tug and the man’s hat was off, revealing his dark blonde curls. Gary’s fingers twitched with the desire to run his fingers through that riot of hair. Instead he crept closer, eager to see the face of the man he’d come to anticipate and even long for.

The full moon’s light, combined with Gary’s inhuman eyesight, gave him a clear view of what turned out to be a face that was striking more than it was handsome. An aquiline nose and square jaw offset the softness of his plump, pink lips. Icy blue eyes, so pale they seemed unnatural, were framed by lush lashes—lashes that sparkled with tears.

The nearly forgotten heat of desire shot through Gary’s body. Desire he’d not felt in far too long. He wanted to dry the stranger’s tears, kiss those lips until they were red and swollen, ease his tongue between them into the warmth and wetness of the other man’s mouth. His mouth almost watered at the imagined taste of the other man.

He wanted to explore the other man’s body—with his hands, his lips, his tongue, his cock. What would he look like under that coat? What would his cock feel like?

Operating on pure instinct, Gary stepped forward, praying to a forgotten God that this fascinating man wouldn’t run.

Visitor
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

Something was not right.

Sata paused with the alarm code only half-entered, distracted by the odd tingle that traced up her spine. A familiar sensation but not one she’d felt since she’d chosen enter a voluntary exile in the land of the humans. Her land now.

The louder tones of the alarm’s final ten second warning pulled her back from her memories in time to key in her code and deactivate it. She really didn’t need a false alarm fine or an audience for her confrontation with whatever was waiting for her.

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Anna
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved

Still. Dark. Silent.

Slowly the nothingness began to recede.

She floated in a chilly sea of mist, surrounded by shades of grey, her movements slow and sleepy. Peaceful and calm, her body embraced by the fog even as her mind began to wake.

Anna.

She contemplated the name as she drifted. It felt right, it felt natural. Surely that was her own name. It had to be.

My name is Anna.

The acknowledgement seemed to open a floodgate – memories assaulted her. An invasion of visions, sounds, even tastes and smells overwhelmed her. Her mind writhed from the onslaught, helpless in the grip of the experiences it relived.

Noooooooooooooooooo.

Her silent scream faded off as she descended again into the misty silence, unable to process the bombardment.

***

Anna McInnes. She was Anna McInnes.

This time she knew who she was and the memories were still present but she no longer felt as if they were attacking her. She could picture her own face and body. She remembered her parents and that they were both dead, gone for many years.

Where am I? What happened?

She remembered leaving her house to go to her friend, Jo’s. She’d climbed into her car and started it, then began the short drive. But she didn’t remember arriving. What did that mean? Where was she now?

She couldn’t see anything. Anna tried to touch her face to make sure her eyes were open but her body didn’t seem to respond to her demands. Only silence and drifting sensations met her efforts.

Determined, she pushed her fears aside and willed herself to move, to control her body.

Nothing.

I have to move. I have to know I’m okay.

She focused every bit of her will on moving just her fingers. Just one finger. Surely she could do that. Finally, as if a tightly stretched barrier burst, she felt her right hand move at the same time a wave of excruciating pain swept over her, throwing her back into her grey silence.

***

“What the hell are you doing?”

Anna’s eyes shot open at the shouted words. She was laying on a damp, cold surface that was so hard it felt like she was laying on a rock. Her head swimming, she tried to push herself upright only to realize she was so weak she could barely manage it.

“Well, Miss, what are you doing here? Do you have no respect?” The voice was closer now. “Are you on drugs?”

Anna managed to rise to her knees on the flat surface. She wrapped her arms around herself, cold and shivering now. Looking down, she realized she was wearing a dress she didn’t recognize. A thin flowery fabric in a style she never wore. Where the hell had that come from?

It seemed like she couldn’t focus her eyes. Everything seemed to waver and shimmer. It was so bad she would swear she could see through her own body, impossible as that was. But the stone slab she was on seemed solid enough.

Lifting her head, she saw a stone wall in front of her with words engraved on it. Reading them, she almost fell over again when she realized what the words meant.

Anna Marie McInnes – Beloved Sister and Friend.

Lightning
(c) 2008 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved.

She will die young and without knowing true love. As the storm embraces her, the kiss of lightning will be her death, yet she will be endlessly drawn to her killer.

“Look Mom, I need to concentrate on driving. I’ll call you when the storm has passed to let you know I’m okay.” Even her mother wouldn’t argue with that excuse.

“Okay, Joann. Please be careful. Stay away from the storm. I can’t bear to lose you now.” A hint of tears was obvious in her mother’s voice. Jo knew the pain of her father’s death still hadn’t eased for either of them, even in the three years since he lost his battle with cancer. Her mother was terrified of losing her only child as well.

She hung up the phone and found herself stopping at another light. Only five miles to her house. She certainly should be able to make it in time – she hoped.

The obscure prophecy of her Romani grandmother hung over her head since she was born. All through Jo’s life her mother sought to prevent the curse – for it was really more curse than prophecy – from coming true. Any hint of a thunder storm and her mother would demand that she lock herself in the large guest bathroom, the only room in her childhood home that had no windows.

Jo hated that room. It always made her feel as if she were being suffocated. She tried to avoid it as long as possible, often having to be forced into it by her mother as the storms were breaking.

But the older she got, the more she absorbed her mother’s fears. She didn’t want to die.

Jo pulled up into a line of cars waiting at a stop sign. While she waited for her turn, she found herself watching the storm clouds writhe and twist in the sky. The horizon seemed alive with movement.

A glance in the rearview mirror at the sky behind her instead revealed her own face. Her curly brown hair always reacted badly to humidity and was now a bit frizzy, despite the expensive hair care products she lavished on it. Her face was so pale that the light makeup she had on didn’t disguise its pallor and her hazel eyes appeared huge. She looked frantic. She felt frantic.

When she’d realized the storm was coming in a lot earlier than predicted, she’d told her co-workers that she was suddenly feeling ill and had to leave the meeting early. She could tell by the knowing smirks they exchanged that they were condescendingly amused by their only female programmer’s fear of storms.

But they were wrong. Jo wasn’t afraid of storms. She was drawn to them in an almost irresistible attraction. The only thing that kept her inside in her safe room was the damned prophecy. An avowed disbeliever, she was still afraid that it might be true and had no desire to die.

Finally through the long line at the stop sign, Jo turned down the main road into the area her isolated house was located just as raindrops began to fall. She felt vaguely sick as the rain grew heavier and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

At last she pulled into her own driveway. If she could just get into the house before the power was released. Before the lighting or thunder started. “Home. I’m home.”

She shut off the car and readied her keys, locating the one to her front door. A deep breath and she grabbed her purse and opened the car door, ready to race for the house.

As she slammed the car door shut, she felt it the raw power and presence of the storm surround her. Her heart pounded in her chest and she tried to force herself toward the house but instead stood frozen in awe, unable to move.

The sharp smell of ozone finally broke her free of her paralysis and she ran across her lawn toward the house. But before she could reach the door, she was lifted and thrown backwards through the air.

A small part of her realized she could no longer feel her heart beat as before the blackness enveloped her.

Season’s Greetings
(c) 2007 by Maura Anderson, all rights reserved.

Steve stared at the pictures covering his mother’s refrigerator. This time of year brought out all her love of friends and family and every new picture she received was proudly added to the display. Christmas was his mother’s favorite holiday and his father always tried to make sure it was perfect for her.

He smiled and gave an ironic little snort. The holidays always seemed so bittersweet now. He loved his family and spending time with them, but he missed Alan. Though they’d been partners and lovers for almost five years, neither one of them had really come out to their families. Thus they ended up spending the holidays apart and fending off the hints and occasional attempts at blind dates set up by well-meaning relatives.

He was sick and tired of the charade. This year he swore he was going to tell his parents, come hell or high water. The night after Christmas, after his nieces and nephews had gone to bed. That way no one’s Christmas would be ruined.

Trying not to imagine the possible reactions, Steve pulled open the refrigerator door and snuck a few pieces of his mother’s almond roca from the tin inside.

“Ummmmm.” He groaned in pleasure as he nibbled off little bits until it was gone and he licked the chocolate from his fingertips. Oh hell, that was a mistake. Alan loved to nibble on his fingers and he could picture just how much his sweet-toothed love would have enjoyed the chocolate coated digits.

The house was deserted but he’d seen the note from his father that they were out picking someone up at the airport and then nabbing his sister’s family from the local snowboarding slopes but would be back soon.

Finally he heard the slamming of car doors and excited voices. The front door burst open and his sister’s kids spewed into the entry, shedding snow gear and yelling competitive trash talk at each other in between laughing at their own mistakes. Must have been a good day on the hill.

“Uncle Steve!” His niece caught sight of him first and raced over to throw herself into his lap. The others followed suit until he was covered in four cold, wet kids, all trying to hug and kiss him at once.

“Kids! Get back here and get your wet clothes off!” Tammy’s voice was warm and full of humor.

The kids obediently struggled off him, one of them narrowly missing kneeing him in the balls. Once free, he headed toward the entry, only to be intercepted by his mother. Steve pulled his mother close in a huge hug, his heart in his throat. This year would change everything. Would he ever have a “normal” family gathering again?

“I’m glad you made it. It was starting to snow pretty hard.” His mother’s voice was muffled as her face was still squished against him. A firm shove from her, and he finally let her go.

“You have to come see my favorite photo Christmas card, Stevie. I just got it and it was so special I waited to put it up until I could share it with you.”

“Umm, okay.” He obediently followed her tiny figure back into the kitchen. From the top of the fridge she pulled down an envelope and opened it to pull out one of those long photo cards. But this one looked suspiciously familiar. When she flipped it over, his jaw dropped.

It was the card he and Alan had sent to their friends. The one with them in a very clearly non-platonic embrace in front of their own tree.

Holy shit. Who sent that to her?

Ignoring his silence, his mother carefully made a prominent place for it on the appliance door and turned back to him. “I love you, Steve. Without reservation. I’m so glad you found someone you love to spend your life with. But I wish you would have told me yourself instead of forcing me to give poor Alan the third degree and put him on the spot by telling him I’d guessed you were gay years ago. Just understand you don’t have to pretend with us anymore, ever.”

His eyes stung with tears. Tears of relief, gratitude and love. He still couldn’t force a single word out.

Then warm arms wrapped around his waist from behind and Alan’s beautiful bass voice whispered in his ear. “Season’s Greetings, my love.”