As our reluctant hero Ellis is a Yorkshireman at heart, I thought it might be fun to put together a little glossary for our friends across the pond.
Remember, Ellis: You never go Full Yorkshire!
A Handy Glossary of Yorkshire Terms:
Areet – All right. Y’areet there, petal?
Aye – Yes. Aye, I did it.
Barmpot – Fool. Not too fond, but not all that rude either. He’s a total barmpot!
Cadge – Borrow. Can I cadge a fiver off you?
Daft apeth – Silly person. A fairly fond term. No need for that, you daft apeth.
Earwig – Eavesdrop. Hey, are you earwigging in? Piss off!
Gradely – Very good. Excellent. Aye, it were gradely!
Happen – Reckon. I’ll ‘appen it’ll take a few days.
In’t – In the. Be ‘round in’t morning, aye?
Owt – Anything. Sorry, I forgot to bring owt with me.
Reet – Right. Very. I’ll ‘appen as it were reet gradely!
Petal – Term of endearment.You all right there, petal?
Tosser – Wanker. ‘E’s a reettosser!
Wazzock – Idiot. Not terribly complimentary, but only a minor insult. Then the bloody wazzock dropped ‘is trousers!
Tooth & Claw, Book 1.
Ellis O’Neill is an art dealer with too many problems: his eyesight has deteriorated to the point of night-blindness; he’s estranged from his family, to whom he owes a considerable sum of money; and his guide dog went right off him the night Ellis died. Without his dog, Ellis is trapped in a life bouncing between home and work, dependent on his personal assistant.
Werewolf Randall Carter has problems of his own. He loves his pack, he really does, but as their Omega he’s always the one to bear the brunt of their rage. It’s a role he can’t avoid, and Randall isn’t sure he can take it for much longer, so he buries himself in his day job. Randall’s the best dog trainer in the city, and when he’s offered a client who needs him to work evenings he’d be a fool to turn it down.
Soon Randall is falling for someone he should despise. Everything about the undead is anathema to his kind, but Ellis is exactly the kind of guy Randall would want to ask out on a date – if he were still breathing. Worse, they may not have too long to figure their feelings out. Someone or something is gunning for Ellis and anyone else who gets in the way; they won’t rest until the vampire is destroyed.
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Excerpt: Ellis had mentioned the money came from his dad, and he didn’t sound like your typical posh West Ender. He’d picked up a lot of the area’s accent, but the Yorkshire was still there, brewing under the surface. Still, Randall found himself wondering whether the art business paid well, or whether at the end of the night Ellis went home to a bedsit in Clapham. Did the art dealer feel as out of place in this manicured spot surrounded by fine Georgian apartments, or had he settled in like a duck returned to its favourite pond?
“This is it,” Ellis said simply. “It closes earlier in the Winter, alas, but in the Summer it’s open until nine.”
“It’s nice.” Randall looked into the park, a flat space with trees and sculptures, some sort of bandstand or building in the centre.
Ellis laughed easily. “It’s a good place to sit and read, if you like to do so in public to show off how well-read you are. Come along.” He brushed his fingers up Randall’s arm, and wrapped them around his elbow.
The touch fired all kinds of haywire signals through Randall’s body. His breath quickened, and his groin stirred. He bit his lip hard to try and focus, and said nothing while Ellis turned the whole party around and across the street, back the way they had come.
“Are you all right there?”
“Yeah.” Randall’s fists clenched in his pockets until the nails dug against his palms.
“Well, obviously he’s going to behave himself. It’s probably because you’re here.” Ellis didn’t seem too bothered by this. “Still, you reckon it’s something you can handle, not having witnessed the issue first-hand?”
“I’m willing to try.” Randall could have kicked himself for sounding so spineless. “I don’t want to build up any expectations-”
“I understand. Until you actually observe the problem you can’t know what might be causing it.” Ellis’ fingers squeezed Randall’s elbow. “Where do we go from here?”
My place? Yours? Randall had to fight to keep his brain within the context of their conversation.
About the Author: Amelia Faulkner was born in the rolling green countryside of Oxfordshire, and moved to London once she was mostly grown up. She has a degree in Computer Science, and spent quite a long time working with computers until her childhood love of writing could no longer be ignored.
Since then she has written for corporate clients and personal pleasure, and finally stepped away from office-bound working in 2011 to freelance from home.
Amelia is also a keen photographer and film-goer, and resides in the city (not the City) with her husband. She is notoriously camera-shy, so please enjoy this picture of her cat!
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