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Wednesday, December 4, 2013

White Turkey Chili

Looking for ideas to use that leftover turkey? White Chili has become a post-Thanksgiving tradition in my household.

1/2 red pepper, diced
1/2 yellow pepper, diced
1 small onion, diced
2 carrots, diced
2 stalks of celery, diced
3 cloves of garlic
1 - 2 jalapenos, minced (optional, if you don't want it spicy)
1 tablespoon of veggie oil
2 lbs leftover turkey, shredded
10 cups chicken broth
1 can garbanzo beans
1 can pinto beans
1 can cannellini beans
1 can great Northern beans
2 tablespoons cumin
1 teaspoon thyme
1 teaspoon oregano
Salt and pepper to taste

Garnish:
1 bunch of cilantro, minced
Fat free sour cream or plain yogurt
Crispy tortilla strips

1. Sautee veggies until onions are translucent, add turkey and cook for a minute. Deglaze pan with chicken broth
2. Add beans and spices. Simmer until thickened.
3. Garnish with cilantro, sour cream and tortilla strips

Easy peasy! Those turkey leftovers will disappear! Enjoy :)

Cheers,
Cindy
Fiction for the bad girl in every woman
http://cindyjacks.com

Monday, October 28, 2013

#MondayMusings - Baseball might be the death of me

If you follow my FB and Twitter posts, you already know I've got big mama bear love for my son and it's because of this love I'm sure his participation in Little League Baseball is going to kill me. No, I'm not exaggerating. I'm talking Redd-Foxx-this-is-the-big-one kind of kill me.

It's been a heck of a season. Some losses, some wins and some of those wins were awfully close. As the level of competition increases, so does my reaction to the games.

T-ball, really who gets amped up about t-ball games? The kids are all so cute and no one keeps score so it's fun for all involved, including the parents. During his coach pitch seasons, I got nervous every time he was at-bat because I knew he would be upset if he struck out. Machine pitch brought a whole other level of frustration for him, but he rose to the occasion though my anxiety at each game grew. He is now at the AA level, which is referred to as "kid pitch" because it's the first level where the children pitch to the batters. My son pitches, plays first base and is the clean-up batter. While I'm so very proud of him, I am really alarmed by my emotional reaction to the games.

When he's on the mound, I hold my breath with every pitch. When he's at-bat, my heart thunders in my ears, a silent mantra of please don't strike out echoing in my mind. One game, we were two runs behind literally in the last minute of the game and my son was the next batter. The balls and strikes piled up. He faced a full count, two outs and I could...not...watch. I averted my gaze until I heard the crack of the bat. As he rounded first and second and the winning runs came home, I jumped up and cheered. Then I promptly sat down because I nearly passed out. Seriously, yellow haze, lightheadedness, my stomach dropped to my feet. I was shaking as I sank into my folding chair.

How freaking absurd? I am not a Victorian lady in a corset who swoons at the slightest shock and yet I almost hit the deck in public. The medic hubby explained it to me as a vasovagal episode due to a sudden onset of strong emotions. Yeah, whatever.

Last night they played a very exciting quarterfinal playoff game. Again, I laughed, I cried, I cheered and I know my blood pressure soared at times. It's not because I would be upset or disappointed if he didn't do well--he knows I'm proud of him no matter what--but I knew he would be upset, disappointed and angry with himself if he let his team down.

I want so badly to shield him from the pain and regret of failure, but I also know that's part of life. Hey, we learn more from our failures than we do from our successes. Still, failing sucks. The only thing that sucks more is watching someone you love more than life itself suffer.

Yes, I know it's only Little League and yes, I know no one's life depends on anything he's doing right now. Still, it's so hard to watch him flap his wings and try to take flight all on his own. But I will watch and I will celebrate his successes and I will pick him up when he falls...even if it kills me.

You hear that, Elizabeth? I'm coming to join ya, honey! ;)

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

What Cindy Reads: TAKING THE GARDNER by T.J. Masters #M/M #Erotica

**There are a few minor spoilers in this review**

What drew me to this book other than the delicious cover and the BDSM theme (which you all know I enjoy), is that it is a M/M story actually written by a man.




Blurb:

Mourning the sudden loss of his parents in a car crash, experienced Dom Eric Broderick escapes London society and his high-pressure law firm and retreats to Glebe House in Pittlesburne, a small village in Buckinghamshire. He tours the nearby woods and the charming village, but it’s really the guesthouse’s garden he’s taken with—or, rather, the gardener.

Tom Bestwick maintains the grounds of Glebe House for his fiancée and does odd jobs around the village. With little experience outside Pittlesburne, Tom finds fulfillment through his true passions, rugby and art. He has just one unrealized desire—one the guesthouse’s new occupant would be happy to help him with.

Late one night, while walking through the garden to clear his mood, Eric spies Tom enjoying a BDSM video starring two men. Having a sub to train might just help Eric forget his troubles, but as their feelings deepen, the real world intrudes. Eric can give Tom everything, but not until Tom decides where he’s meant to be.

____________________________________

For readers who are put off by stories about infidelity, this is not the tale for you. Personally, I'm okay with it. 1. It's fiction. No fiancées were actually betrayed in the making of this novel. 2. Infidelity is part of life. It happens like that sometimes. Not saying it should, but it does.

TJ Masters's writing style is fluid and natural. I very much enjoyed his voice though I would've liked the pace of the story to move along a little more quickly during the first third of the book, but once it got going...it got GOING. The sex scenes are smoking hot. There's a lot of variety, showcasing the BDSM lifestyle without getting lost in it. I enjoyed that though Eric is a Dom and one of a certain amount of notoriety, he is also human, allowing tenderness and vulnerability to shine through. Sometimes Eric's reactions are inconsistent with what one would expect of a Dom, but I thought it gave the character depth. Real people are inconsistent.

Masters did a wonderful job showing the heart-wrenching dilemma that Tom finds himself in and the fear and excitement of crossing some very daunting sexual boundaries. Megan's reaction in the end is also portrayed with a great deal of maturity. All in all, I very much enjoyed this book. If you're looking to put some M/M or BDSM heat in your week, pick this one up today. I'm looking forward to reading more work by TJ Masters.

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/store/product_info.php?products_id=3547&cPath=55_747

http://www.amazon.com/Taking-the-Gardener-ebook/dp/B00B9DHD1Q/

Tuesday, October 22, 2013

Help! Cyborg poop dilemma. #WrittenMyselfIntoACorner #StrangeWritingIssue


Yes, I said cyborg poop. Stop laughing...I'm serious.

Here's situation:

I'm doing an erotic gothic horror retelling of Frankenstein, set in the future using a cyborgnetic body instead of pieced together corpses. The main character is Dr. Stine. Her husband was in a rock climbing accident and has such severe brain trauma that even with all the advances in science, he's in a vegetative state. The hospital is pressuring to her pull the plug because they've reached the time limit indicated in her husband's living will. Dr. Stine decides to regrow her husband's brain, program it with all his memories (which she can do), and place it in her cyborgnetic project's body.

Here's the problem:

If she does not alter the cyborg to looks like him and she tells him what she's done, there are all sorts of psychological issues that would plague him. I did some research on current day face transplants, limb transplants, etc. It's nearly impossible for someone to process this type of change very well so I'm thinking a whole new body would be exponentially more traumatic. There's no way then to get to the romance, sexy, sexy part.

If she does alter the cyborg to be an exact replica of her hubby and doesn't tell him what she's done, then there's the whole eating, drinking, eliminating waste issue. If hubs doesn't know he's a cyborg, he would expect to get hungry, eat a few times a day, get thirsty, go pee a few times a day, poop once in a while, LOL.

I'm leaning toward the exact replica route, but if the project originated as research for the military, there's no reason to have a fully functioning digestive or even sexual system. I've figured out the sexual part of it (other research she did for cyborgnetic genitalia for sexual dysfunction, damaged sexual organs, etc). But why in the world would she need to make a cyborg poop?

And yes, I have taken all my medications for the day...why do you ask? Any and all suggestions are much appreciated. Man, sci-fi is hard to write. I'm going to work on my next contemporary erotic romance today. Sex and love I understand :)

Cheers,
Cindy

Friday, October 18, 2013

Demonic Revenge Part 9, #RomFantasy #BadGirl @DenyseBridger @CindyJacks

Demonic Revenge continues:
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8

Part Nine:
The others stood transfixed, watching the green, black and red flames that spiraled into the air where the Azazel had fallen. Fresh demon spawn streaked toward his beloved. Rémy sprinted to the beasts now holding Denysé captive. He twirled the sword in a figure eight, slashing the first demon across the torso; it dissolved into ashes immediately. The last he ran through, a strong thrust to its core. It, too, crumbled into a pile of black dust. All the demons had now been vanquished. As soon as she was free, Denysé charged into his arms, clinging to Rémy as if never to let go.

“I’m here, ma chère, I’m here.” He pulled her into an embrace, dropping the sword and falling to his knees.

Covering her lips with his, he kissed her, desperate to absorb her into every fiber of his being. She sobbed going limp in his arms. He sheltered her. He would always shelter her as long as had breath in his body.

Je t’aime,” he whispered, rocking her.

“I knew you would come―even though you shouldn’t,” She hiccupped out the words.

Brushing the hair back from her face, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I will always come for you. Never doubt that.”

She cradled his face in her hands. “I never did.”

A soft clearing of throats interrupted their reunion. Loath to do it, he glanced up at the faces peering down.

Aimé put a hand on Rémy’s shoulder. “Shall we get out of this Gods forsaken place, so that you two might continue your reunion…in private.”

Denysé peered up at Rémy’s youngest brother. “Oh yeah.”

Vasya picked up the Aducător de moarte, wielding it over his head and then slamming its point into the ground. A flash of pure light and white flame exploded from the sword. The landscape melted around them and, suddenly, Rémy and the rest of them found themselves in the garden behind the church, dawn just beginning to break. While the rose color of the sunrise was undoubtedly beautiful, the way Denysé gazed up at him, a faint smile on her face, was the most magnificent sight he had ever seen.

* * * * *

The litter of empty champagne bottles and breakfast plates surrounded the triumphant group. Room service had struggled to keep up with the large order, but now that the shifters and Cindy and Denysé had sated their hunger, it was time to close this horrifying chapter of their lives. Though the parting was bittersweet, Cindy knew something unparalleled had occurred the past couple days.

Matéo dipped his head to Vasya, clasping the wolf prince’s forearm. “I meant what I said, Viscount. Clan des Quatre-Frères is at your service, should service be required.”

“I appreciate the sacred covenant we have forged. I may call on you one day, but trust I will never do so lightly,” Vasya clapped the Lord Alpha’s shoulder.

“Aimé.” Vasya turned to the youngest brother. “You command respect beyond your years. Your calm under duress and sacred powers do you much credit.”

Aimé embraced Vasya briefly and then turned to leave with Matéo.

Rémy, Denysé secured at his side, collected her belongings.

“You will excuse us if we take a few days to…Rémy groped for words.

“Reconnect,” Denysé grinned up at her big, bad wolf. “We’re off to Château Arcadia.”

“But of course,” Vasya bowed and drew Denysés hand to his lips. “I will confer with you after you…rest.”

She nodded, kissing Vasya’s cheek.

Hugging Denysé and Rémy, Cindy said through tears, “We totally missed the book signing.”

Both women dissolved into laughter, their chosen wolves exchanging confused glances.

“Have fun. I love you both.” Cindy embraced Denysé and Rémy again.

Rémy leveled his gaze at Vasya. “Be kind to nôtre écrivaine. Or I will hunt you down and there is no force in heaven or on earth that can protect you.”

“I believe you, warrior.” Vasya lowered his head, a sign of respect Rémy seemed to recognize. “I will treat her as the lady she is.”

A curt nod passed between them.

Once the alliance had dispersed and all the crying and hugs were done, Cindy gazed up at Vasya.

“Alone at last,” Vasya murmured, brushing her hair from her forehead and tucking it behind her ear.

“Yes.” She chuckled, suddenly aware of the hulking male before her.

“Shall we pick up where we left off?”

“No.” She shook her head. “We are different than we were before.”

He smiled. Perhaps it was the truest smile she had ever seen from him. “We are different, but that change only bonds us more.”

Resting her head on his chest, she sighed. “Very true. I’m not sure how I’ll ever understand all of this.”

“Then do not endeavor to understand; simply move forward.

She glanced up at him, his dark eyes gleamed with desire. Need flamed in her abdomen, racing between her legs.



No more words, he grazed his mouth along the edges of hers. Her core turned to liquid, her legs suddenly weak.

Cupping her face in his hands, Vasya nipped and licked at her tongue as he guided her blindly to the bed. She pulled at his shirt tails and popped open the buttons. Huffing his approval, he shook off the silken shirt and shimmied her dress over her head then slung it to the floor. She let her fingers trip along is bare, taut abs.

In a frenzy, they stripped each other of the remaining clothes, leaving a trail of garments in their wake. His lips engulfed hers and they tumbled onto the bed.

He brushed locks of hair from her shoulders and covered her face with kisses. His hand straying between her legs, he stroked at the soft folds of skin. Though already wet and she was more than willing to give herself to him now, Vasya was nothing if not patient and thorough in his seduction.

A thick finger plunged deep inside her and she gasped at the heat of it. More kisses absorbed her guttural moans. Then, his mouth seared a path down to her nipples, lingered there a while and continued down to her pussy. Long strokes with his tongue teased the length of her slit until she practically begged him to enter her. Moving up her body with the same unhurried pace, he grazed his lips over her bare form, each of his light nibbles and caresses sending the skin beneath it into an involuntary shivers. She trembled below him, her chest rising and falling with even panted breath.

His shaft pressed against her opening, an implicit question which she answered by lifting her hips, drawing him deep inside of her. He let out an elongated sigh and pressed his pelvis flush against her abdomen. His mouth hovered just above hers; his exhalations surrounding her with his rich scent.

Their bodies moved with fluidity, her legs splayed wide to draw all of him inside. Hands clinging to the back of his neck, she clamped her eyes shut, pleasure flooding her core. His urgent rhythm spurred on burning pleasure and tension. She took several deep, slow breaths and sank into the moment. Only Vasya, only his flesh on her flesh. Their bodies together and the private world that unison created.

He hooked his arms under her shoulders, letting his mouth travel from her lips to her neck and breasts then made a return path to her mouth. Gasps she knew to be her own, but that sounded as though they came from some far away voice rumbled inside her chest. Pressing their foreheads together she opened her eyes and found his steady onyx gaze.

She watched his face. Every ripple that moved through her, every new height she experienced, his expression reflected that sensation. Even as her mouth fell open to gulp in air, his gaze didn’t falter.

Tremors began as mere quivers, but built in intensity and power. Her sharp cry rang out as an orgasm marked the peak of all that she felt. And still, his stare captured her. Her body curled and shook against his and—as she’d grown to expect of him—he sheltered her, even after her quaking calmed.

Moving his grasp to her hips, Vasya hung on to her, pushing himself closer to coming. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, but he paced his panting and didn’t slow. A final thrust forward and arched back heralded his climax. She held on to his shoulders and breathed with him, her eyes wide open, drinking in the sight of her lover and the ecstasy that gripped him.

Drained, but aglow, he relaxed his body against her. Between heavy exhalations, he nuzzled her jawline and neck. Slowly, he withdrew and eased to the side of her, hooking a leg over her thighs. A finger traced her bare breast, teasing the still hard nipple.

“Vasya.” She pressed her lips to his shoulder.

“Don’t speak, bella.”

“But―

Placing a gentle finger to her lips, he quieted her. “I know our realms are worlds apart. Enjoy the moment. The peace that you feel, I feel it too.”

A sigh shaking her ribcage, she nuzzled his strong chest. He was right. All she had to do was be here. Now.

As she drifted off to sleep, she stroked the locket still hanging around her neck.

________________________

Read the sexy finale tomorrow on Denysé Bridger's blog: boundpassion.blogspot.com/

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Demonic Revenge - Part 7 #BadGirl #RomFantasy @DenyseBridger @cindyjacks

Demonic Revenge continues:
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Part 7:


Closing the door to the adjoining room, Vasya hovered there as if contemplating something serious.

“Is everything okay?” Cindy asked, fear and anxiety twisting her stomach and muscles into knots.

“No, but it will be.”

A knock at the door startled Cindy until she realized it was room service with the wine she had ordered. Vasya answered, signed the bill and then ushered out the hotel employee. Once he had uncorked the pinot noir, he sat down next to her, two glasses in hand.

“Here, bella. To soothe that expression of worry.” He gave her a goblet.

She took a sip, the lush, fruity sweetness of the pinot coating her tongue. “Delicious. Thank you.”

Prego.” He put his glass to his lips, drawing in a little of the ruby red wine then nodding in agreement. “Usually I’d give it more of a chance to breathe, but things being as they are…”

His dark gaze seemed to bore into her soul, his every movement graceful, elegant and yet all male. A flush crept up her chest, engulfing her cheeks and ears.

Clearing her throat, she set down her glass. “You said you wanted to talk to me?”

Si, bella. I wanted to be sure you are prepared for your journey to the Underworld.”

“What?” A jolt of electricity coursed through her body. “I wasn’t aware you planned to bring me along.”

He placed a hand over hers.

“We need you. Only a woman who is in…” He seemed to grope for the right words― “who is in season can read the incantation. Not to mention the brothers and I will be a little occupied battling the demon himself.”

In season? She furrowed her brow, but then his meaning dawned on her. “What? How do you know that I’m…? That I’m, you know, at that point in my cycle?”

Hell, she hadn’t even thought about it, but when she did the math, it had been two weeks since her last period and yes, she should be ovulating right about now. In season, as he called it. Lord help her.

“I can smell it.” He leaned closer, eyes closed, inhaling as if savoring the scent.

Cheeks flaming hotter, she pulled her hand away and smoothed her hair.

“Lovely.” She reached for her wine, taking a gulp.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m not. You just caught me off guard.”

“My apologies.” He sipped at his wine, scooting closer and reaching for the laptop. “Denysé recorded the spell as part of my story.”

He turned the computer over, inspecting it from all angles. Fumbling with the screen lock, he lost his grip on the machine and it clattered to the floor.

“Better let me do that.” Cindy grinned, picking up the laptop.

Grazie. I’m afraid that contraption is beyond my realm of experience.”

She booted it up and opened the file, scanning for text written in an ancient language. Once she found it, her eyes grew wide.

“How in the world am I going to memorize this? I can’t even read it.”

“I’ll help you. It’s Romanian.”

“Of course it is.” She sighed.

Pe toţi zeii din lumina,” he began, the rich language dripping from his lips like honey.

She did her best to recreate the words exactly as he spoke them. An hour later, she had most of the incantation memorized.

“When you finish reciting the spell once, you must take the dagger we borrowed from the church, cut your hand and draw a circle in blood on the floor.” He took her hand, making a slicing motion across her palm with one finger. “Then you must recite it again. Once you finish, exit the circle. The brothers and I will shepherd the demon into the circle and then finish him.”

“Okay.” Cindy nodded, tears springing into her eyes.
 
This was all so damn overwhelming. Demons, Romanian spells, blood, the Underworld and the uncertainty of Denysé’s fate. What if Cindy screwed up the words of the incantation? What if she died? An image of her son’s smiling face flashed through her mind. What if she never saw him again? At this thought, a sob erupted in her chest.

Bella, why do you cry?”

“I’m afraid, terrified, actually.” She rose, stepping away from the sitting area.

Pacing near the bed, she chewed at her thumbnail, tears leaking down her face. “I can’t do this, Vasya. I’m sorry. I love Denysé and I want to help her. I do. But…”

But what? She let her words trail off. She knew there could be no doubts, no reservations. This had to be done. If she walked away, would Azazel really unleash hell on earth?

Vasya crossed the room and stood in front of her. Gently, he pried her thumb from her mouth, running his own thumb over her lip. Plucking a handkerchief from his pocket he dried her tears.

“Shh…do not be afraid.” He placed a hand to her cheek, the warmth of his palm quickening her pulse. “I promise I will let nothing harm you. And I suspect the des Quatre-Frères would die for you as well.”

Staring up into his endless black gaze, she knew he spoke the truth. In his embrace, her fear subsided little by little, another emotion replacing it. Throat tight, heart pounding, she drew in his scent. Something about his natural musk calmed and aroused her at the same time.

As if he’d read her mind, Vasya dipped his head, brushing his lips over hers. An electric charge shot through her core. Melting against his hard musculature, she closed her eyes.

His tongue teased open her mouth, seeking out hers. He tasted sweet like the wine they had shared, his exhalations grazing her cheek. Goosebumps dotted her arms, a shiver drawing her nipples into taut buds. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she pulled him deeper into the kiss.

With ease, he boosted her up, wrapping her legs around his waist and carrying her to the bed. Desire pulsed between her thighs, her pussy echoing her heartbeat.

As he laid her back, she felt the solid weight of his body pressing down on her. He felt so good and she needed this, needed him. This very well could be her last chance to indulge in such pleasures.

Letting her eyelids flick open she sneaked a glimpse of the handsome wolf prince who was about to make love to her. God, he was gorgeous, all angular European bone structure and smooth, ageless features.

Slipping a hand up the skirt of her dress, he hooked a couple fingers in her panties. Mouth to her skin, he planted delicate kisses along her thighs and calves as he slid her underwear down her legs.

Suddenly, the door banged open.

“What in the name of the Gods do you think you’re doing?” someone shouted.

It was Rémy. She’d recognize that roar anywhere.

Vasya scrambled to his feet, covering her with a blanket.

“I could ask the same of you, whelp.” The elder wolf grasped the front of Rémy’s shirt and yanked him off his feet.

Rémy punched and kicked at Vasya as the they tumbled to the floor.

“Stop it, both of you!” Cindy struggled to her feet and righted her dress, though she knew there was little she could do to keep the shifters from tearing each other apart.

Matéo and Aimé burst into the room, immediately wrenching Rémy off of Vasya.

“Have you lost your mind?” Matéo snapped at his still seething brother.

“He was… he was violating nôtre écrivaine.” Rémy took another swipe at Vasya.

“He wasn’t violating me.” Cindy stepped between Rémy and Vasya. “He was comforting me.”

A sneer twisting his handsome features, Rémy shook his head. “Is that what he calls it? Seducing an innocent woman on the eve of battle?”

“Rémy.” Cindy put a gentle hand to his heaving chest. “I’m not some naive child. I promise you, Vasya didn’t do anything wrong.”

“If you say so.” Rémy folded his arms over his chest. “I’d expect you to be more discerning with whom you take to your bed.”

Vasya smacked Rémy across the face. “You will watch how you speak to the lady.”

They jostled Cindy aside, ready to attack each other again.

“Enough!” Aimé grasped Rémy and Vasya’s wrists. “Very soon, we must all work together to save Denysé. You would do well to put aside petty squabbles. Calm yourselves.”

Cindy had seen Aimé do this before. A powerful empath, he possessed the ability to manipulate the emotional state of others. Little by little, the fight drained out of the posture of the two combatants.

“Thank you, Aimé.” Cindy kissed his cheek.

Aimé nodded. ”De rien.”

“If you two are finished trying to kill each other, I suggest we finalize our plan to battle Azazel.” Matéo motioned to the adjoining room. “ Shall we?”
________________________________
To be continued tomorrow. Find part 8 on Denysé Bridger's blog: http://boundpassion.blogspot.com/

Tuesday, October 15, 2013

Happy Health-a-versary to me!

Yep, it's been two years today since I had a fateful consultation with my doc during which she leveled with me:

"Either lose twenty-five pounds or stay on the road to pre-diabetes. It's up to you," she said.

I'll be honest, at the time, I wanted to tell her to go f&*k herself. Even as she sat there going over my elevated fasting blood sugar with me, she had a tummy roll peeking over her waistband too. Gaining weight was just part of getting older, right? I mean, I'd struggled with my weight my whole life and I was losing the battle. I was thirty-eight then and I had no illusions about forty being the new thirty. I was past my prime and that was that.

After the anger subsided, I sighed and leveled with her. "It's so overwhelming. The weight gain has been steady since I hit thirty-six and I don't feel like I overindulge all that much."

We went over my pattern of lessening activity--especially since I became a full time writer--and my overeating triggers: stress, celebrations, anger, boredom. All right, I found a lot of reasons to self-medicate with comfort food. Here's me in October 2011:


Okay, okay, it's hard to focus on my big butt in this picture, but it's one of the few pics of me at 202.5 lbs. At 5'8" cresting 200 lbs put me firmly in the category of obese and I hated photos of myself.

By incorporating simple activities such as walking and dancing into my daily routines and strictly monitoring calories consumed vs. calories burned by October 2012 I had lost 35 lbs.

 


I liked the way I looked and I loved the way I felt. Getting healthy and strong became addictive. I've lost a total of 52 lbs and I recently started a cardio-sculpting regime to build my lean muscle mass.

Two years has passed since I started this journey. I hardly recognize my reflection and I have to say at forty I'm in the best shape of my life. Took the pic below just this morning to celebrate my healh-a-versary, something I plan to do every year from now on.


Though my life is busier than ever, I've learned to take time for myself and make my health and fitness a priority. The challenge now? Maintenance. ARGH! But I have faith in myself. I can do this.

I know lots of folks taking the same journey later in life and to all of them I say keep fighting and never give up! We deserve to feel happy and healthy.

Have your own weight loss tips, tricks, successes or foibles to share? I'd love to hear them :)

Cheers,
Cindy

Monday, October 14, 2013

Demonic Revenge, Part 5 #RomFantasy #BadGirl @DenyseBridger @cindyjacks

Demonic Revenge continues:
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3  /  Part 4

Part 5:

The heat from the walls of her prison receded turning the air around her ice cold. Denysé scrambled to her feet. A dark figure appeared, bathed in a mandorla of pale, silvery light, not at all the beast she had envisioned. In fact, the man before her was quite beautiful. Black hair arched away from high cheekbones, eyes the color of espresso seemed to hone in on her very soul. Milky white skin, almost opalescent in hue, drawn taut over a gracile frame. He wore black jeans, a black t-shirt and a long black duster coat. Whoever this was, he was stunning to behold.

Clearing her throat, Denysé squared her shoulders to greet the demon in human form.

“Whom do I have the displeasure of addressing?” she asked.

Faint grin tugging at his full, ripe berry lips, he executed a curt bow. “Azazel, at your service.”

The name sent shivers down her spine and despite the chill of the cell, beads of perspiration prickled her forehead. Azazel, a terrifying enemy indeed. Vasya had told her all about The Evil One’s attacks on the wolf princes of old. But Denysé would not allow her fear to show. Not if she could help it.

“My name is―”

“Denysé. Yes, I know. I know more than you can imagine.”

“I find that hard to believe.” She held her chin high. “I can imagine quite a lot.”

At this, he tilted his head back and laughed. Not a mocking gesture; one of pure amusement. She gave in to the urge to smile.

“You have a rare wit, my pretty.” He ran a finger beneath her jaw and she shied away from his icy touch. “It will be a shame to slaughter you in front of your dogs.”

“They aren’t dogs,” she snapped. Though she was terrified, no one, but no one referred to Rémy and Vasya as common canines. They were wolves of noble heritage and even a demon spawn of hell should show them some respect.

“Fiesty. And brave too. I can see why he loves you so much.” Azazel tucked his hands behind his back.

Denysé knew about whom Azazel spoke―Rémy. He did love her with a passion to bridge all worlds.

“He is merely a pawn in all this and he would be wise to stay away. He and his brothers. This dispute is between me and the viscount.” Azazel’s lip curled as he spoke Vasya’s title.

She had figured as much, especially now that she knew the name of her captor. She also knew Rémy would never stay away, not if she were in peril. Fighting the tears pressing at the back of her eyelids, she took a slow, deep breath.

“Tell me what you want from me, demon.” She held her head high, meeting Azazel’s empty gaze.

With inhuman strength and speed, the demon slammed her against the frigid, stony wall, paralyzing her, fingers wrapped around her throat. Her skin burned where it came in contact with his, his expression glowed with a terrible, unholy light. She tried to close her eyes, but he forced them open with one flick of his free hand.

“I want you to die,” he rasped. Claws sprouted from his fingertips and he raked one beneath her bottom lip. A warm trickle of blood dripped down her chin. Moving in as if to kiss her, he laved at the droplet before it fell to the floor. Revulsion twisted in her gut and she whimpered, unable to contain her reaction.

Azazel released her, closing his eyes and drawing in a hissing breath as he clearly savored her blood and fear. Smoothing the arms of his jacket, he grinned, though it seemed more a baring of teeth than an actual smile. Her blood stained his lips a deep, ruby red.

“You will be the blood sacrifice I need to claim my earthly form.”

“Why not kill me now, then?” she snapped, rubbing at her neck where it still burned with the freezing imprint of his fingertips.

“Because Viscount Petrova hasn’t strolled into my trap yet. But don’t worry, he will. He’s retrieving the final piece of the puzzle as we speak.”

With that, Azazel vanished, the dim light in her cell cutting out as well.

Trapped in bone-chilling darkness and trembling, Denysé sank to the floor of the prison. Sobs she could no longer contain racked her body, her lip throbbing from its wound. The demon’s earlier taunting had proven true―she was very much afraid, but fear could not stop her from trying to warn Vasya and Rémy.

She crossed her legs, folding them into a lotus position. Eyes closed, hands resting on her knees, she closed her eyes and focused her every thought on her dearest wolves, begging them not to come to her rescue. If Azazel could read her mind in this hellhole, perhaps they could too.

* * * * *

Aimé des Quatre-Frères startled at the bang of the guest cottage door. His brother’s lifemate, Reese, holding out her cellphone, a grave look upon her face.

“It’s for you.”

Furrowing his brow, he took the weird little communication device and held it to his ear. Who in the world could be calling him on one of these things?

“H-hello?”

“Are you guys still visiting Reese’s family?” Rémy asked without the usual pleasantries. Not that Rémy was ever very pleasant.

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re going to have to cut the visit short. I need the that crappy old relic Papa used to keep in his study.”

At first, Aimé didn’t know of what Rémy spoke, but then the chipped and tarnished sword with runes along its blade came to mind, a chill passing through his body. L'annonciateur de la mort it was called--the bringer of death--or aducător de moarte in the tongue of the blade's origin.

“Why would you need that?” Aimé asked.

“I don’t know exactly, but Vasya said―”

“Vasya? Viscount Petrova? Where in the name of the Gods are you?”

“I’m in Ohio at a writer’s convention. Listen, I don’t have time to explain everything, just get me that sword and bring it here. Denysé is in danger.” Rémy’s voice cracked as he spoke her name. The rare display of emotion from his older brother pierced Aimé’s heart.

“All right. I know where it is housed. I’ll be there by morning light.”

Summoning his brothers, Matéo and Sébastien, Aimé told them of his mission.

Sébastien grimaced. “What has Rémy gotten himself into?”

“I don’t know.” Aimé shook his head. “But whatever it is, if he has requested this sword, he’s going to need back up.”

Matéo shook his head, clearly considering their situation from all angles. As Lord Alpha des Quatre-Frères, it was his duty to see all possible outcomes and plan accordingly.

“We can’t all go and leave the pack unprotected,” Matéo said. “And if the Aducător de moarte is as archaic and powerful as you say, Aimé, I’m not comfortable handing it over to Vasya, no questions asked, noble bloodline or not.”

“That’s why I intend to oversee its delivery and use,” Aimé replied.

“No offense, mon frère, but your presence may not be enough. I don’t need to tell you the powers an ancient member of our race possesses. Vasya could snap any one of us in half with the flick of his wrist.”

While Aimé didn’t doubt the veracity of Matéo’s words when it came to himself, Sébastien or Rémy, Matéo held the position of Lord Alpha for a reason. His unparalleled mastery of the gifts specific to their kind made him a far more formidable foe than the other three combined. It also meant, however, that Matéo would never put the clan in harm’s way if he could avoid it.

“If Vasya is as strong as you say, does it really matter that we hand over the sword? He could come take it by force. I don’t think starting a blood feud with him is the best course of action. And with Denysé in peril, you know Rémy isn’t going to allow reason to stand in his way. Let me do as they’ve asked,” Aimé said.

Sighing, Matéo set his jaw and nodded.

“I think we all know you must go with Aimé as well. In case things go wrong.” Sébastien indicated Matéo. “I’ll stay behind and watch over the pack.”

Aimé could feel the annoyance and chagrin emanating from Sébastien. It was no easy task for him to accept his place as second best since as the eldest the mantle of Lord Alpha should have passed to him. Sébastien braced himself against a wave of deep-seated resentment―a battle he fought daily.

Grasping Sébastien’s shoulder, Matéo silently thanked his oldest brother.

* * * * *

As soon as Aimé and Matéo arrived with the relic, relief swept through Cindy’s core. Everything would be all right. It just had to be.

“Viscount Vasya Matteo Petrova.” Matéo bent stiffly at the waist.

“Lord Alpha des Quatre-Frères.” Vasya dipped his head, clearly respectful of the leader of the New World clan.
 
Agog at the sight of Matéo bowing to anyone, Cindy watched the two males size each other up. Of equal height and build, Matéo and Vasya stood eye to eye, one gaze icy blue the other black onyx. Heart beating its way into her throat, Cindy wondered what passed between them, imperceptible to her human senses.

“Your reputation precedes you,” said Matéo.

“As does yours. Have you brought what I asked for?”
 
“I have.” Matéo indicated the bundle wrapped in decaying muslin and tied with strips of leather. “But I don’t intend to hand it over until I know what you plan to do with it.”

Vasya snarled, baring one fang-like tooth. “You dare question my intentions?”

Holding his ground, Matéo squared his shoulders. “You dare command compliance of me? With all due respect, viscount, you have no authority here.”

Again, the males stared at each other, the tension palpable and smothering. Cindy held her breath, afraid violence might erupt at any second.

Finally, Vasya relaxed his posture. “Forgive me, Lord Alpha. I am unaccustomed to operating within someone else’s purview.”

Matéo took a step back, apology clearly accepted. “What does the sword have to do with the threat we face?”

We?” Vasya arched an eyebrow.

“Perhaps you don’t understand how my clan works: you endanger one of us, you face the wrath of all of us. We consider Denysé one of our own.”

Vasya nodded his apparent approval.
____________________________
To be continued tomorrow. Find Part 6 on Denyse Bridger's blog: http://boundpassion.blogspot.com/

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Demonic Revenge, part 3 #RomFantasy #BadGirl #StayingHome

Part Three:

 
Shivering, Cindy watched Rémy pace around the room, his expression stony, eyes glowing with barely contained rage. Vasya stood still, cool and calculating, studying the symbol as if it had more to tell them than simply the perpetrator of this crime. Never had she met such polar opposites and she feared getting them to play nice would require patience beyond her capabilities.

Thoughts a buzzing, tangled mass, Cindy tried to work out how to proceed. There was so much work to be done and little time to do it. They’d need to put their heads together to figure out what exactly Azazel wanted. Collecting her laptop, she opened the door to the adjoining room of the suite. Fortunately, it was warmer there. The preternatural chill in Denysé’s room had seeped into her bones.

Taking a seat on the bed, she pulled up the latest file Denysé had sent her. Cindy’s gut told her the answer lay in those writings. The story revolved around Vasya, that much she knew. A million questions for the ancient wolf prince sprang to mind, but Rémy’s presence stopped her from giving them voice.

“What have you found?” Rémy strode into the room, Vasya a few steps behind.

“If we’re going to fight this demon, we’ll need supplies.” She avoided the question, hoping Rémy wouldn’t notice.

“We have all we need to fight him right here.” Rémy clenched and unclenched his fists.

“She’s right,” Vasya replied. “As far as brute strength has gotten you in your short life, we will require more sophisticated protection against Azazel’s unholy powers.”

Rémy’s face reddened and he advanced on the elder wolf so quickly all Cindy saw was a blur. Again, Vasya proved faster, easily sidestepping the aggression.

“Thank you for illustrating my point, young one. You might be the strongest of your pack, but I’m afraid you’ll have to use something besides those muscles if you hope to free your beloved. How I wish your Alpha were here. Matthew, Michael, Mitchell…what’s his name?”

“Matéo,” Rémy replied, every syllable dripping acid.

“That’s right. Matéo. He’s the smart one, isn’t he?”

Rémy shook, clearly wishing he could rip Vasya limb from limb.

“Gentlemen.” Cindy sighed. “As much as I’m enjoying all this posturing, we need to address the task at hand: supplies and a game plan to fight an eons’ old demon.”

As the words left her mouth, they sounded ridiculous. She and Denysé were supposed to be drinking Italian wine, laughing with their editor and colleagues and ogling cover models. Instead Cindy found herself playing referee to two powerful and dangerous wolf shifters while trying to come up with a way to free her dear friend from the clutches of hell. If ever she needed a drink, it was now. She couldn’t even imagine Denysé’s distress at the moment.

Je suis désolé, chère. Rémy pushed the thought into Cindy’s mind, placing a warm hand to her cheek. This must be frightening and difficult for you and we aren’t making it any easier.

“No, you aren’t,” Cindy said, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes.

“Tell me what supplies we need.”

Sighing, she shrugged. “I’m not really sure. A few Bibles couldn’t hurt.”

“Candles, incense, salt and some sprigs of sage if you can find it,” Vasya spoke up.

Mouth a flat line, eyes narrowed, Rémy turned on the prince. “We’re going to fight a demon with some wax, perfume and seasonings?”

“Do as you’re told, young one.” Vasya dismissed Rémy with a flick of his hand.

Snatching up an empty plastic bag from the dresser, Rémy shot the elder wolf a look of pure contempt. “I’m going for Denysé’s sake, not because you commanded me to.”

Vasya stared straight ahead as if he did not hear Rémy.

Rémy stalked toward the door. “And stop calling me ‘young one.’ I am over ten score old.”

“A mere grain of sand in the hourglass of my life.” Vasya flashed an icy smile.

Mouth agape, Rémy seemed to catch a retort before he gave it voice.

“Thank you.” Cindy offered a weak grin.

With a curt nod, Rémy slipped out into the hall.

Once the door had clicked shut, Cindy asked, “Do we really need any of that stuff?”

“No. But I know you wanted the two of us alone.” Vasya motioned to the empty air around him. “And now we are.”

“I need to know what your part in all of this is. Denysé was working on your story earlier today. A few hours later, she’s snatched by a demon.”

“Clever girl.” Vasya folded his arms over his chest.

 
* * * * *

A deep growl resonated around her prison. Denysé fought the urge to scream. She curled into a ball on the floor. She had to stay calm, sensing that whatever creature held her would only grow stronger through her fear.

The growling became louder and rhythmic, the heat of the prison walls pulsating as if a beast breathed down her neck.

I am not afraid. I am not afraid. I am not afraid. She repeated over and over in her mind, rocking back and forth. The creature was toying with her, trying to unsettle her, but she wouldn’t give it the satisfaction.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to think of happy things, beautiful things. Rémy’s chiseled visage appeared in her mind’s eye. Her very own big, bad wolf. The night before she had left for the conference, he had taken her to his château, wined and dined her, made love to her as if it were the last time. What if it had been the last time she would know his touch? Would she ever see her dear Rémy again? Panic clutched at her throat and she struggled to draw in a breath.

No, she couldn’t give up hope. Rémy would rescue her. How many times had he declared he would march through hell and back for her? He would come, no matter what. A teardrop slid down her cheek.

Suddenly, the growl turned to maniacal laughter.

“He can’t save you. No one can.” A deep, booming voice reverberated around her cell.

“I am not afraid,” Denysé shouted.

“You will be.” The unseen entity cackled with apparent glee.

* * * * *

Vasya crossed the room and opened a bottle of wine that had been chilling in the ice bucket. He poured a single glass and held it out to Cindy. Though he cared little for her species, he took pity on the poor, frightened woman.

“Thank you.” She took the goblet.

Prego.

Watching her take a few sips, he waited for her nerves to calm before speaking. Once she set the glass aside, he motioned to the story on her laptop.

“Do you think this is a work of fiction?” he asked.

She nodded. “At least I did until about an hour ago. What does Denysé’s work have to do with her abduction?”

Closing his eyes, Vasya pulled up recollections of the bloodbath in Europe so many ages ago. “The whelp is too young to know of the Demon Wars. I don’t believe his pack even studies them anymore though their ancestors fought along side us then. They seem to think that all history began when they set foot on this continent. New world, new mythos.”

Eyelids opening, he focused on the scribe. Worry creased the corners of dark brown eyes trimmed with black lashes; her rosy lips turned down. Tendrils of golden brown hair spilled over her shoulders, a black dress hugging her curves. She was quite pretty―for a human.

“Much was lost in those days,” he went on. “Though we managed to beat back the evil threatening our survival, alliances were broken, animosities amongst bloodlines arose. Our kind was never the same again.”

“But what does that have to do with right here, right now?” She began to chew at one fingernail, but Vasya stayed her hand.
 
“Everything, bella. Everything.”
__________________________________
To be continued. Find part four here tomorrow: http://boundpassion.blogspot.com/