Crimson Moon HIdeaway: Muse Unleashed: Crimson Moon Hideaway

By Robbie Cox and Crimson Moon Hideaway

When the well of inspiration dries up, there's only one place to go - Crimson Moon Hideaway.

Something is sapping his creativity, and it's as if Maxwell Bourland can feel it digging its claws into his brain, draining the stories out of him. He falls asleep, dreaming of elaborate plots, only to have them vanish by morning. This is more than writers block; it's a theft of his mind. With his editor nagging him, Maxwell flees to the redwoods of California, hoping to shake whatever has him in its clutches.

Inspiring the masses is exhausting, and so the muses, Thalia and Calliope, seek a vacation where the only creativity they need to stir up is how to spend the cold evenings. However, as they plot to lure the lifeguard off his tower, they notice a slumped figure trudging through the resort, a slight shimmer draping his body. Now their curiosity is peaked.

One-Click Muse Unleashed now as muses meet writer and the creativity flies!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Celtic Hearts Press
• Release date: Dec 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201388737

Book preview

Crimson Moon Hideaway

Muse Unleashed

By Robbie Cox

Crimson Moon Hideaway: Muse Unleashed

By Robbie Cox

First Edition

Copyright © 2021 by Robbie Cox

All rights reserved

Cover art by Beautiful Mess Graphics

Editing by CTS Editing

Formatting by CJC Formatting

www.robbiecox.com

This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are strictly products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be reproduced in any form, except in assisting in a review. This book may not be resold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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To all the authors struggling to write this year.

Chapter One

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MAXWELL BOURLAND HIT the accelerator as he sped down U.S. 101, otherwise known as the Redwood Highway, the wind whipping his dark hair as he drove his rental car with the top down, the fifty-four-degree weather exhilarating. Once he landed at Del Norte County Regional Airport, he quickly signed out the little sports car and hit the road, ready to escape the writer’s block he left back in Florida. He drove through Crescent City, heading south, taking in the beaches on his right as the afternoon sun beat down upon him. Halloween decorations had been taken down and packed away, and Christmas was quickly oozing its way out of the storage bins to smother Thanksgiving out of sight. Maxwell was not ready for the holiday season to be here yet. Not with a deadline looming over his head and no story to go with it.

He gripped the steering wheel with his panther claws before he tamped down on his frustration and kept the shift from happening. The others on the highway didn’t need to see a black panther driving a convertible down the road. Not even the crooning tunes of Dean Martin blaring from the radio could settle his nerves. Maxwell needed to get to Crimson Moon Hideaway, check in, and get his things settled into his room, so that the relaxation could begin. A few days away from his house and the daily routine of his life would, hopefully, rejuvenate his creative juices, bringing back his storytelling capabilities. Nothing else had worked so far, and he was already well overdue for turning in his manuscript.

His cell phone rang from the center console, drawing his attention briefly from the road ahead. He groaned as he noticed the caller ID. Anson Friedman. His editor. Great. Another check in and Maxwell had nothing to tell the man. Might as well get it over with. Hitting the answer button on his cell phone, the ringing stopped as static came over the car’s speakers. Anson, how’s it going? He clenched his eyes at how lame he sounded and then opened them, remembering he was driving.

Maxi, I hear the wind. Where are you? I stopped by your house, but you weren’t there. You know time is getting away from us. Hell, it’s already away from us. While Anson’s tone started out calm and low, the more he talked the faster his words spewed out and the higher his pitch rose. Someone definitely needs a chill pill.

You didn’t find me at home, Anson, because I’m not at home, Maxwell said, rolling his eyes. I decided to take a trip to clear my mind. Some different scenery might stir the ol’ juices, you know? Which reminds me, I need you to check in on D.C. while I’m gone. I plan to be back Sunday, so just pop in every other day and make sure he has food and water.

A trip! Max could hear the squeaking of Anson’s desk chair, picturing the anxious man scooting closer to the desk, probably leaning over, glaring at the wall in front of him. The man had always been a little high-strung. Maxi, there’s no time for a trip. What the hell? I needed this book as of yesterday, remember? There’s no time for a road trip. If I don’t get that book asap, you could lose this deal. We’re talking major deal, Max. You don’t want to lose this deal. And I’m allergic to cats. Why would you ask me to look after him?

How many times can he use the word deal? At least he stopped calling me Maxi. God, I hate that name. I’m not going to lose the deal, Anson. Relax. I’ll have the book to you soon. That’s the great thing about being a writer. I can work anywhere. And D.C. loves you.

How about working at your desk? You know, the one back at your house, in that little office you took a year to decorate with all those ancient maps and lighthouses? Why can’t you work there? Then you could take care of your own damn cat.

Maxwell took a deep breath as he took the next turn, a raven swooping low over his hood and then up his windshield. Max followed the crazy bird with his gaze for a second until the person next to him honked as Max crossed the dotted white lines into the next lane. He jerked the car back into his lane as he returned his focus back to the road ahead. I tried working there, Anson, but the words just weren’t flowing. I thought I’d try a change of scenery. See if things came a little easier out here.

Out where? Where the hell are you going?

This man’s head is going to explode if he keeps going up octaves. Don’t worry about it, Maxwell said, doing his best to sound casual. He didn’t want to be the reason Anson’s cleaning lady came in and found the remnants of her boss’s head scattered all over the place. Hey, maybe I can use that in a story. It’s a complete change of pace from Orlando. It’s also about forty degrees cooler. November in Florida was still a sweltering, humid nightmare. The state had no sense of any other season except summer. Trust me, this is going to work. I just know it. At least, I hope it’ll work. All right, I’m lying out my ass. I have no idea if this will work or not, but there’s no need to tell him that.

At least tell me where you’re going, Anson practically pleaded into the phone. I can drive up, meet you, go over the chapters as you get them finished. You know, help speed up the process.

Forget it, Maxwell said, shaking his head. I’m doing this trip solo. You’d only be nagging me, and you know it. I need solitude. As a matter of fact, I need some of it now. So, talk to you later, Anson. Have a great week. I’ll call you later and check in. Don’t forget D.C. As he reached for the end button on his phone, he could hear Anson demanding that Maxwell not hang up on him, to tell him where he was going. Hanging up never felt so refreshing.

As he settled back in the driver’s seat, Maxwell took a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel again. He could feel the smile creep across his face. So, the next few days might not turn out the way he hoped, but it had already started out on the right foot with that little exchange. He chuckled, glancing out his window as he drove by the ocean, the beaches full even for a Wednesday. Did these people work? Who goes to the beach in fifty-degree weather? Okay, they weren’t wearing bathing suits, but still, the wind coming off the Pacific had to be sending ice through their bodies. Of course, here he was driving down a major highway with the top down. Perhaps he wasn’t the best person to judge those enjoying a day of hooky from work.

He chanced a quick glance out the side of the car, looking at the waves cresting onto the shore, the dots of people sprawled out enjoying the sun even if it was frigid outside. Perhaps there’s a story there I can write about. What if a giant octopus…no…no, a squid….a giant squid came out of the ocean, slurping its way onto the shore devouring lazy beachgoers as they listened to the repetitive local station with its preset list of songs to play….and then….and then…

He sighed. That story sucks ass. He ran a hand through his dark hair, the excitement of inspiration fading faster than it had arrived. This is why he headed toward the newest paranormal resort, Crimson Moon Hideaway, to be out of the hustle and bustle of city life, to get lost in nature, to be among the giant Redwoods where his black panther could run free, springing off trees, the cold wind rustling his fur. He just needed to clear his head. At least, that’s what he hoped he needed. The inward purr of his panther assured him it was.

Crimson Moon Hideaway was nestled between Damnation and Redemption Creek, just below Crescent City, a vacation resort for the paranormal and mythical. When Maxwell pulled the flyer out of his mailbox—thanks to the power of the Paranormal Postal Service—he couldn’t believe his luck. Or the flyer’s timing. He desperately needed a break, and according to what he read, Crimson Moon had it all, everything someone like him needed to forget the mundane aspects of his existence.

He turned off the highway, taking the winding road to the resort, hitting the accelerator as he sped up the driveway to the valet, peering out the open top at the luxurious structure that would be his home for the next few days. The six-story building blended in with the surrounding Redwoods, the structure made out of the same wood as the forests around it. Only the giant plates of glass windows exposed the hideaway’s inner secrets, the large crystal chandeliers dangling from the high ceiling. He couldn’t wait to get inside and into his room. Or better yet, hit the bar. It was definitely time for a stiff drink. He needed something that would take his mind off this infernal book he was supposed to be writing.

As he popped the trunk of his car, Maxwell slid out into the late-afternoon breeze and tossed his keys to the valet who came rushing over to the driver’s side of his sports car. A tall kid, barely in his twenties, with short blond hair scurried over, dragging a luggage cart behind him, a playful smile brightening his dark blue eyes. Maxwell could see the kid being extremely popular with the female guests.

Good day, sir, the kid said, as he pulled the cart to the back of the car. My name’s Justin. Planning on staying long? As he peered down into the trunk at the meager amount of luggage inside, he cocked an eyebrow. I’m guessing not. He shoved the smile back into place, as he glanced up at Maxwell. Still, any amount of time at Crimson Moon Hideaway is better than a year out in the real world. Here, let me get that for you, while you check in.

Maxwell thanked the kid as he slipped him a ten spot, then slung his green satchel bag over his shoulder, and headed for the main lobby. It was time to get this vacation started.

Chapter Two

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DO YOU THINK I could get him to come over here and put some lotion on my…um…back? Thalia asked her sister, Calliope, with a devilish grin toying at the corners of her mouth.

Calliope glanced over at the merman standing near the lifeguard tower, his broad chest and firm stomach bringing a heat between her legs she was not about to admit to the other Muse. Tucking a stray strand of her reddish-dark hair behind her ear, she leaned back in the chaise lounge chair, closing her eyes as if the lifeguard had not just inspired her instead of the other way around. I’m sure you could go ask him. She turned, glancing back