Welcome to Tuesday Tales, powered by a small group of authors, where word prompts inspire passages in the books we’re writing. The word of the day is cold. We continue with Silver’s Angel, book 8 of the Wytchfae series, with a cat shifting fae named Angel and magical musician Lucien Silver. When you finish, make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
He awoke to her soft curves as she rested against his chest. Juddering movements of her eyes and lips told him that a dream had her ensnared. He hoped it was a good one and not a rehash of her last few days. She had made herself small and was cuddled under his arm, as if seeking warmth from the cold. The air pumped out by the RV’s robust system always seemed colder in the kitchenette section, which was where they had landed. During the night, the blanket he had draped over them in the cushy booth had slipped to the floor. When he reached for it, her body moved fluidly with his. He tugged the blanket over her and tightened his hold. Then he let his cheek lay against the top of her head.
When he woke again, it was to her moving around in slow motion, searching for something in the cupboard. She was obviously trying to be quiet about it. He stood, stretched, and yawned. “Looking for coffee?” His voice came out a little froggy, and he gently cleared his throat.
She turned, her smile lighting up at the sight of him. “Good morning. I found that,” she pointed to a bag of his preferred Jet Fuel beans, “But I was wondering what you had to go in it.” She continued rummaging. “Oh, here we go! Yes!”
He removed a carton from the fridge. “No cream, I’m afraid. Only half and half.”
“Perfect.” She set about inspecting the Luxe machine, a tiny frown denoting her focus.
“Shall I do the honors?” he offered. “It’s pretty simple, but it sits there in all its grandiose glory giving off a sinister vibe.”
She laughed and ushered him into the space. He ground the beans and scooped them in. While he went through the process, she was intent on every step. He knew she had already mastered the machine without ever setting a finger on it. Soon came the irresistible aroma of morning coffee.
For her, he chose a rounded black cup depicting, in simple white swirls, a cat’s smiling mouth, brows, and whiskers. How he had obtained such a cup, he had no idea.
She slant-eyed him. “Cute cup. Before you pour, I need to add the goodies.” She drizzled in half and half, a pinch of cinnamon, two teaspoons of sugar, and stirred.
He poured. She sipped, her cheeks full of roses. He had to admit that the finished product was a masterpiece.
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed the selection inspired by the word cold. If you haven’t done so already, check out the other excerpts at Tuesday Tales.
Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories
All rights reserved, copyright @ 2026 Flossie Benton Rogers
