Welcome to the first WIP Wednesday of 2018! And if it’s your first WIP Wednesday of all time, well, here’s how it works.
I share something I’m working on, and you can do the same in the comments section. Your excerpt can be up to 500 words maximum. Please don’t share any explicit sexual content, although some profanity is fine. You’re welcome to link to your blog or a website where more of your work is posted, but not to a finished book for sale, because that’s not a work in progress.
This isn’t a place for critiquing others’ writing. However, a kind word is always welcome!
Sound good? Great!
What I’m sharing today is rough, rough, rough. I only wrote it last night! It’s fairly typical for my first drafts–they’re always underwritten. This is for book three of my trilogy (The Phoenix Codex being book one.) Book two isn’t done yet, but sometimes I work ahead.
The trilogy is about a secret society of humans who fight supernatural evil. Nic, one of the Knights in this society, became a Shifter to help him defeat an enemy leader. Unfortunately, he broke one of the pack’s fundamental laws.
[AdSense-B]
Capitán Renaud, his expression stark, turned from the Wolf Queen to look Nic in the eye. “Dominic, I hope you understand what I have to do here.” He never addressed anyone by their first name. “I can’t start another Shifter war. Not even to save one of my best Knights.”
Despair washed over Nic. He struggled to conceal it. His captain was relinquishing him to death. A terrible, undignified death. He felt like he might throw up.
And yet, even more horribly, he understood. If the pack felt themselves wronged, they’d go after Manus Sancti at every opportunity, and a dozen packs around the world would join them.
Everyone was staring at him. He said, “My father died in the last Shifter war.” His voice shook only a little. “I don’t want to cause another one.”
What his mother had gone through, his own loneliness as a child—he’d never want to do that to other families. Still, pure survival instinct raged in him, his heart beating painfully as though it were trying to break out of his chest. He didn’t dare say anything else, or he would shame himself by begging the Wolf Queen, Capitán, and everyone else for his life.
It wasn’t fair. He’d acted out of the best intentions, breaking a rule to save Sophie. But now, no one could save him.
Maybe he shouldn’t feel so betrayed. He’d been raised and trained to sacrifice himself if need be. But he’d always imagined that if he were killed, it would be in the heat of action, not an execution of the most humiliating kind.
Capitán said to the Wolf Queen, “I’m only going to ask for a delay in carrying out the sentence. Let him carry out his final mission. As a Shifter, he’s the only one with a chance to succeed.”
She gave a hard laugh. “And then he’ll come back here and let us kill him?”
He regarded her steadily. “You and your kind can tell if someone’s trying to deceive you. I’m not.”
“No, you’re sincere,” she admitted. “But how can I believe he’ll return?”
“I will,” Nic said quickly. A few more weeks to live…he’d relish them, even if they were spent on a difficult mission. If he could kill the Tribunal leader, he could leave the world more peacefully.
She shook her head. “You’ll change your mind and run.”
How could he convince her? A long moment of silence hung between them.
Tristan said, “Someone could stay in his place.”
All heads swiveled to him. The Wolf Queen asked, “You mean, a voluntary prisoner?” Tristan nodded.
She narrowed her eyes. “If he didn’t return, this person would die in his place.”
Tristan’s expression said, Well, duh. “Either way, the price would be paid. But he’d never let that happen.”
“You’re sure of that,” she noted, without sounding particularly convinced herself. “But who would volunteer?”
Tristan shrugged, a failed attempt at nonchalance. “Well. It was my idea.”
Go ahead and share your work in the comments section, if you feel like it! And if you don’t want to miss future WIP Wednesdays, subscribe to the blog, if you haven’t already — there’s a place to do it below.
Thanks for reading!
Happy New Year, Bryn. Oh my goodness! What a wip to start the new year. I need to know what happens to Nic and Tristan. Awesome as always, Bryn.
I wrote this during NaNoWriMo last year but is a wip for the arrival of my main vampire group. There may be one or more ‘note’ words as reminders for more detail lol.
~*~
Once Orenda opened the main doors, she held them open and all of her entourage except Darius, Charlotte, Anoki and myself entered. After the rest of us followed, Darius locked the doors, closing out the heat of the night and the passers-by.
“Welcome to the NAME building, your new home. Something you must learn right now is, not only do they drive on the wrong side of the road…,”
That elicited a few chuckles.
“…here, they call this the ground floor, not the first floor. The first floor is the one above us. Get used to this fast because the locals will mention the first floor.” Orenda indicated towards the ceiling. “I am sure you noted the long table over there with all those folders. Go over to the pile with the letter of your first name to find yours then come back here.”
Almost half of the group heads over to the table and starts searching.
“Inside are detailed floor plans for the entire building and your allotted apartment. If you want to relocate to the lower levels, then talk to Georgia first. Brisbane has strict smoking laws, so I have provided a room on each floor where smokers can go. You can not smoke in your apartments either. The roof has two levels. One corner of the lower level is designated for smokers.”
As individuals make their way back, others take their place at the table.
“This information has been compiled for this group, for tonight. However, it, and more, can be found on the website. All future residents will receive a welcome kit with the URL and a list of the rules.” Orenda pauses and looks around at her core group of people.
“Now, if you have your folder, go explore your new home but do stay out of the business allotted areas as they will provide a good proportion of our income. Any problems you encounter, contact Georgia. Her number is listed on the inside cover, along with your apartment number.”
After a few minutes, Orenda, Darius, Varrik, Charlotte, Max, Anoki and myself are all who’s left in the foyer. Glancing over at the table, I can see it’s now empty. I turn as I see Orenda move. After picking up her briefcase, she opens it and hands out the folders I had just been looking for.
“We have a lot of work ahead of us in the coming months. Varrik, how is the network coming along?”
“The groundwork is already done and I have a report of all the local players. Both altereds and unaltereds. I will email it to you all shortly. All we have to do is get our people into place. One thing I feel can’t wait is the rumour about people, predominantly women, disappearing. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have bothered with it, but the rumours are mainly whispers amongst the altereds.”
“Any specifics?” Orenda’s brows furrow deeply.
“Very little. But, a couple of times, the Prince of the City has been mentioned in regards to the disappearances.”
“Shit!” Orenda mutters “And here I was hoping we could align ourselves with him.” Turning to face all of us…
“This is a priority that is to be included with everything we do outside of this building. We have to know the truth and stop it. I do not care if the Prince is behind it or if it is some loner.” Running her hands through her waist-length hair, she sighs.
“Just once, I would like to move someplace and not have to fight the locals because our beliefs differ. Well, you all know the routine. Let us get those wheels in motion. I want this happening before more of our people start arriving.”
After nodding our affirmations that, we entered the lifts and parted ways at our allotted floors. Anoki and I are ‘neighbours’. We grin at each other at the knowledge Tomorrow, our new life in a new country will go into full swing.
Hi, KC, happy new year! Thanks for the kind words. 🙂 How interesting that someone Orenda hoped would be an ally might actually be a bad guy. Nice piece!
I think it would take me 10 years to get used to the second floor being the first floor. 😀
Lol that and driving on the opposite side of the road.
Yeah, that comment is the intro to an upcoming power struggle that will happen in six month’s time within the city.
Happy New Year, Bryn! What an intriguing excerpt! Even that tiny snippet was enough to get me intrigued in Shifter politics. I’m eager to see where you take it next!
I began the fifth draft of my oracle YA on New Year’s Day, hoping to pitch it at a conference in February. Here’s a bit I have been fleshing out; I hope it doesn’t make anyone too hungry!
For the evening’s festivities, Stavros has strung fairy lights through the orange trees, lit candles scented of frankincense and honey. There’s a temporary stage set up at the west end of the courtyard, and you can see the temple high above us in the hills beyond. To the right, a long bank of tables is set up, with demi-tasse cups on the far end, pyramids of loukoumades and tiers of baklava on the other side. Lonny and I bypass the coffee—which would keep us awake until autumn— and head straight for the desserts. He attempts to take a loukoumas off the pyramid without knocking down any of its neighbors. When he fails, I giggle and catch the three little honey puffs that tumble down afterwards.
“I meant to do that,” Lonny says, “So you wouldn’t have to.”
“Uh huh,” I say, and follow him over to the northwest corner of the courtyard, where we sit on the edge of the flowerbed. Back at the dessert table, one of my French cousins—third or fourth, I can never keep track—helps himself to two loukoumades, removing them from the pyramid without so much as getting sticky fingers.
“Oh, well, telekinetics,” Lonny says. “Never play Jenga with that guy. It won’t go well.”
I smile and take a bite of a loukoumas. It explodes with sweetness, the fried dough tender and all but melting in my mouth. I lick honey off my fingers and stare out at the crowd. Everyone is in their summer finery, women in floaty dresses, men in crisp white suits. I challenge myself to a little game as I glance out at the crowd, trying to see how many Metios kin I can recognize and name. The thin, dark boy hovering near the coffee—that would be Ahmed, great grandson of Stavros’s older brother, now deceased. The blond girl serving herself a glass of water looks like photos I’ve seen of teenage Hope—her name’s Bridget, or Britta, I can’t remember, and I’m pretty fuzzy on our relationship, too. I should leave the genealogy business to Stavros and his minions, they have the resources for it. But I keep staring out at the crowd, faces dark and fair, obviously Greek or more Asian, South American, African, kinfolk who have literally come her from all over the world, to pay homage to the goddess and receive her gifts.
But there is one face, no matter how hard I look, I never see.
“I should have known she wouldn’t be here, not really,” I mutter under my breath.
When has Nathalie Dorian ever presented me with anything but disappointment?
Hi, Kimberly! Ooh, good luck with the conference in February. Ahh, I want to be at this party. Love the sense of humor, as always ☺ And thanks for the nice words!
Happy New Year and good luck in February. Love the scene. I always get confused with family connections lol.
Happy New Year everyone! The following is an excerpt from my sports romance/women’s fiction, ‘Wheeler,’ which is about a pro cyclist named Loren Mackenzie. Her love interest is Shakespearean-trained actor, Graham Atherton. Just to give a brief synopsis, it’s after La Course in Paris (the women’s version of Le Tour de France held the morning of Stage 21 of the Tour) and Graham steals her away for a weekend trip to celebrate her hard-fought win. They’ve been dating for about a month and a lot has happened between them. However, because to her racing schedule and Graham about to leave for a 3-month stint in LA for a movie, there are a lot of feels around this time.
28 July, Les Andelys, France
Graham looked at his watch and groaned.
“Loren, the sun isn’t even up yet, and I can’t drink my coffee with you moving so fast.” She stopped to gesture to the sky.
“Are you kidding? The sun’s been up for almost half an hour now.” He was grumbling when he caught up to her.
“I’ll get up if I have a compelling reason. If not…” He wrapped his arm around her waist from behind and nuzzled her neck. “I’d rather do other things.” She wiggled out of his embrace to pull him along by his hand.
“How about we give other things a break, okay? I want to do things with you.”
As they walked up Chemin du Château de la Gaillard toward the ruins, the hill became a little steep. Loren didn’t seem to feel the effort of the climb, but Graham was struggling with it right from the start.
“You can’t be out of shape!” she called out to him. “You ran a marathon. Come on! We’re going to be late.”
“I didn’t realize we had an appointment,” he muttered, then groaned. “I need to do more hill work.” When he reached where she waited, he rubbed his eyes. “I think my eyes are clouding over.” Then he saw the look on her face. “Why do you look like the cat who ate the canary?”
“Look,” she whispered and pointed over the ridge. “It only happens early in the morning in the summer.”
A thick fog was rolling in off the Seine, obscuring the valley below the Château. She took his hand again as the mist began to curl around their feet and by the time they reached the castle ruins, the mist had concealed even the grass. He let go to stand in the middle of the gallery.
“How did you know about this?”
She smiled at him. “I looked it up before we left for dinner. Isn’t this cool?” Graham watched as she wandered around the base of the castle, marveling in the atmospheric phenomenon that is fog until it obscured her. He turned and cleared his throat.
“And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything.” There was no echo of his recited line from As You Like It, but his head snapped up when Loren’s voice come from somewhere to his left.
“It were as possible for me to say, I loved nothing so well as you, but believe me not, and yet I lie not; I confess nothing, nor I deny nothing.” He was stunned speechless for half a second, recognizing the line from Much Ado About Nothing. Graham projected his voice as he responded.
“By my sword Beatrice! Thou lovest me!”
“Do not swear and eat it,” he heard her call out.
His heart rate rose. “I will swear by it that you love me, and I will make him eat it that says I love not you!” Her voice became louder to his ears, but he couldn’t tell where she was.
“Will you not eat your word?”
“With no sauce that can be devised to it,” he replied. “I protest I love thee.”
“Why then, god forgive me.” He marveled at the sadness in her voice.
“What offense, sweet Beatrice?” Graham answered, turning around.
“You have stayed me in a happy hour.” She was close to him now and his heart was beating out of his chest. “I was about to protest I loved you.”
“And do it with all thy heart,” he said and she appeared then, her copper hair moving around her shoulders as she came toward him. Her smile took his breath away as she cupped his face in her hands.
“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.” Loren kissed him, then released him. Her eyes were shining pools of silver as she took his hand and placed it above her heart. “Je te donne mon coeur.”
Graham ran his thumb over her lips. “As you are mine, I am yours. Always.”
Sara! Ahhh, this is so romantic. These sound like great characters, and what an interesting project. Thanks for sharing!
Happy New Year. Love this. I’m such a romantic lol.
I’m using your steps to edit my Nanowrimo. I’m finding editing harder than writing.
“Wait a minute,” Jess said as he pulled up to her apartment building. “How do you know where I live?”
“Irrelevant.”
“No. It’s very relevant. You’ve been following me!”
“I made sure you were safe.” He paused and saw her looking at him as if he was a deranged stalker. “You’re not you know.”
“I’m not what?”
“You’re. Not. Safe. Here,” he said slowly. “I’ll prove it to you. Go on upstairs and I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
“Fine. But I’m not letting you in so I’ll just say goodnight.” She held out her hand to shake his. “Thank you very much for rescuing me… twice. Have a nice life.”
He shook her hand and laughed. She stormed off toward her apartment. As soon as she entered the front door, Reid sprinted to the patio of the first floor apartment under hers. He easily climbed the privacy fence and boosted himself up to the balcony of the second floor unit. He stood on the railing and jumped to grab the railing around her balcony. He pulled himself up, threw his leg over and walked through her patio door as she came through her front door.
“See. Go pack a bag. You’re coming with me.”
“I’ll be fine Reid. Go back to … wherever.” She gave him a dismissive wave of her hand.
He raked his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “Look. Your friend is missing. A man you do not know tried to force you to go with him to who knows where. Your car was rammed off the road and the men who did it were coming after you with guns. Now, go pack a bag.”
She stared at Reid, then at the balcony door, then back at Reid. “I don’t even want to know how you did that.” She turned to the hall closet, pulled out a small rolling suitcase and headed to her bedroom to pack.
Reid blew out a long breath, sat down at her small kitchen table, and pulled out his phone. “Mac it’s Cosmo. I need a favor… need you to pull a few strings. See what you can find out about a black late model Dodge Durango with tinted windows and a 447 in the California license plate.”
“Yep. You got trouble?”
“Helping out a friend. Mac?” Reid cleared his throat and hesitated to tell him the rest. “I may need the team’s help. It’s personal but important.”
“Cosmo, you know we’ll be there. Tell us what you need. I’ll fill in the guys and we’ll be on standby.”
Hi, Diana! I hope the steps help – and I’m sure you’ll modify them to suit your project. ☺ Editing can be hard, for sure! This is a lot of fun. There’s something so appealing about someone who’s determined to protect someone. Thank you for posting!
Happy New Year. I’m so enjoying the snippets from this story and I look forward to reading more.
Happy New Year everyone. This is an excerpt from a completed manuscript, not edited. It’s resting until I’m ready to revise. I write cozy mysteries. While sex is forbidden in the cozy mystery genre, I’m toying with teasing in the aftermath. I’ve read a few published authors tease in attempts to loosen the rules from the stilted romance otherwise known in cozy mystery. Here goes….
Sunday morning began stormy. Bands from the hurricane hurled its fury. The power went out sometime during the night so Melanie had to resort to her phone to draft a column for the newspaper as she followed up on the Jessica Lamb story. An arrest had been made. A jilted lover seen a mile from the club appeared on someone’s home video surveillance. The video revealed the man blocked the street as Jessica drove down. He got out, opened her car door, and dragged her away to his car.
Prior to the video being reported, someone called the police to report a car blocking the street. According to a statement taken by police the unattended car was registered to a rental agency and they did not find a purse or wallet left in the seat. The officer wrote it off as a drunk driver who abandoned the car. It wasn’t until people who lived in the house with the video camera perused the footage several days later, came across the assault and called police which ultimately lead to the arrest.
“You’d think crime would drop knowing the number of video cameras in the city.”
“Hmmm?” Brooks rolled over, tugging the sheets from under him. “Were you talking to me?” He bundled his pillow under him and drifted off to sleep.
Melanie looked over at her bed mate and shook her head. “We are going to be in so much trouble.”
“I swear, Mel. It was never my intention for this to happen.” He rested his hand over her arm. “The only regret I have is hurting you at a vulnerable time. Go ahead call me ‘Rebound’. I’m not going to deny I’ve been attracted to you, but I should have never agreed to let you work with us. It was for selfish purposes, an excuse to be in your presence.” He rolled onto his back. “I can’t believe I did this. What is wrong with me?”
“Are you quite through with this self-inflicted penance?” Melanie cut her eyes toward him while she continued typing. “My God! Slit your wrists if you’re that sorry.”
“No can do. I’d lose my job, my carry permit.” He sat up and threw his legs off the bed. “I could end up on some God only knows crazies list with a government agency.”
“You can always join a militia group. They take all the crazies.” She left the bed wrapping the sheet around her, picked up her clothes strewn across the floor and tossed them in the hamper. “You could live in the woods and shoot ‘em up, bang, bang all day long.” She closed the bathroom door and got in the shower.
Brooks stuck his head in the bathroom. “I’m heading out. Call if you need me.”
“Okey dokey!” Melanie leaned against the wall of the tub. She whispered, “Why did I do that? Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
Brooks opened the shower curtain. “It was and I’m sorry.” She nodded. He closed the curtain and walked out.
Thanks for reading,
Pam Rauber
Happy New Year. I love the implied sex without it being graphic. Would love to read more.
Hmm, these two are so defensive, but I bet they’re really into each other. 🙂 I’m curious about what the consequences of their hookup will be. Thanks for sharing, Pam!
Nice excerpt! I’m assuming that Tristan is friend, lover, or relative of Dominic?
I finished my last WIP on December 11, so this is from the first 12% of my new one.
In this scene the FMC has just discovered that her husband has been unfaithful to her. She’s crouched in the back seat of her car, trying to hide from him, because she’s too upset to deal with him right now. They’re both demon-possessed half-vampires. She’s had a hysterectomy that could be mystically healed, but if they have a baby together it’ll be a monster.
***
He parked, his door slammed, and his footsteps came around his vehicle to the side of my car, his body blotting out the dim street lights. He paused at my door, then went to the other side. I’d forgotten to hit the keyless entry button on my fob. I fumbled for it, but he opened the rear passenger door and climbed in, folding his long legs into the minimal space remaining for them and pulling the door closed. His fingertips touched the nape of my neck, sending an unpleasant, pulsing shock through me. His whole body thrummed inaudibly, like if I were standing too close to a high voltage power line. “That looks uncomfortable.”
I licked my lips, suddenly overflowing with sorrow. I pushed words past the lump in my throat. “Go away.”
“Never.”
I pulled my head off my flaming knees and looked at him.
From this close, in this light, he looked like some weird special effect. All the silvery marks cut into his skin glowed, the flames racing over them, but under that his features blurred in the dim light. His eyes had gone dark; his demon was too close. I fixed my eyes on his nose. I didn’t want to look him in the eyes, but more than that, it was dangerous to let our demons gaze at each other.
“What do you want, then?” Fresh tears stung my eyes.
He shifted, his hands spread on his knees, and looked down. “I want you,” he said, his voice thready though his face was stone. “I want a child.”
Oh, that hurt. “I can’t give you a child,” I whispered.
“You could, if you’d taken the vampire blood.”
I laughed bitterly. “So you fucking that woman is my punishment because I wouldn’t let Lisette heal me?”
“Of course not,” he said. “But I have no other way to get a child. I want your child, love. I want to raise one with you. But if I can’t have that, I want a child I can at least visit. Alba can give me that.”
And just like that my heart drowned in burning pain. A child. I wanted a child—I wanted my child. I wrapped my arms around my belly and tried not to cry. Even though he’d hurt me so badly, even though I could still smell the traces of that woman on his skin, I wanted to have one with Diego. Even if it was a monster. Even if it risked my life. They could heal me if there were complications. We could teach it not to be a monster. We had souls, and nothing with a soul was automatically evil.
Happy New Year. I’m not into demon stories much but that scene has me intrigued to want to read more.
Hi, TM, nice to see you! Yeah, Tristan is Nic’s best friend. I love the conflict in this excerpt, and the idea that a hysterectomy can be mystically healed is so original! I’m not at all convinced that their having a baby is a good idea…I’m curious about it, though!
Happy 2018, Everyone!
Nice to see this one’s plugging along with great tension and notions of nobility, Bryn!
So this is rough draft from Endgame’s sequel, Destruction. Heroine June Vereeth, friend Prubius, Col. Westerveldt and others are atop 3000-foot rock towers which are constantly fogged in (and where nothing electronic, like beam rifles, will work). They’ve finally found the crashed freighter they’ve been seeking for days. So are their opposition in the war, the Mitasterites. (This mission ends in failure.)
“Should we try to push it over the edge?” a soldier asked. “The data chip would be protected by the ship, so…”
“No. But you owe me a cartoon when we get back to ‘Tempest Road,’” Westerveldt said. “Ten weary soldiers struggling to move a five-million-ton ship.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“Not as sorry as you could be.”
The work was done—I hoped. Westerveldt yanked twice on the climbing line—the triangle-shaped rigging gave a little—before swinging out over the abyss. His boots were fifteen feet off the rock, I noticed, as he hauled himself up into the ship’s cavity. My stomach started to tremble when I realized I’d have to mimic his actions.
“Okay,” he called, unfastening his safety line. Gaush instantly clipped it to the line he had running into the ship. “Vereeth?”
‘S–t! Me?’
“Your turn, Captain,” a soldier next to me reported.
Why in the hell did the colonel want me inside the ship? That’s where a sniper would be ‘least’ effective. I raised a finger to object, but Westerveldt’s agitated state—touching everything in sight—ended the argument. Prubius and I shared a look when another soldier helped secure the rifle to my backpack. I was next.
Because the line in was mostly vertical, I couldn’t transverse the way we’d all been doing before. After four tugs, challenging a yawning madness, I began hauling myself up. My vision tunneled for a few secs—I was specifically avoiding looking down, where my own boots dangled over an impossible void. I climbed in a panic, as if my back didn’t hurt from sleeping on rock and hauling gear. Soon, a hand gripped my arm and my foot found a small ledge of composite metal. I was over the chasm. Gaush made sure I was stable before unclipping me.
Westerveldt, full of surprises, had produced a claw-ended vice mechanism. As another soldier was climbing toward us in the great gash, Westerveldt draped a coil of rope over my head.
A thud echoed from somewhere else in the ship. It was low rather than sharp, and that immediately felt deceptive.
“That wasn’t us,” I breathed.
A crack split the air, followed by two more. It had come from behind. The gunshots seemed far away, though Prubius’ rifle was only fifty feet from my location.
“Top side, Colonel! Somehow they have found us!”
As the soldier below us frantically pulled himself up, Westerveldt bared his teeth. “Come on,” he growled, jamming his device into the crease between uphill doors.
I adjusted the rope so it wouldn’t hang me and got out my handgun. Sniper rifles are of little use in close quarters.
Westerveldt worked a rod into the vice and began twisting. He gave it a desperate grunt. The doors parted with a hiss of cold air. When he had the doors parted another few inches, a foul odor escaped. The ship had partly survived impact. Its inhabitants hadn’t.
Happy New Year, Justin. I alway enjoy your excerpts and this one has me hooked as well, thank you.
Hi, Justin! Ahhhhh, this is intense.. I just ordered Endgame.
From the prologue of NightWind:
Unity.
Rion could still taste the acrid flavor of the oath in her mouth, an oath that bound her for life. It tasted vaguely of the bitter melon that grew in curling vines in her mother’s garden. This same oath that led to Niko’s death now led her along the pebbled path through the Shrine of a Thousand Doorways to the top of Mt. Yama.
Rion rubbed her rough fingers against the dark pants of her uniform. The stiff material was thick and warm against the breeze, the shine of pomp and circumstance, a curling pattern of gold leaves, evident even in the thin light. Up ahead, the path took a sharp curve and inclined steeply, taking her further up the mountain and farther away from the life she had known.
Mt. Yama, mountain of secrets, held a history that stretched back eons. From the whipping winds that buoyed the Aviators wings to the strange mystics who fueled the Mantinean way of life with their ever-waning powers and the dozens of legends that bound and guided the people of the city-state of Burga.
Would Niko be proud that she had joined the Aviator battalion? Or would he have warned her away? Was she, too, fated to be a ghost on the battlefield? These questions, and more, no longer mattered, for the sacred words had passed her lips and, once spoken, they could not be taken back.
Sara! This is so evocative. And I love the idea of an oath having a flavor! Thanks for posting!
Editing, simply editing. Too many completed drafts in a pile.
Ah, I know how that goes, Ernesto! Good luck editing, and happy new year!
A difficult task while caring for a new daddy. Little Frankie just made 10 mos. 🙂
Ooops …while being a new daddy…
I knew what you meant. That is a lot to handle! But congratulations!
Yay!!! I love it Bryn!!!!
Having just finished graduate school, I am ready to get back into my writing. I have been working on my book over the last week… I was sick with the flu the last 3 days, and couldn’t work on it. I’m finally recovering to the point where I can venture out of my bedroom and into the living room where my computer is. Anyway, here is an excerpt from the 2nd book in my paranormal spy trilogy. (P.S. I will be changing the town name of Dulce to something else, but I don’t know what yet, so for right now, Dulce it is – that is the real name of the town I am referring to, so I want to change it to something similar, but not blatantly obvious that is what I am talking about)
José looked at the map for a while. He shook his head, “That’s a pretty big range, have you sent people out to these areas?”
Laura nodded, “But like you said, that is a lot of places to explore, that’s why I was hoping you might remember something, anything that might help,” she said.
Jose looked at the map some more. “One of the advantages, depending on your point of view, to being in Encantado is that there really aren’t that many ways in and out of there. Of course, when you go South, just by 30 miles, you hit a lot more roads. I agree with your suspicion that they are somewhere in the state. But, if you go directly North from Esperanza, you do get pretty remote over the border, so that could be a possibility. If you go South, you can go West, and then back North ag….” He stopped. He had been tracing the routes with his finger, he stuck on one near the edge of the circle drawn on the map. He tapped it a few times. “Dulce,” he said. “Dulce, NM, Camila said something once about going camping there with some friends. She said she wanted to take me there. It seemed like she talked about camping there a lot.” He continued tapping the map. “I think that may be where they are taking the other children,” he said excitedly.
Laura smiled, that was the only confirmation she needed to proceed with her mission. “That is exactly the kind of information I was hoping you would remember José.”
“You’re not going to go there are you? They know who you are, they’ll kill you as soon as they see you,” he said very concerned. Now that was the José Laura remembered. The one who was always looking out for others.
“Yes, I am,” she answered. The surprise and concern José experienced was not only visibly present, but it ran deep with him.
She was going to openly establish herself as a substitute teacher in the small community, knowing full well that some of them knew she was an agent. She wouldn’t be alone though, she would have a full undercover team with her. And Ricky.
“I hope you’re taking someone with you,” he said still very concerned.
She smiled, “I’ve been doing this for quite a while José, I never go on a mission unprepared.”
She folded up the map and turned to go.
“Laura, I know that I was very cruel to you when you first returned,”
“You tried to kill me, José,” she said.
“I know, and for that I am sorry. I do remember our friendship, and I value that,” he said.
Hi, Sara! Thanks for the encouragement! I’m glad you’re feeling a little better today. I really enjoyed this—especially the end! Yeah, I wouldn’t be nice to someone who tried to kill me, either. ☺ Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for sharing, Bryn. My two favorite parts: Still, pure survival instinct raged in him . . . Tristan shrugged, a failed attempt at nonchalance. “Well. It was my idea.”
Here’s an excerpt from the upcoming chapter 23 of The Amatus and the Altus:
Leo sat in Skyhold’s gazebo, trying to get five minutes of quiet to himself before going in search of dinner.
The sudden outbreak of two low, heated voices in the middle of the garden made him want to smack his head against the wall. A few minutes unconscious would be preferable to intervening in yet another squabble. When Karl—the Herald—was around, everyone tried to please him, but as soon as his back was turned, it seemed like everyone bickered about each other.
Just this morning, Leo and Lace had broken up fisticuffs between a human and a dwarf in front of Belle’s stall: “I’m glad to be working with you, instead of one of those elves,” the human had said, and it all went downhill from there. Turns out the dwarf’s spouse was an elf.
The voices he heard now were the Inquisitor and the Commander. He’d best intervene before Cassandra got wind of it and stormed in.
“They need oversight!”
“Leave Connor alone, Cullen,” Karl growled. “This is your final warning.” He stormed off for the main hall.
Cullen sighed, one hand on his hip, and ran the other through his hair as he stared at the ground. Then he straightened and strode off for the chapel, the only room in Skyhold Karl refused to enter; Karl hadn’t willingly entered a chapel since the day they got word about Lance.
Leo followed the Commander.
Cullen lit three candles in silence and stared up at the faceless statue of Andraste. He made no movement or comment when Leo came to his side and lit one candle for Lace.
Blessed Andraste, please watch over her.
Leo let the quiet sit a minute, staring up at the statue.
“You’re lucky he didn’t tear your face off,” Leo said casually.
Cullen went ashen and rubbed the back of his neck. “Is he in the habit of, uh, tearing off faces?”
“No. Just a figure of speech, Commander.”
Leo gestured toward the toppled pew in the corner, “Shall we?”
“Yes, of course, my lord,” Cullen hastened to help Leo set the pew upright, and sat, back straight, chin high, as if bracing for a blow.
Leo repressed a sigh and ignored his rumbling stomach; he could eat later. Everything would fall apart without a working relationship amongst Inquisition leadership. With the Chantry in shambles, the common folk looked to the Inquisition for stability.
They’d lost Haven. Gained Skyhold. Yet the fortress would be just as fragile as the village if leadership was divided.
“Look, Cullen, there’s no good way around this: Every time he sees you, Karl doesn’t see you; he sees a pale, freckled redhead who was the sweetest, most peaceful boy in Thedas. Stolen from him.”
Hey, friend! Happy new year! Thanks for reading. Loved your excerpt, as always…the reason why the human and dwarf had a fight made me smile. And that last line is so poignant. Thanks for posting it!
Happy New Year, everyone! It’s so nice to catch up with everyone, getting updates on previous WiP’s and reading new ones. After a super-weird Christmas (my 5yr old ended up in the emergency room on Christmas Eve – it’s opened up a whole new bag of worms for us, maybe…), things have settled back into something normal-ish around here. I’m still pushing ahead to finish my ridiculously huge manuscript (hopefully in the next two weeks); meanwhile, my husband has started editing and hacking it down to a realistic size.
I’m really looking forward to the next two books in the trilogy, Bryn. Poor Nic…my heart breaks for him. I can’t wait to see where this goes.
Here’s my offering. Spoiler alert – there are four characters in the book with dragon souls, and Aeoulys is one of them; his is just starting to break the rules and emerge. Here he’s dealing with his own Wolf Queen. 🙂
——–
Icalpi’s voice cracked through his brain like a whip. “Jarus Emparti. You’ve returned in one piece.”
His head throbbed as he clenched his teeth and turned to face his so-called mother. Placing his fist over his heart, he bowed and took a few steps toward her. “Yes, my Lady. I’ve recovered from my injuries, as no doubt you heard.”
“I confess the incident made me question your competence in this role, Aeoulys. What sort of pathetic fool allows himself to be ambushed and captured by Syrach’s assassin?” Her eyes scraped across his face and body as if his existence was an affront to her sensibilities. “Or perhaps the incident occurred differently. You have an affinity for my brother; how can I trust you weren’t working with his crony to manipulate events and garner sympathy?”
The k’Tira was no bouquet of flowers on the best of days, but right now – hung over as he was – he had no patience for her venomous nonsense. “My injuries were well-documented, my Lady.” White fire simmered under his skin. He nevertheless maintained a deferential tone, averting his eyes as he always did out of respect for her title. “My officers and I were intentionally misinformed and led into a trap. Under the circumstances, we performed to the best of our abilities.”
“If that incident constitutes the best of your abilities, I may consider raising my concerns with the Sykkhonian Parliament at the next session. We’ve never, in the history of our empire, ousted an Imperator General for incompetence,” she flashed her canines in a deliberately nasty manner, “but then again, we’ve never had a disgraceful bastard like you hold such a venerable office.”
A gate opened in the pit of Aeoulys’s heart. Fierce energy flooded his body, dulling his senses as it covered his soul like a shroud. Confused, he tried to take a step back; instead, his eyes darted to Icalpi’s snide expression and his hands shot out – one clamping tightly around her muzzle as the other grabbed her upper arm. Swift as a rush of wind, he tugged the k’Tira into the third floor hallway and pushed her through the first door on the right. The room was a little-used library, a place to tide over visitors and guests until their rooms were ready. Aeoulys pressed Icalpi against a wall and let go of her mouth.
“How dare you!” she screeched. “I’ll have you murdered for this!”
“You will hold your tongue and listen to me!” Aeoulys heard himself speaking, but he felt as though he was seated in a theatre, watching the production unfolding on stage from several aisles away. The actor playing Aeoulys grabbed Icalpi about the upper arms, bared his teeth and brought his snarling face close to hers. “I have sniveled under your feet long enough, Mother. I have served this empire in exceptional capacity for more than ten years, repaying your spite with reverence and loyalty. That ends now.”
Her eyes bulged as though she’d seen a demon. Trembling in his grasp, she breathed, “What do you mean?”
Oh, Lisa. That Christmas Eve sounds brutal. I’m so sorry you all went through that…I hope things are okay now?
Wow, this is great dramatic stuff. Love the excerpt. Thank you!
As they say, there’s one in every crowd…and our Avalon is the “one” in our crowd. The doctors are putting it down as an “absence seizure”. This *may* have happened once before; now we’re now in the process of scheduling her for an EEG. Epilepsy? Or just a brain blip after being sick and then waaay too much Christmas excitement? Could go either way…we’ll see in the next few months. She’s perfectly fine otherwise – a specimen of health. Aaah, kids…gotta love it.
And thank you for the feedback. I guess my story is one place where, no matter how crazy or dramatic it gets, I have total control. lol 🙂
At long last, I’m joining in, and not lurking! Here are the first 438 words of “Arbor”, my forthcoming freebie Novella. It’s a prequel to two (!) interconnected series, but it’s designed to read as a standalone for the uninitiated.
———-
Carla Preston took the last sip of her orange juice before cursing at the clock. She needed to be out the door five minutes ago, if she wanted to beat the trains that clogged her route to work on a regular basis. It took some doing, but she found a gap between 7:40 and 7:45 where if she was on Ridgeland by 7:41, she was all but guaranteed to be on the other side of the tracks when the gate came down, not to rise again for a solid ten minutes. She tried other routes, but this was the shortest distance between her modest home and work, which was too tempting to pass up. Her husband and her co-workers routinely asked why she didn’t just take Austin instead, but once she was committed on Ridgeland, it was do or die.
Well, she thought, grimacing as she pulled her toothbrush from her mouth, maybe today was the day to take the long way around.
“Be good, for once, Macie.” She patted her pug’s head, and slipped her purse over her shoulder. She twirled around in the center of her family room, trying to think of anything she needed. After completing her mental checklist, she nodded, and headed for the door. “Nope, got everything. And if I don’t,” she turned to the dog, dramatically, “I’m screwed.”
She blew a kiss to her dog, and pulled the front door shut. She was parked on the street, and after locking the deadbolt she stood on her front steps, breathing in the crisp spring air. At least the snow was done for the season, she thought, wishing she were on a beach, and not standing under gray skies. A plane roared overhead, headed for Midway.
“Bad idea, coming here,” she said out loud. She sat in her sporty coupe, and turned the ignition. The car rumbled to life, and she flipped on some music to get pumped up for the work day. She sat and waited for the engine to warm up, and as she reached for the gear shift, her elderly neighbor Joan shuffled to the passenger side of her car. She patted the glass with her palm, and stooped over to wave at her intently.
Carla huffed, and waved back. “Bye, Mrs. Dombrowski. I’m running late. I’ll catch up with you later.” Carla and her husband had been fighting late into the night before, and she saw the bedroom light switch on from across the gap between their houses, but she didn’t interfere. She put the car in gear, and left Joan standing in the grass beside the curb, looking dumbfounded.
Ethan! Yay, it’s great that you’re joining in! I can really relate to this heroine, given my own hectic mornings. Thanks for posting. I’d love to see more!
Slipping in just before the stroke of midnight!! I so look forward to your WIP Wednesday posts, Bryn. Almost missed it today in preparation for the snow (we moved north just to get to enjoy snow in the winter!!). The way Nic (Dominic) is so torn over what the captain said is refreshingly realistic. That logical side of you always pipes in when things don’t go the way we want. (For some of us, anyway.)
Here’s an excerpt from my WIP (which I’m now working on again since my job is on hiatus for a few weeks):
“I’ll hold down the fort while he’s gone.” Ellie smiled at Wes and sipped her cider again.
He didn’t smile back right away, and when he did, it seemed half-hearted. But Ellie let it go.
“How long is it going to be, altogether?” Nell asked.
He broke his stare and turned back to his mom. “It should be about nine months with a break for the holidays.”
“Thanksgiving?”
“Well, maybe. Marlee isn’t quite sure how it’s going to go considering it’s our first full month. We have a read-through on Wednesday morning in the studio writers’ room, and then costume fittings Thursday and Friday, or something like that. I don’t really know how it’s going to go. I’ve only ever done stage before, you know?”
“You just let me know when to set the DVR,” Harry told him.
“Pop, you know if you just signed up for Netflix you wouldn’t need the DVR,” Wes said.
“DVR works just fine. I don’t need to pay for any more TV.”
“I thought it was a movie,” Nell said, briefly stopping the chair.
“Ellie can DVR those movies y’all watch ‘til you get back,” Harry said, matter-of-factly.
“Pop, I told you. I have Netflix,” Wes said as Ellie grinned at Harry, giggling inside. “A made-for-TV kind of movie, Mom.”
“Hallmark Channel?” Beth yawned from the other side of the room. “I love the Hallmark Channel.”
“No,” Wes scoffed, feigning more offense than he actually felt. “Definitely not the Hallmark Channel.”
Andy stood up and stretched his back. “I think we’re going to have to carry the kids out to the car,” he yawned, glancing over the lumpy pile of blankets on the sectional as he scratched his belly. The blankets didn’t move but for subtle, steady rises and falls.
Wes stood up too as Ellie downed the last of her cider, and held out his hand to take her empty mug. It was late, and the kids had school in the morning, so it was unfortunately time to go. She folded the cozy blanket and draped it across the back of the loveseat, wishing she could spend a little more time in that wonderful house.
As she peeled the fleece blankets off of the sleepy little boys, Nell came to her side. “It was so nice meeting you, Ellie. We tried to come by sooner but Wes just couldn’t seem to find a good time for it.”
“Oh, better late than never,” Ellie smiled, scooping up Zev. Sleeping apparently made him about ten pounds heavier than normal. She shifted him so his sleepy arms draped over her shoulders and she could lace her fingers together under his bottom. “I hope you’ll stop over any time you feel like you’re missing the boys.” Her voice was low, not quite a whisper, so as not to wake him.
Nell reached up to stroke his soft brown hair. “My heart just aches for them, for everything they’ve been through. When—”
Wes cleared his throat and shot Nell a glare.
Aww, thanks for the kind words! And I’m so jealous of the snow. Hey, I made the edit you mentioned and deleted your other comment — I think I did it right! Great excerpt. The part with the blankets rising and falling made me smile. (Of course I laughed at the discussion of the Hallmark Channel…) Good tension at the end. Thanks for sharing!
I fell out of habit with my writing. Then school starting just took over everything. I am making it my resolution to get back in the habit. I had been using a free trial of Scrivener and really like it. My husband purchased it for me as a Christmas gift and bought me a new laptop bag so that I could bring mine with me to work. My goal is to write a thousand words a day. Any way, I really missed this blog and the monthly WIPs. Crossing my fingers for a snow day tomorrow so I can read what everyone has shared. My WIP is also rough. I even have notes to myself in there. I envision it being a pivotal scene for the dynamic of these three characters. Happy New Year everyone!
——————————————————————————————————————————————————————–
“No!” My scream ricocheted off the walls of the warehouse. I watched in horror as Sorcha fell to the floor, a scarlet hue spreading over her pale blue shirt like cracks across the icy surface of a lake. I dropped down next to my sister, pressing my hands over the wound. Heat blazed up around me and the creature that had fired the gun screamed in pain before disintegrating into a pile of ash.
“We have to stop the bleeding!” Neil’s panicked voice cried out as he pushed my hands away and pressed a wad of fabric against Sorcha’s chest. Sorcha’s face was getting paler by the minute. She tried to speak but no sound came.
“Sorcha, you’ve got to stay with us. We’ll get help but you have to stay with us.” Neil pleaded with Sorcha as I sat there, useless. Why had my powers failed me? Why had a vision not come to warn me? What good was being Transcendent if I couldn’t save my own sister? I watched, tears streaming down my face,as the life faded from Sorcha’s eyes. Neil, continued to plead with her to stay with him, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tried to staunch the bleeding. I dropped my head in my hands, silently sobbing. I turned away, I couldn’t stare at my sister’s lifeless body.
(add something about Neil’s anguish at this moment.)
Suddenly, I began to feel a warmth spread throughout my body and center in the palms of my hands. A golden glow began to emanate from them, dull at first but it brightened rapidly. Neil looked up and gasped. Wordlessly, he pulled his hands and the makeshift bandage away from the wound. I stared at my hands confused until Neil reach over and gently pulled them to cover the wound in Sorcha’s chest. I could feel life pumping through my hands into Sorcha. Guided by what could only be called instinct, I pressed my hands firmly to the wound and the world around me faded into the back ground. I was so attuned to Sorcha, I could actually feel her life returning. After a few more moments, I felt the warmth begin to retreat back to my core. Suddenly, Sorcha took a gasping breath and began to struggle to sit up. Neil scooped her up and held Sorcha against his chest sobbing while I stared at my hands in shock. The only evidence of Sorcha’s brush with death was the scarlet stain on her shirt, directly above her heart.
“You’re a Healer.” Neil whispered.
This sounds awesome! So did the MC not know what kind of powers s/he had before this? I would definitely add this to my TBR list 🙂
Thank you! I have been writing the story from the perspective of all three of the characters in the scene. Aoife (the MC in this scene) is only aware of one of her 3 powers. This was how she discovered her second.
Meg, welcome back to WIP Wednesday! I think that’s fantastic that you’re getting back into writing. 1K a day is a terrific goal. (And I need to give Scrivener a real try sometime!)
I always think it’s cool to see rough excerpts that really show the process of writing. I love the emotion here and the unexpected discovery!
Thank you Bryn! I really like Scrivener. I really like the cork board feature. I am able to make one for the different settings and then arrange scenes that occur in that setting on little note cards. It makes the whole process much easier for me.
OooOooh. I really enjoyed this excerpt, Bryn!
Awwww! Thank you so much!
Hi Bryn,
Here’s the beginning of my novel, Alias Jeannie Delaney. I hope I haven’t overdone the word count. Probably have! Anyway, see what you think.
Jo
http://www.jo-b-creative.blogspot.co.uk
1
Wolf Creek, Wyoming, Spring 1893
Fine laughter lines crinkled that cobra lidded, luxuriously lashed, iconic gaze as it delivered its seduction. I returned the gaze with difficulty. Brown hands smoothed my shivering body. My fingers combed through thick, corn hair. Those curved lips grinned, coveting mine. My palms curved that gorgeous jaw and neck. The expectant dizzying kiss smothered my gasp. My thighs juddered. I jolted awake, my body arched, my pleasure assured/delivered.
Startled, I squeezed my thighs together and the elation eased. I sat up in bed and bandied my woolly-eyed inspection around my hotel bedroom. Gloomy light edged the green curtains at the large sash window. The wallpaper was green, fussily patterned. A dark wood wash stand carried a china jug and bowl. Beside that a dresser and mirror squatted. A thread bare rug covered creaky floorboards beside my brass bedstead. A brass oil lamp sat on a dark wood cabinet beside the bed and glass lights hung from the ceiling. The smell of fresh coffee from downstairs melded with that of stale tobacco. In the street men exchanged greetings, accompanied by the clip-clop of horses.
Wolf Creek huddled in the foothills of the Rockies, where snow crusted the greenery and brown stone reached coldly onto the plain. I had settled into this hotel – the hosts kindly warming towards this unescorted young woman – have had a decent slumber, a strange awakening, and now faced a task I had extraordinarily mixed feelings about. My bandaged shoulder thudded with my heartbeat, aching. I glanced over at the bandanna I’d left lying on the cabinet, red with dried blood. The doctor had been fascinated by my story.
I sighed, relaxed back against the pillows, closed my eyes and returned to yesterday.
Yesterday I had looked every inch the cow-girl. My new ankle-length split riding skirt had given me undreamed of liberties. Add to this an open-necked blouse, red cotton scarf tucked under the collar and knotted at the front, a riding jacket, short boots and a broad-brimmed felt hat, and my image was complete. I was proud of my independent, adventurous self and sat straight backed and chin high in my saddle, riding astride, nudging my horse towards the edge of the fir forested foothills. Fine dust drifted within shafts of sunlight, and pine scent filled the cool afternoon air. I broke through the trees. Below, Wolf Creek spread onto the plain beneath a blue-grey sky, and two deer nibbled on fresh grass on the fringes of town. I closed my eyes and inhaled the clean air.
I’m Kate Howard, a New York feminist bohemian and journalist. A bit of a rare breed. I’m in my mid-twenties, by now expected to be married. My refusal to wear corset and bustle distressed my respectable, middle-class mother and sister, but the freedom this has brought is breathtaking.
A gunshot fractured the peace. I jerked and my arm seemed to explode. Birds clattered through branches and my horse reared. I don’t remember hitting the ground. my horse had bolted, swallowed by the pines. I was near to fainting, lying on my front, prickled by pine needles, one cheek nestled in soft earth. Crunching footsteps approached me, then stopped. My heart pounded, hurting.
‘Mornin’, lady.’ Growled a voice.
‘Easy pickin’s.’ Another responded.
I managed to raise my head a little. Two men leered down at me. Their arms hung at their sides, each holding a pistol in their right hand. My head flopped back down and the raging pain in my left arm registered. Oh, God. Their shadows shrouded me and my breathing was laboured. Oh, God… Two more gunshots and both men howled. I peered up. One man had folded to the ground, his hand smacked to his thigh. The other stood stooped, gripping his shoulder.
A figure emerged from the trees, cloaked by deep gloom, and moved forward. Sunlight glazed wide set cowboy boots, slowly climbed slim, long legs clad in pale blue jeans, then revealed a holster embracing slim hips, black shirt sleeves rolled below the elbows and an open shirt neck plunged into a narrow ‘v’. A star glinted on the left breast. A tall, athletic individual. Around my age, perhaps. My curiosity had almost overwhelmed my pain. Then the sunlight completely melted the deep shadow veiling the face. I inwardly gasped and my heart braked. Oh God…it’s her.
Jeannie Morgan’s straightened gun arm shifted from one man to the other. They both gawped at her, clutching shoulder and thigh. She flicked her head and the barrel of her gun.
‘God damn sick, the pair o’ ya. An’ cowardly, pickin’ on an unarmed gal.’ Her husky, androgynous tones broke the hush.’Git outta here. Move!’
‘Shit…’
‘Goddamn…bitch.’
They stumbled into the forest, and disappeared. She holstered her gun, approached me and sunlight drenched her. I inwardly gasped again, my pain distracted, my mouth open. She crouched in front of me and her close proximity washed over me. The pain dragged into the background. She held the look of a gorgeous youth who could leave young women dangerously breathless. My lengthy, mesmerised scrutiny revealed the truth of her gender. Her features were fine, effeminate. An Indian style bandanna bound fairly short, tousled, fringed fair hair. Our gazes clashed. Hers, an unblinking, iridescent, milky pale blue, won. I was anchored to the spot, frozen solid, and my heart thundered. She reached out a hand and, trembling with emotion, I took it. A warm, pleasant hand. Gentle. She pulled me to my feet and I clutched my burning arm. It was only then that I registered my blood soaked jacket sleeve. She glanced at it, and tenderness surged into those eyes and narrowed in concern.
‘Okay, Honey? They won’t be back. Couple of cowards…Gee – yer bleedin’ badly, darlin’.’
Honey. Her voice was like honey. I nodded, alarmed at the fancy that had gripped me, shocked at this longed-for encounter. I dragged free of that discomforting, seductive gaze. She grinned crookedly, toothily at me. Gentle dimples in her cheeks deepened. My heart groaned again. My own face burned …with jealousy. I wanted to be her. An absurd desire had taken root. Her whole being drowned me. She studied my blood soaked sleeve and nodded towards a flat boulder.
‘Sit there an’ let’s take a look, Honey.’
Her sensuality radiated as I settled on the boulder, distracting me from the pain. She crouched again and helped me remove my jacket. Her warm breath bathed my face and she smelled not unpleasant – of cowboy, I imagine. A kind of smoky smell. She unbuttoned my sleeve and gently folded the blood soaked cotton back to expose my arm below my shoulder. Luckily the bullet had only skimmed the skin, leaving an ugly ragged line. She cradled my arm in that strong, bronzed hand. Her veins were prominent, the skin a silken sheen. Her mere presence and her voice bolted shivers through me.
‘We gotta bandage it, darlin’, huh?’
She grinned at my mesmeric gaze. Her slim fingers – her nails pale against her golden skin – unknotted her bandanna and used it to carefully bind my arm.
‘You’re gonna have a scar, honey.’ I glanced at the white trail across the inside of her right wrist, the fine golden down on her forearm, touched by sunlight. She regarded me and I coloured. She smiled gently. ‘D’you carry a gun, honey?’
‘No. Perhaps I should..’
Pale laughter lines crinkled around her eyes.
‘Try a small Derringer, mebbe. Huh?’
‘I will. It was stupid to come out unarmed.’
She shrugged.
‘You’re alright. Just remember fer next time, huh? Particular in these parts. You a stranger? Never seen ya before.’
‘I’m on vacation. It’s beautiful here.’
‘Good t’have yer, darlin’, but ya gotta see the doc ‘bout that arm. Where ya from? Interestin’ accent you got there.’
‘New York. Manhattan.’
‘Uh-huh.’ She nodded.
My gaze meandered the curve of her long, womanly neck, the smoothness of her chest and hint of cleavage while she crouched. She peered intently at me. Her eyes slightly narrowed.
‘You’re trembling fit t’bust, darlin’. Sure you’re alright?’ I nodded as we stood up. She was tall, approaching six foot. ‘Alright t’get back? I’d give ya a lift only I ain’t headin’ that way.’
‘My horse bolted. It’s not far. I can walk.’
‘Sure. Alright. ”Spect yer hoss went home. You too. Take care now.’
She flashed her grin and winked – she wore that charismatic magnetism like a garment. I managed a jocular salute and she chuckled and threw her head back, her jaw and neck revealing all their sexuality. She touched fingertip to thumb between her lips and whistled. A soft rustling preceded the entry of a beautiful brown horse with a white muzzle into the clearing. She leaped into the saddle and returned my salute.
‘Ciao, darlin’!’
She circled her horse, nudged him into the forest and was gone. I gaped at the spot where she’d been and touched the scarf at my arm. I felt emotionally, physically, shattered
I wanted to write a fantasy story..and your fantasy ideas are just awesome…Thanks a lot!!!
Hi, Anushka! Thank you so much. 🙂 Good luck on your fantasy story!