Hidden in Desire

By Chrissy Wissler

Ignorant of her mysterious heritage until recently, Kate Silver makes one mistake after another. Determined, persistent, stubborn—she refuses to give up. And somehow, keeps on breathing.

Until her grandmother hands her a huge-ass backpack and a pair of hiking boots.

Camping? With no flushing toilets?

No thanks.

"Hidden in Desire," the seventh story in the mysterious Elven Heritage series. A fantasy world where magic, lost loves, and elven souls live closer than you think.

"I love this [story]; it was a very fast and clear read. A wonderful coming-of-age fantasy novel." —Dean Wesley Smith, USA Today Bestselling Author, on Hidden in Time

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Cedar Publishing
• Release date: Feb 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465977199

Chrissy Wissler

Chrissy’s short fiction has appeared in the anthologies: Fiction River: Risk-Takers, Fiction River Presents: Legacies, Fiction River Presents: Readers' Choice, Deep Magic, and When Dreams Come True (writing as Christen Anne Kelley). She writes fantasy and science fiction, as well as a softball, contemporary series for both romance and young adult (Little League Series and Home Run). Before turning to fiction, Chrissy also wrote many nonfiction articles for publications such as Montana Outdoors, Women in the Outdoors, and Jakes Magazine. In 2009, Inside Kung Fu magazine awarded her with their ‘Writer of the Year’ award. Follow her blog on being a parent-writer at Parents and Prose.

Book preview

Hidden in Desire

Hidden in Desire

An Elven Heritage Short Story

Chrissy Wissler

Blue Cedar Publishing

Contents

Hidden in Desire

Sneak Peak: Hidden in Time

An Impatient Forest. One Stubborn Girl.

Also by Chrissy Wissler

About the Author

Hidden in Desire

Kate eyed the overflowing hiking backpack and the beat-up, dented pot tied by a string. The whole thing had to weigh at least fifty pounds, not counting the mud still caked on it. In fact, it looked as if it had gone to war and back; even the stitching holding it together looked about ready to burst if you so much as breathed on it. And Kate, who’d never been camping in her life, who’d barely gone on short little nature walks, was supposed to use it?

(And have it not fail utterly in her care?)

And all the while, Grandma stood there, grin plastered on her wrinkled, leathery face, silver hair also tied back by a string (probably the matching sister string the pot was currently using). She kept nodding and tapping her boots on the uneven floor of her home, as if she was simply pleased as pie with herself.

Or the fact that she’d won the argument about going on this stupid trip in the first place.

But if there was one thing Kate was, it was persistent. And stubborn. Really, really stubborn.

She crossed her arms and gave Grandma her most deadpan stare ever.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Grandma snorted as she hefted up her own backpack, which bulged about as much as Kate’s, and gave Kate her most level-headed stare back.

You’ve known me almost six weeks. Since when have I ever ‘kidded’ you?

Nope. No way was she budging.

Kate planted her feet firmly on the uneven, rickety floorboards. Her hiking boots, barely broken in, still managed to pinch her toes just while she was standing there. And she was supposed to move in these? Scramble over rocks and rotting logs and all manner of icky things?

Grandma was crazy!

Kate shifted, trying to relieve the squishing-toes feeling. They were a recent addition to Kate’s ensemble after Grandma had practically thrown her tennis shoes out the window. She’d tried the same with Kate’s jeans, as slim-fitting as they were, and those had not been met with approval either. Or the pale pink sweater, which, Grandma had declared, would be ripped by briars and pine needles and whatever else was out there before the first day was out.

Kate, though, had held firm on the sweater bit. Everything else, though, had been like running headfirst into a brick wall of determination that was Grandma.

You’re right, Kate declared. "You were born without a sense of humor. Not a funny bone in your body, but that doesn’t excuse this."

Grandma snorted. You gotta problem with camping?

"I don’t do camping. Ever."

This only caused Grandma to snort again, but because she tried to laugh at the same time, it came out like a cross between a wheezing pig and a vomiting dog.

You’ve got damn elven-blood in your veins, girl! Of course you like camping.

Kate snapped her hands to her waist. She was so not having this conversation.

This is stupid. Why do I have to go? And why do we have to backpack? What’s wrong with cars and motor homes? Or hell, what’s wrong with running water?

Grandma’s smile vanished. I thought you wanted to know who you were.

I do.

And she did, so long as it involved her not leaving the luxuries of the twenty-first century. Even if Lighthome, Montana—not kidding, population of like ten, parked at the northernmost tip, right next to Glacier National Park (a town which, by the way, GPS nor Google even knew