Click on image to enlarge.

Category: Erotica/Paranormal Erotica/Dark Fantasy
Description: A lonely woman spends Christmas by herself in the country cottage she once shared with her beloved husband, a soldier who disappeared without trace two years ago. She has finally accepted that he's dead and is even contemplating suicide. On Christmas Eve, a knock on the door heralds the arrival of a homeless man in ragged clothes who bears a staggering resemblance to her husband. However, he doesn't know who he is, or what has led him to the cottage. Recklessly, she lets him stay the night, but begins to suspect she may have made a terrible mistake when, in the midst of unexpected passion, a wolf flees howling from her bed.
eBook Publisher: Changeling Press LLC, 2009 2009
eBookwise Release Date: July 2010

4 Reader Ratings:

Great	Good	OK	Poor

Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [39 KB]
Words: 7269
Reading time: 20-29 min.

Praise for Cry for the Moon "I highly recommend this to fans of any and all genres, as it will appeal to everyone. I know that I will read this one over and over again." -- Theresa Joseph, The Romance Studio

In spite of everything she knew, Ruth's heart beat faster as she turned the final corner of the lane, the one that would bring the cottage into view. She even walked faster, her boots crunching over the frosty ground like those of a much younger, much happier woman rushing to meet her lover. Her breath steamed and sparkled in the cold darkness, drawing her onward.

And still in spite of everything she knew, she couldn't help the corroding disappointment when the black building loomed at last in front of her. No warm, welcoming glow from the windows. No Christmas tree gleaming behind the curtains. No impatient lover watching for her approach.

Of course there wasn't. There hadn't been for the last two Christmases and there wouldn't be ever again. Jared was dead.

Her brief, silly hope done with, she let the dull lethargy close around her again, like a familiar, if boring, friend. Stepping up to the front door, she slid her key into the lock and kicked frost off her boots before entering the dark cottage.

Although she hadn't been here for several months, it was exactly as she'd left it. Switching on the lights, she saw that a thin layer of dust covered the surface of the hall table. It would be everywhere, which would give her plenty to do tonight before she went to bed.

Walking into the kitchen, she laid her meager shopping on the table and began to unpack. Coffee, milk, bread and whisky. When she opened the fridge, she found that Jane and Charlie, her nearest neighbors who kept the spare key for her, had left a turkey as usual.

Ruth's throat constricted. It was a kindness begun when she and Jared had first bought the cottage and continued even after Jared's death. They barely saw the couple but had always exchanged Christmas gifts -- always a fresh, home-bred turkey from Jane and Charlie -- and met on Boxing Day for a drink, if Jared didn't have to rush back on duty.

A pang of guilt struck at Ruth. She hadn't bought them a gift this year. Lost in isolation and grief, she'd never even thought of it. Now she wondered how they'd feel to find their turkey ignored and uneaten. Nor would it be kind to let them discover her body.

It was a silly idea to do it here, anyway. She should wait until she got back to the city and do it there where no one would care. She wasn't thinking straight, hadn't been since the two year anniversary of Jared's disappearance. Since he was legally dead, it shouldn't have made any difference. The army had long made it clear that she should regard him as dead, even though there was no body to mourn. They couldn't give her details for classified reasons, but they'd left her with no doubt that he was gone for good.

What the two year anniversary had done was make her a widow, make her realize finally that he wasn't ever coming home, and that without him, she really didn't want to carry on. She knew it was a weakness, a terrible fault, that she couldn't pull herself together, find some other cause to live for if she wasn't interested in finding another man as her colleagues kept trying to persuade her to do. But the truth was, she had always been a one man woman, and no other man interested her. And now she was bored with life, bored with grief.

"Stuff it," she said aloud, putting the kettle on. "What does it matter where or when? Just get through Christmas one last time."