by Billie Dale
Royal and I are planning to get married as soon as Aurora is off to college. He proposed with the help of the unruly squirrel who tried to kill him. My engagement ring is a perfect red apple shaped diamond. I can’t wait to become Mrs. Princeps. I’m living each day, loving hard and staying away from men whose lies make their nose grow.
Happy ever after is overrated. Live life now, for you, for me. Flip the middle finger at those fairytales. Eat the apple, prick your finger, sleep for eons, and face the dragons. The love inside you is the most important, finding a prince is just a bonus.
THE END
Note from Billie:
I hope you all loved Royal and Snowy. I had a blast writing this. If you loved it, please share your joy at your favorite retailers. I would love to read your thoughts feel free to contact me at [email protected]
If you loved Never After, make sure to check out a clip from my paranormal series The Reigh Witch Chronicles. Book one Birthday Witch and Book two Princess Witch are both Free with Kindle Unlimited.
What’s coming next?
A heart-wrecking duet hopefully in June, a Reigh Witch Novella in October and whatever else my brain can come up with.
Stay up to date with all things Billie Dale by subscribing to my newsletter.
Thank you for reading!
Love,
Billie
Prologue
Into every generation, one woman is born...yadda, yadda, yadda.
Anyone who loves paranormal, and is a Buffy fan, knows this spiel.
This is real life. A reality where creatures of the night don’t exist and magic is just a wish upon a star.
Remember when we were children, and the night before our birthday was full of excitement? Whether we were antsy in our beds waiting for presents and cake or anticipating the great party coming, excitement filled our little bodies. As an adult, the eagerness is not so great. A birthday just means another year older. The enthusiasm we felt as children turning to dread as we round the bend and head downhill.
Forty...yes, the big 4-0!
Every woman’s nightmare. Midlife, wrinkles, grey hair, sagging body parts and a bunch of shit no woman wants to deal with.
I legit thought I was prepared for forty. It was just a number, right? Another passing year.
My hair dyed, my wrinkles creamed, my body put through the paces. All to keep that youthful glow. I was ready.
Forty would not get me down. I would rule this year.
I mean, it’s my sexual prime, when a woman's sex drive kicks into high gear. When all those raging hormones, the ‘experts’ claim come with turning forty, go into overdrive. A woman’s sexual high tide that happens with or without someone to work all those urges out with, at the present I’m without a partner to explore all the gloriousness coming. I’m in the market for a new man to scratch my itch; being fresh out of a shit marriage, I’ll need a new scratcher when these hormones kick in.
Oh, right, you don’t know me.
Hello, I’m Shayden Reigh. I believe in all things Mother Earth. I’m a Mom of two wonderful, beautiful girls, Bryenna who is seventeen and Kassy who is nine. I’m a Wiccan, a recent divorcee and with some recent events, it seems, I’m a chosen Queen of a realm unknown to the human world.
I always wished magic was real, pretending when I was little to be magical. I dreamed to live in the world of Charmed with Phoebe, Paige, and Piper, maybe battle some scary monsters with the Winchester boys of Supernatural. A world full of mystic wonder would be an awesome place to live.
Be careful what you wish for.
Forty is when my life flipped ass over elbows, bringing all new meaning to this magical milestone birthday.
Chapter One
So Mote it...Begins
Today is just a day. The sun comes up then goes down. Shit happens in between, often the same shit as the day before.
While the sun spreads its joy with warming beams, I acclimate to the fact today begins my ascent up the mountain. One step closer to over the hill, like the damn yodeling mountain climber on The Price is Right. My fortieth birthday. The turning point to make a woman cringe. A slap in the face, causing her take stock of her life and body. Forcing her to pay attention to the facts she’s been trying to ignore. Her boobs point more toward the floor than the sky and don’t look so great hanging out down there with her belly button and those sparkling shiny lines in her hair are not glitter.
An ear-piercing blare begins, the annoyance of the alarm announcing it’s time to get my ass out of bed. Four a.m., time to rise and shine. Book blogging to do, kids to get ready, a day to start. But nothing gets going without my first cup of coffee. The heaven in a cup with a succulent strong aroma entering your nose and popping your eyes open. My first drop of sanity to make sure I’ve put on pants and don’t end up in jail. When it hits your tongue and calms the morning she-beast with its caffeinated gloriousness. The ‘Hallelujah’ part of my morning.
Rising to the edge of my bed, stuffing my feet into my piggy slippers, I shuffle my way in complete zombie mode with my eyelids half open to my Mecca. My lifeline − better known as my coffee pot. The day doesn’t begin until the caffeine is flowing. I swear I would mainline it intravenously if I could. My eyes will not pop open all the way without a great cup of caffeinated sludge soaring through my veins.
I’d like to throw a thank you to Dick Sweeney, the man who invented the Keurig and who had the forethought to put a timer on it. The man is a God of Coffee Makers, I’m certain. Set the timer at the precise time you want the water ready and BAM − no waiting for the water to heat − coffee on demand. I load my favorite flavor of the morning, Carmel Mocha Swirl, into its snug little cubby and wait the millisecond it takes for the little display to say ready to brew. Reaching my pointer finger to push the button, I notice in my peripheral vision a shine in the air, glimmering in my kitchen. Stopping my hand’s progression and turning my head to get a better look, I see what seems to be sparkling dust particles mixed with glittering stars.
I know my cleaning is lackluster and dusting is the bane of my existence, so with the sun just peeking through the window, I assume the dust mites have decided to sparkle and dance in the morning light. Slowly turning my head back to the coffee maker, once again I’m stopped when colorful balls start to appear, swirling within the glitter. These are not just some dust bunnies having fun. Rubbing my fist into my eyes, this episode of crazy hallucinations now has my undivided attention.
Squaring my shoulders toward the gleam, I give it a better look. The lights start swirling together with disco-like color, forming a cyclone of churning air like a dust devil in the dry Vegas desert. Whoosh − the entire cloud slams into my body, engulfing me in light and warmth. I cough, swatting at it like a swarm of mosquitos. Feeling light-headed, I collapse as darkness consumes me.
Awaking woozy, I sit up and position my legs straight out in front of me. As I rub the sore spot on the back of my head, I try to focus on the stained kitchen carpet. What the hell is going on? Questioning why I’m on the floor, I push myself up. Stunned. Not sure how I got down there, to begin with. My mind cataloging the last few minutes when I remember the cloud. I check my body looking for injuries, seeing none, aside from a slight lump on my head where I’m pretty sure I hit the counter behind me. Tapping the spot gingerly with my fingers, I think, What the hell was that?
Still determined to make my cup coffee, I shake my head wondering if maybe I just need to sit down. Perhaps once I get some coffee in me, it will dispel this fog in my head giving me a moment to analyze what in the billy blue hell just happen. I reach for the cup, now the brewing has stopped, and as my fingers approach the handle, the cup jerks away. I watch my cup sail across the room, splashing scalding hot coffee all over the place and ends up looking like a brown massacre on my wall.
My eyes are wide as saucers looking from my cup and back to my hand, scanning the room for some kind of explanation. I think there’s some ghost who had a beef with my coffee.
Being Wiccan, I believe most things are possible, but not having seen anything supernatural before, I wonder if I have acquired a new being.
Wicca is the belief that all things are possible with the right use of positive energy. What we send out we get back, believing in the unbelievable. A benevolent, friendly ghost like Casper would be sort of cool. Whatever I’ve got here is not nice, so an angry, coffee-hating ghost it is or I’ve gone batshit crazy. Investigating is my priority after I get my girls off to school.
Glancing around the kitchen, I see my fat cat, Kozmo, sitting in the doorway, glaring up at me with his best go to hell look. You see, my cat is an asshole. A piss on the floor, flip you off if he had fingers, pain in my ass. My youngest daughter fell in love with him when he appeared on our doorstep, thus the reason he’s still a member of our family. His face now conveying his you suck look, which he’s aiming at me with his beady yellow eyes. Yeah, fuck you too cat.
Nothing is out of place or conspicuous except for my broken mug and puddle of coffee on the floor. Oh, and the fact that it took flight in the first place. Plus, let’s not forget the glowing dust ball. I guess there’s quite a bit wrong right now, so my thought of nothing being conspicuous may be undermining the enormity of the situation. My mind conjuring the Twilight Zone theme because show tunes are so proper right now.
“Did you throw my cup,” I ask the cat with an I’ve lost it chuckle. Not expecting a response, I’m trying to justify my crazy by adding talking to myself to the list. Psychological experts always say talking to yourself is healthy; it’s when you begin to answer yourself there may be an issue.
When, I hear, “Nope”, come from Kozmo’s direction, I think the issue may just be a reality because I answered myself, but my lips never moved and the cocky voice was not my own. It knocks me back and makes me wonder, did I really wake up this morning?
Unless...was it Kozmo? Because cats don’t speak words. There’s no way the response came from him, it’s just not possible. I’m open to believing in a lot of madness, but cats can’t talk, at least not words I would understand. An occasional “meow,” but nope, not words.
It appears not only can he speak, he can also hear my thoughts. Either that or I mumbled all my verbal vomit out loud because he responds, I know it’s him speaking because his little mouth is moving.
“You can hear me now? It’s about damn time,” he snarks padding his way to me, jumping up on the counter so we are eye to eye. “I have always been able to talk, you were just too thick headed to hear and understand it. Now, I can tell you what I want. Let me welcome you to my world.”
I can’t help but stare at his little mouth. Whenever he says a word, his pointy sharp fangs peek out and his furry face looks odd with his lips forming sounds and his whiskers whipping as he speaks. My mind strays thinking, do cats have lips?
Seeing my distraction, he yells, “Hey,” snapping me back to give him my attention. “I’d like some food. How about you get me some? My stomach’s growling and it’s been hours since I ate. Plus, could you scoop out the litter box and grab me some catnip? Would it kill you to get me a scratching post, already? Then you can quit bitching at me when I sharpen my claws on the couch. Come on, lady, get to it. Start with the food. I didn’t get this great body from starving myself.”
This is a dream, it must be. So, I’m just going to go with it and talk to the cat.
“You’re a complete ass,” I state as I look at his pudgy, black furry body. He’s such a cute cat with his big hazel eyes and shiny fur. Too bad he’s a complete jerk who has quite the list of demands, now he can talk to me.
I move to the cabinet to grab his food and dump kibble in his bowl asking, “How is it I’m now hearing you?”
Jumping from the counter and moving to his bowl, he starts gobbling down his food, responding in between bites. “I’m a cat, lady. How am I supposed to know? Stranger things have happened. I’m going to guess it had something to do with the whole sparkling dust cloud. I may be an ass, but I’m smart enough to know your world is about to get real fucking crazy and hearing me talk is just the start,” he sasses with a swish of his tail and a shake of his back leg as he heads into the other room. Probably on his way to piss on my shoes.
I shout, “Hey, no pissing on the floor.”
“No promises,” he replies.
Then the smell of rotten eggs invades my nose. A rancid stench making breathing unbearable. Cupping my nose with my hand, I realize what the shake of the leg was.
“Kozmo!” I screech. “You’re nasty.”
From wherever he ventured to in the house, I hear, “You’re the one who switched to Fiber One kitty kibble.” With a maniacal laugh, he adds, “Wait until you smell the litter box.”
Nothing in my world is right if my cat is telling me things are about to get crazy. Hell, the fact that my cat told me is enough to get me locked away. I’m hoping this is a dream because hearing him speak and give me his list of demands is loony enough. Thinking about the flying coffee cup, I’m wondering how much more strangeness I should expect.
I may have hit my head too hard when I fell, maybe this is some strange concussion side effect. Yes, that’s the answer, I tell myself. I’m concussed and experiencing episodes of hallucinations. Kozmo didn’t talk to me, my coffee cup didn’t go soaring across the room, it’s all just a wild trip brought on compliments of a head injury caused by, my thoughts pause, realizing an unexplained swarm of glitter caused me to hit my head shooting my shit theory right in the ass.
About the Author
Billie Dale lives in no-where middle earth. Lost in a small village in the Midwest with four kids, three animals, and an amazing, word inspiring book boyfriend worthy husband.
A blogger by nature and a writer because she got tired of arguing with the voices in her head. She loves and lives the words on the page, whether writing them or reading them; her life is consumed by the worlds her head creates.
Her greatest wish is that readers will fall in love with her words as much as she loves writing them and as much as she loves reading others. She loves to create new worlds to explore and loves to write words that will take root in your soul.
Paranormal, New Adult, Romantic Comedy, Contemporary — there is not one box she fits in. She’s a rebel in the author world who writes what her head tells her even it jumps from genre to genre.
Stalk her on
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Acknowledgements
This is always the hardest part of a book, it really does take a village to get a book out into the world.
To every reader who has taken a chance and fell in love with my work, thank you.
Rachel, there are not enough way to say thank you for your support. Tobi my greatest thanks to you for reading this even when life was being a bitch. To my new beta Jen, I look forward to working with you lots in the future and I’m glad you’re with me.
To my best friend and cheering squad, my husband. For all the nights you cooked, cleaned, dealt with my air headed, not paying attention habits while I worked to edit and polish, I love you to the moon and back. For all your support and just being you, I couldn’t do any of this without you. You’ve been my best friend for fifteen years and I can’t wait to see what the next fifteen holds.
To all the bloggers who share my sales and leave reviews and take a chance on a no-body author and deal with the shitty algorithms of social media. Thank you for fighting the uphill battle to share our books with the world.
To YOU the readers goes the biggest thank you. I wouldn’t be living my dream without you.
If I’ve forgotten anyone, forgive me. I love everyone who has supported me over this last year!
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