What I’m supposed to be doing: writing a sweet, light contemporary romance, because I need a full draft by the end of the month.
What I am doing: well, that, but also writing snippets for books two and three of my sexy, violent paranormal romance series that I started with The Phoenix Codex.
I’ll just share one of those snippets from that second thing, But first, I’ll go over the guidelines of WIP Wednesday, for any newbies!
- share an excerpt of what you’re working on in the comments!
- feel free to share something raw and unpolished, because lots of us do that (including me!)
- don’t share work that’s already published, with links…this isn’t the place
- only make nice comments on other people’s work, since some of it is raw and not ready for critique
- keep your excerpt at 500 words or less, with no explicit sex scenes (some R-rated language is fine; I may put a content warning on graphic violence, which isn’t a criticism)
Okay! This excerpt is for book three, The Requiem Moon, which is looking like it’s going to be a pretty emotional story. Nic is about to be executed for breaking Shifter law. Trying to get out of it would trigger a war between the secret society he’s in and dozens of allied Shifter packs around the world. His commander, a fellow warrior, and Sophie, the woman he’s fallen in love with, are surrounded by dozens of Shifters.
[AdSense-B]
“You can’t do this.”
Sophie’s thin, sharp voice snapped Nic back into reality. She released his hand and took a few steps closer to the Wolf Queen.
No. Panic seized Nic’s brain. If she threatened their leader in any way, the Shifters would tear her apart.
The growl that emanated from the back of the Wolf Queen’s throat seemed to reverberate through the earth under their feet. She looked as though she meant to devour Sophie. Maybe she would.
“Sophie, don’t be stupid.” Nic spoke in a low tone, as though all the Shifters couldn’t hear everything, anyway.
The Wolf Queen asked Sophie, “Do you believe you have the right to give me orders?” Her eyes glittered like moonlight on the blade of a knife.
This was bad. Bad beyond anything he’d imagined, and he’d come there for the purpose of baring his throat to a wolf’s fangs. He, Tristan, and Capitán Renaud, all unarmed, couldn’t protect her from a whole pack.
Sophie fell to her knees on the damp ground in front of the Queen–to Nic’s utter shock. “No. I am begging you to spare him.” Murmurs rippled through the gathered crowd.
He’d never seen Sophie like this, and it humbled him. But it wouldn’t do any good. Shifter law was immutable.
The Wolf Queen cocked her head. “He killed your kin. You hold a blood grudge against him.”
“I don’t,” Sophie said. “My cousin’s death was an accident.”
Hearing her say it in public healed his soul, here on the last night of his life, with the full moon above them in eclipse: a rusty red like his blood spilled out onto the dust. A late, superfluous omen.
Sophie said, “Nic is loved by all of us.”
The Queen’s eyes narrowed. “By you?”
“By me most of all.” Her voice broke. She ducked her head and a sob racked through her.
Nic’s heart shattered. He came forward to kneel beside Sophie. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out. He never should’ve let it come to this, never should’ve let her love him—but he’d never imagined she could. Clumsily, he attempted to wipe away her tears. He wanted nothing more than to spend a lifetime making her happy, but he had no life to spend, and little comfort to offer. “You have all my love.” He took her hands. “It’ll always be with you.”
“Let him live.”
Tristan’s voice was loud and pitched deep. He glared at the Wolf Queen, his face set in lines of pure hostility.
Nic had seen Tristan kill before. When the switch inside him flipped to battle mode, all of his humor and affability was gone. He was vicious and ruthless.
That switch had been flipped now. He was moments away from getting himself killed or starting a Shifter War. Or both. Nic looked to Capitán, the only one who could now rein Tristan in. Capitán stood impassively, his arms folded over his chest.
I look forward to reading your excerpts, too. It may take me a little while to respond — I have a crazy work day ahead of me today — but I will! And if you just stopped by and aren’t sharing this month, thanks for reading. I hope you’re having a great week!
Eeeks! You gave me goosebumps with that scene. I definitely feel like you just do not disrespect the Wolf Queen here. At all. I can only hope this is not the end of Nic’s story… Love your excerpts! How do you juggle working on more than one project at a time in different genres?
I’ve finally completed my first draft of “On the Other Side of Heartache” and it is currently in the hands of my small group of Alpha readers. In this scene, Ellie and her boss’s best friend (Austen) have been taking care of Wes (her boss) after he drank far too much. They’ve been up all night with him and he’s finally settled enough for them to get some sleep. This is a scene between Ellie and Austen:
**
He stood up and gave her his hand. “Come on,” he said with his sweet smile. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“My best friend has the biggest crush on you,” she said as she allowed herself to be pulled up from the couch. “Her name is Willa.”
“Whoa,” he said, wrapping his arm around her back when she swayed on her feet. “I gotcha.”
She felt his chest inflate as she stood there pressed up against his body. He towered over her; the top of her head barely reached the hollow in his neck. The draw to him was unmistakable. The warmth of his embrace felt safe. No one had held her like that for so long and her body ached for it. He breathed carefully as he held her, and even the smallest touch of his thumb rubbing the t-shirt fabric at the small of her back woke the butterflies. When she finally dared to look up, she never had a chance, riveted by the striking green gazing down at her. “Hi,” he whispered.
“Hi,” she whispered back.
As the horizon turned a rich pink and orange blend, he lightly touched his lips to her forehead and stole the breath right out of her body. For a fleeting moment, everything stopped. Nothing else existed outside of that little space between them as her heart made its presence known, and she was suddenly sensitive to the softness of his hand in hers.
But the moment was fleeting, after all, and Austen cleared his throat at the sound of his roommate fumbling out of bed. Not wanting to push her away, he lifted his chin to give her the space to leave if she wanted.
Ellie’s heart skipped in her chest as she forced herself out of his arms, torn between the pull she felt between them and what she still felt for Wes. “You know, I think I’m just going to go back to the hotel.” She found her shoes and slipped them on. “Do you know where I put my phone?”
Austen frowned. “I’m- I’m sorry. That wasn’t- I just… I shouldn’t have done that.”
She looked everywhere but at him. “I had it in my bag. Where did I put my bag?”
“Ellie,” Austen tried, but when it was obvious she wasn’t going to look at him, he stood there with his hands on his hips and his head down.
“Oh, it’s right here. Can you tell him to call me when he wakes up?” she asked as she headed for the door. Willa is so going to kill me. I have to go.
“Can I at least make sure you get back okay?”
“No. Stay here and get some sleep,” she said, pausing in the open doorway. Chewing on her bottom lip, she tapped the door and looked back. “I had a good time. Aside from the puke bucket, I mean.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled the way she liked when he smiled. “Me, too. Thanks for sticking it out with me.”
I love reading these excerpts of yours. Willa won’t be happy if that situation continued lol. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks KC!! <3
I loved the part when they looked at each other and said hi. You can really feel the pull they have towards each other. What a beautifully written scene!
Thank you Meg 🙂
Ah, love a good triangle! I’ve really enjoyed these bits you’re sharing with us. Congrats on completing the story. 🙂
<3 thanks Lisa 🙂
Ohh, very nice! This all felt so natural and you do a great job of showing the attraction between them. Congratulations on finishing the first draft! And thanks for the kind words, too. 🙂
Oh no! Poor Nic! I’m really anxious for him now right now. Great drama there, Bryn!
I have another snippet from my oracle story, which I am getting ready to pitch at a writing workshop this month. Everyone in Claire’s family gets a psychic gift, but her cousin Alexa’s isn’t quite the one she claims.
Alexa tucks a curl behind her ear and her eyes grow wide. “You do believe I am best to be oracle, do you not?”
Well, I’ll be. Alexa Metios, Stavros’s granddaughter, Metios on both sides, is actually insecure about her powers. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”
“No.” Her voice grows stronger, insistent. “You think I am the best oracle for the job.” It has the weight of a command.
There’s a strange prickling at the back of my head, creeping forward to surround my entire cranium. I try to shake it away but that only makes my headache worse. “Of course, I do.” That eases the pressure in my head, and I relax. I only want to make Alexa happy. “You will be the best oracle, Alexa,” I try to say, but it won’t come out.
My vision darkens ‘round the edges, and the darkness is chasing out the prickling. I can feel the cave around me, hear the clink of his armor. When my mouth opens, out come the words, “Not all that looks savory is. Not all that is savory is savory for all.”
Alexa blinks prettily at me. “What are you saying, little Claire?”
Not even the nickname bothers me now. I try again. “I will support you no matter what.”
My skull prickles and my belly seems to flip flop. Hunger, I tell myself. That’s all. Maybe we can get some saganaki down on the wharf.
Alexa’s smile is sweet and innocent. “That is what I like to hear.” Then she catches me in her eyes again, and I feel like I’m falling down a hole. “And what was it you said? ‘Not all that looks savory is. Not all that is savory is savory for all.’ That is very wise of you.”
I wince, and blink and shake my head. “But I didn’t say that, you did. You’re the one who’s oracle, after all.”
She smiles. “Yes, I will be, indeed.”
Peitho, peitho, peitho echoes in my head as I rush out the bedroom door. I really wish I knew what it meant.
I definitely feel the tension between these two cousins! So it sounds like while the whole family has psychic gifts, only one will be the oracle? That’s pretty cool. You can tell Claire is hiding something. I’m intrigued by the cave and “his armor”. I sense a flash back or a memory of some sort there. Nice!
So, Alexa wants to be oracle even though it seems she’s not. I wonder what will happen should Claire work out what really occurred in those moments. If she knows already, I wonder how she’ll deal with it. Loved it, thank you for sharing.
I think there is even a bit of fear on Claire’s part. I know Alexa gave me the chills. The tension in this scene is palpable.
Hi, Kimberly! Ooh, what is going on there? Alexa, sorry hon, but you are not going to be the best oracle…
Good Morning…All I can say is…”Wow.” This is sooo GOOD!! I want to be like you, Bryn, when I grow up…Unfurling my wings and striving for more….My WIP…A sort of series I’ve been working on entitled He said…She said. No names just conversations. So here you go…
She pulled into his driveway and cut the engine. It had been over nine months since she had seen him. Her heart thumped out of control. She needed to do this to clear her conscious, to free her mind and close this never-ending chapter in her head. Inhaling several deep breaths, her trembling hand reached for the door handle.
She stood in the driveway and glanced at his truck sitting in the garage. He was home. She straightened her shoulders and walked to the front door. It took all the courage she could muster to ring the doorbell. She waited and waited for the door to open. She needed him to open his door so she could close hers. She was there to apologize. This was to be the final stanza of a song. A song that he regrettably never heard.
The door opened with a jerk. Her thunderous heart was storming. Her eyes widened as she caught his intense brown eyes staring down at her. The same soulful eyes that had melted her heart. He hadn’t changed. He still processed that endearing smile that had touched her deeply three years ago. God, he was handsome.
She said…”Hi. Do you have a few minutes to talk? May I come in? I came to apologize.”
He said…”Sure. Come in.”
She entered his home and took a seat in his living room. The turmoil inside her couldn’t be tamed. She had so much she wanted to tell to him. No. She shouldn’t say everything that was in her heart screaming to be released. This needed to be short and to the point. An apology and leave. The end of an unsung song.
He said…”It’s good to see you. You don’t need to apology to me.”
She said…”I think I do. I’m sorry I made you feel so uncomfortable with all my antics the last few years. You were right to ignore all that stuff and stay away. You were smarter than me. I kept hoping that eventually, you would come over to my way of thinking. I always left defeated when we talked but I kept coming back for more always pushing the envelope. I finally realized that there was no way that I could crack any of the walls that you have built around your heart. I never wanted the gold in your pockets. I was seeking the gold in your heart. You taught me a life lesson. To listen to my head more often than I listen to my heart. I have learned that listening to my heart can hurt me. I also realized that not everyone understands nor accepts my heartfelt honesty and off-the-wall behavior. This is way more than I intended to say to you. With all this being said, I hope you will accept my apology and forgive me. Thanks for taking a minute to listen to me. I feel better now.”
She stood up to leave fighting the burn behind her eyes. It was done. She did it. Time to move on.
He said…”Don’t go. Stay awhile. I have a few things I want to tell to you.”
Her head and her heart began to battle warring with each other. She stopped in her tracks and turned directly into his arms. The battle was over. Her heart won.
Interesting concept! Whatever she did you can tell she deeply regrets. Is this one short of a series, then?
A series of conversations…Start to finish. This is in the middle…..A story with no names…just words. Thanks for the comment. I’m new at this spreading my quill wings
….
So heartfelt and would become a tissue moment for me lol. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks so much for your comment, my dear. A crazy idea I had long ago…No names just words of life. Moments matter in life…the concept of this. No tissues necessary….IT END WELL……….THANKS!!!
I agree, it is a very intriguing concept. Will you continue with these two characters or are there many different conversations you intend to explore with different people? I have to say, I really wonder what his take on this conversation would be!
Moments Matter in Life and Love…This excerpt is in the middle…No names…same two people from beginning to end. Entitled Moments & Words…What do you think? Do you like the title??? Thanks so much for the comment…I’m new at this.. spreading my quill wings…It makes me happy that you are intrigued…pumps me up to finish a lovely Love Story in my eyes….Thanks.
Hi, Jan! It sounds like an interesting project. I really liked: “This was to be the final stanza of a song. A song that he regrettably never heard.” Thank you for sharing!
Thanks for your comment…I’m having so much fun with this. Had this crazy idea a few years ago. Spreading my quill wings This excerpt in the middle of whole nine yards. Same two people. Beginning to end…Life & Love…Moments & Words…You inspire me….THANK YOU
Rethinking the title…I must admit I overthink everything a million times…Moments Matter…OR Moments & Words Matter…What do you think?? Am I overstepping the bounds here…don’t know if asking you this is inappropriate. I’m quite naive with all the protocol. .
Very engaging, Brynn. You have a gift. Thank you for sharing. A couple of suggestions? Maybe “You cannot do this” instead of using a contraction? Maybe just, “Sophie, don’t…” instead of “don’t be stupid.”? Maybe, “what right do you have to give me orders?” Loved “healed his soul” and “superfluous omen.” Lots of great imagery. Nicely done and makes me want to read on.
Mine:
Mazie could tell no one else could see him. The staff, at least. Max was watching him, and Frances too, but the aides were just going about their business as if nothing unusual was happening. Mazie couldn’t hear at all, but nothing was wrong with her vision, and it was surely true that none of the staff were aware of his presence. They would have stopped him if they were. They seemed to look right through him as if he wasn’t there.
He was about average height, but thin, and he didn’t walk right. His trousers covered his feet, and she couldn’t tell what his shoes looked like, or even if he had shoes on, so she had no theories about why he seemed to glide or float rather than actually take steps.
He reminded her of one of the SS Officers at the camp, although she couldn’t have said why. Maybe it was the penetrating pale blue eyes or the sickening smile on his face. He seemed to be looking for someone, and she knew for sure that she didn’t want it to be her.
First, he honed in on Frances as if she was his intended … target was the only word to come to mind – or maybe victim. And he seemed to arrive at her side effortlessly. Mazie saw him reach out and touch her friend on her papery cheek and saw Frances recoil at the touch. Her face registered fear, and something else – maybe revulsion? Maybe surrender?
The man slid an empty chair up to Frances’s wheelchair and it looked like he whispered something, although how would Mazie know, really. He could have been shouting for all she could tell. She hadn’t heard a human voice in probably a decade now. She saw him pull out one of those little spiral binders and an old-fashioned fountain pen, the kind you dipped into an ink well. How did he get his hands on one of those old things?
When her family came to visit, they drew pictures or wrote notes to her with felt tip markers, Sharpies, they called them. Poor Frank Jr., still trying to make her understand him, his face turning red from the effort. He kept wanting to know why she wasn’t wearing her hearing aids, as if they hadn’t stopped helping years ago. Sometimes she wore them just to make him happy – or at least less unhappy.
Mazie could see that Frank Jr.’s sweet wife sometimes tried to get him to accept that their mother was totally deaf, but he was stubborn that boy was. Not much of a boy nowadays, though, was he? Older now, health problems of his own. Two out of three of his kids had kids, and three of them had children of their own. She was a great-grandmother. How had she lived so long? When was God going to take her? Every night she prayed for that, and every morning she woke up.
Scary and sad at the same time. Interesting excerpt, thank you for sharing.
Hi, Pat! Good to see you. Friendly reminder that we don’t do critique, including suggestions for changes, on WIP Wednesday — but it doesn’t really matter, since it was about mine! Poignant piece, thanks for sharing!
I absolutely fully enjoyed your excerpt Bryn! Wow you have a gift for sure. This isn’t even a genre that I usually like. I surprised myself and I think I need to broaden my scope of reading.
I am still working on my book, titled
“The Death of Normalcy”
‘Raising 3 children with Developmental Disabilities
I have a couple of chapters done…I find I have to put it up for 3 weeks at a time maybe. I don’t want to make my book an autobiography, and yet I have to include examples and preface them with what is going on at the time.
Autobiography or help for parents?
Slippery sloop, slippery slope!
I hope you have a great day, and Happy Valentine’s Day to you and yours!!!!
Hi, Patricia! It is always great to see you 🙂 This sounds like a great project. I think autobiographical material could also be helpful for parents, you know? To see how someone else dealt with similar situations, and to know they aren’t alone.
Excellent tension, Bryn! A well-drawn heart-wrenching moment!
Here’s a short scene from “Destruction” where my heroine, June Vereeth (now a Major) is pondering the fate of an enemy general she captured (on P-75) and who would, naturally, be interrogated. His nickname of Fezziwegg is a joke since none of the heroes’ party could properly read/pronounce the enemy’s language. Of course, this is during wartime.
~
“Is there a problem, Major?”
I snapped to the present. I was in line in the officers’ mess, and apparently I’d paused. Vonash was behind me, his expression a mixture of concern and irritation.
“Perhaps you can let others pass while you make your muffin selection,” he said.
I nodded and stepped back with my tray to let him and others pass. The berry muffins sat under a heat lamp, and the red-orange coils had drawn my full attention.
‘The hot-floor treatment.’
Somewhere in T.U. territory—possibly at a random, insignificant facility—a Mitasterite Major General was probably enduring hot-floor questioning. The removal of civility, the perceived path to truth and information through channels of physical discomfort.
Fezziwegg’s rank wouldn’t spare him this. Too much was at stake. Notions of honor and respect were overshadowed by the cruel acts of his assumed history. It’s likely that, no matter how his life had actually played out up until P-75, nobody on our side perceived it as being benevolent or fair. Who would bother to investigate? Admiral Tohk-Mahsda herself said she’d killed eight men in combat (and self-defense). Fezziwegg would have the blood of hundreds or thousands on his hands—and few from self-defense.
‘The hot floor isn’t quite torture,’ an Intelligence officer had once explained. ‘The only threat of death is from exhaustion. Think of it as an altering of the environment’s physical conditions.’
‘What a load of satok.’
I grabbed a muffin and eggs and made my way to an unoccupied table, content to dine alone with my thoughts. Unconsciously, my eyes floated back to the red-orange coils. Should I care if a Major General was being tormented? If it helped us win the war, wasn’t it worth it?
Ah, the conundrum of good and bad during war. Conscience isn’t always easy to bear. I enjoy your excerpts, thank you for sharing.
Hi, Justin! Since I’m in the middle of Endgame I have great context for this 🙂 (You’d think I’d be done by now, right? But work is intense, and at the end of the day sometimes I just collapse into bed without reading…) I love such an innocuous thing making her thing of such a terrible thing. Nicely done.
Hi, Bryn. How are you as another month goes past? Wow, what a read. I’m gonna need tissues for that one, just on that excerpt alone lol. Will be interesting to read the outcome. I’m so impatient to buy the books.
My snippet because it has me working on something side-related.
~*~
In that moment, Ed realised just how much he still missed his wife after all those years. How, as time passed, he had gotten used to the loneliness. Thoughts of his wife flooded his senses. Of how her golden honey blonde hair felt like fine silk on his skin and between his fingers. Of how she always strutted or stalked towards him, making him feel wanted like no other ever had. Of how she always smelt of peaches and roses. Of how their bodies always felt right and complete when up against each other, so tight that water couldn’t seep between them. Of how her smile and sparkling light golden brown eyes lit up her face and the room.
This feels like a tear-jerker in the works, KC! I just want to hug Ed right now. lol
Thank you, me too in wanting to hug Ed. Lol, for me, it is a tear-jerker. That’s a snippet from part one of his story. Part two is trying to work itself out.
Wow, that really resonates. It is very easy to relate too. What a haunting description of the loss of love.
Thank you, Meg. I don’t know where those words came from but I stared at them and kept them. Ed truly spoke to me in that scene.
This is so beautiful and sad, KC. It tugged at every emotional string I’ve got. lol Awesome snippet.
Thank you, Lisa. I get teary-eyed over it every time I read it.
Hi, KC! Thanks for asking. 🙂 I’m trying to keep up with all the things I have to do and still enjoy life, you know? So just like everyone else I guess 🙂 What an evocative piece! Poor Ed. It’s so heartbreaking.
Man, the excerpt you shared blew my socks off, Bryn! As did everyone else’s! It made me a little hesitant to leave a snippet as you guys are so good!
But I will screw my courage to the sticking point and leave a little snapshot. This is from the second book in the Redclaw Security series (which are all standalones centered around the members of an elite paranormal agency that investigates shifter affairs). Thanks for letting me play along!
“We need to talk.” Casey put the Jeep in gear and they trundled out of the parking lot.
“God, yes.” Sarah blew out her breath in seeming relief. It billowed out in front of her in a little puff of vapor. She huddled in her coat, wrapping her arms across her chest with a shiver. “I’m so glad you said something. My mother is completely tactless. Believe me, I was lucky to get out of there without her taking me aside to ask me if I’ve noticed how much weight I’ve gained recently. That’s just the kind of person she is. I’m so sorry she called you a cripple—I mean, that’s not only insensitive but it has nothing to do with anything, does it? No.”
“Um, that’s not what I meant.” Casey turned his head slightly to look at Sarah, one eyebrow raised.
Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. “Oh. Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sure my father didn’t mean to, you know—”
“Imply that I weaseled my way into your grandmother’s good graces in a blatant attempt to steal your inheritance?”
“Yeah. That.” She looked miserable, though from cold or the way the conversation was going, it was hard to tell.
She was attractive in a way he’d seldom seen. The college girls at the stable were just that: young, pretty, athletic, but hardly more than teenagers. Sarah Atwell had a lushness to her that was deeply compelling. Casey wasn’t big on makeup as a rule, but he was struck by the vivid contrast between her full, wine-red lips and the pallor of her skin. Her dark brown hair waved back from her face in an old-fashioned page boy like some starlet from the 1940s. She’d had an interesting vibe to her as well, one he couldn’t quite pin down in the short time he’d spoken with her. She reminded him of a confirmation show horse, one judged on appearance rather than performance. If he had to render an opinion, he’d say she was slick and glossy. Well-fed. Pretty. She’d fit in well in Hollywood. Hence the nickname.
Your description of Sarah is so vivid…I could easily see her in my mind’s eye. Their conversation is intriguing…sounds like they’re going to form an interesting relationship. Thanks for sharing!
Thank you! (I confess, descriptions are my favorite part of storytelling!)
What an interesting snippet. I want to read more. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you! That’s the reaction I was hoping for!
Oh, thanks for the kind words! And thanks for posting — so nice to have you here! Great exchange between those two. I love how she didn’t even know which parent had been the problem. 😀 An elite paranormal agency that investigates shifter affairs? This sounds like exactly my kind of story!
Yay! I found your website through a recommended post–and after reading your excerpt, I’ll definitely be checking out your work!
Getting in under the wire… Here’s another teaser from ARBOR, coming soon (target is March 1):
———-
William laid in bed, clutching his pillow against his head, and trying to ignore his wife’s pleas for him to get up and get dressed for work. “Now, now, Bill, they need you there. They’re paying you good money to keep that place running smoothly.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, then groaned. He reached over for his glasses and slipped them on against his will. He looked forward to the day he’d get to sleep in as late as he pleased, or for as long as Flo would let him.
He shuffled into the bathroom and squinted into the mirror. He was getting too old for this, he determined. His back ached, and his eyes looked puffy despite getting 8 hours of sleep. He’d gotten in some quality time with his trains the night before, which he remembered fondly as he stepped into the shower. He lathered up, and the scented soap tickled his nostrils. That was Flo’s doing. Good old-fashioned hand soap was fine by him, but she insisted on getting fancy stuff. He tried to pick out what the scents were supposed to be, knowing full well it was a blend of chemicals and additives. The packaging probably said something like “Ocean Mist” or “Paradise Found”, which attracted Flo like a magnet. They took one cruise to Nassau, and ever since, she was dropping in little accents around the house with a beach or ocean theme.
Dallas had none of those things. Temperatures had been hovering around ninety all week, which was as close to tropical as it got. Normally, the heat was oppressive for 11 months of the year and tolerable for 3 weeks. One week was spent not knowing if you missed the heat or preferred the cold. He’d lived in Baltimore for a few years and decided that he preferred the heat; now he wondered if he had made a huge mistake. His employer paid him a good wage, with benefits. That was hard to pass up, especially with retirement down to the single digits. Years, but just under nine now. He could hang in there, he assured himself as he scrubbed under his arms.
After drying off and brushing his teeth, he returned to his bedroom and started to pull his clothes on. Half of what he wore was supplied by his employer. He looked at his personal wardrobe longingly for a moment, then shrugged and pulled on his polyester uniform pants. He was halfway done buttoning his shirt, when Flo staggered into the room, clutching her chest.
“Flo? What is it? Your heart? Let me get your pills.” He headed toward the kitchen, but she put her hand to the center of his chest and shook her head.
“Bill, don’t go out there.”
He gripped her shoulders and helped her sit on the edge of the bed. She reached up and patted his hand. “It will only take a second. Doctor Khan says you need—”
“It’s not my heart, Bill. Not… not like that.”
“What, then?” He looked her up and down, uncertain of the problem.
She trembled and pressed close to his chest. “There’s been… there’s been… an attack.”
Bill’s eyed widened. “An attack? Where?”
Flo shook her head. “Everywhere.”
Ok, Ethan…your snippet leaves me with so many burning questions!!! LOL I loved the last few lines…hope to read more in the future!
Now that’s a hellova hook and I want to read more. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you! For the cover reveal and information about how to get a free copy upon release, click here. (Not a buy link, and no salesperson will ever call your home.)
Ethan, hi! Congratulations on the upcoming release! I really enjoyed the switch from the realistic quotidian details (the ocean-branded fancy soap — great) to something big happening.
Wow. I really felt William’s dread of going to work and his disillusionment with his lot in life (I’ve had those days where I didn’t want to get out of bed either!) but Flo’s announcement of an attack–everywhere–gave me chills!
I’m really looking forward to the next two books in the series, Bryn. This was great; I especially loved the line: “Her eyes glittered like moonlight on the blade of a knife.” What fabulous imagery!
I had a rough January – suffered a meltdown with my writing, which has resulted in something of a re-write and a re-envisioning. I’ve created more work for myself, but it should be better in the long run. This excerpt is something I wrote in the last week.
WARNING: this scene contains abusive treatment; it’s not particularly graphic, but a heads up to those who are sensitive to such things.
———-
“I need to see you in the hall.”
Beilor’s tone sent dread coursing through her blood. He sounded particularly pissed off, and she guessed it had everything to do with the way she’d behaved toward Gerard. Gathering the material of her dress in one hand, she pushed away from the table and followed her father out of the room.
They emerged into the empty hallway. “Sorry, Dad…I know what you’re going to say, and – ”
“You have no idea!” Beilor turned on her, his face contorted in demonic rage. He clamped his hand about her upper arm as he dragged her a short distance to a T-intersection. Pulling her around the corner, he thrust her hard against the wall, holding her by her shoulders.
She glared at him with enormous eyes, too astonished to react. She’d never known her father to be violent; either the years had changed him, or she’d been too young to understand his true nature.
“Perhaps you’re too stupid to comprehend a simple request. I asked you to be friendly and accommodating to the ru’Shar; you’ve been neither.”
A cry escaped her throat as his fingers bored into her flesh. Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry, but…”
“Silence. If you cannot figure it out for yourself, I’ll spell it out for you.” He moved one hand to her throat and pushed her head against the wall as he brought his lips close to her ear. “Tonight you’ll pay attention to everything he says. You’ll smile and flirt with him. You’ll laugh at his jokes and do anything it takes to stoke his ego. Understand?”
Salty drops spilled onto her cheeks. She nodded as best she could with her father’s hand squeezing her neck.
“Good.” He eased his hand from her throat to her cheek, stroking her face with his thumb. “And one more thing: you WILL sleep with him tonight. He has a carnal appetite…it should be easy enough, even for you. If that doesn’t happen, I’ll send you back to Rhoenglasz and make the rest of your life an unholy nightmare. Is that clear?”
She couldn’t believe he’d exploit his own daughter for political gain. Her body trembled. She averted her eyes, more terrified of the savage look on his face than the pain he’d inflicted. Swallowing hard, she whispered, “Yes.”
Beilor let go of her and stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. “We must go back; pull yourself together. I’m doing my part to secure the future of our empire; earning Gerard’s favour – that’s your part. You’re an adult now, a royal daughter. You’ll be called upon to do certain things because they must be done…things only you can do.”
Gabrielle pressed the material of her sleeve against her eyes with a deep breath, steadying her nerves. She wanted to keep crying; at the same time, she wanted to kick her father in the groin. “I just need a minute to get my head around this, Dad.”
“You have the time it takes to get back to the table.”
She winced as he grabbed her again by the upper arm, guiding her like a sacrificial offering to the altar of ru’Shar Gerard Zaha’ai.
Holy cow but I just wanna knock the daylights out of him and it makes me glad I’m not from a wealthy or ambitious family. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks for reading and commenting, KC! Gabrielle had rosy memories of her father before he disappeared when she was nine. This was the moment she experienced his underlying (and very dark) nature.
Hi, Lisa! Oooof, I am sorry about the January writing meltdown. It sounds really rough. I’m familiar with that kind of situation! As you say, I bet it will make everything better in the long run! Okay, so…I want to murder this dad. I want to murder him a lot. 😀 Very effective scene!
Thanks, Bryn. As part of the re-envisioning, “Dad” has acquired an evil streak. 🙂
Whoa! That scene was very intense! Thank you for sharing! (And I’m sorry to hear about the meltdown–I can sympathize)
Thanks for reading!! I’ll probably post something a little happier next time. lol I’m still amazed by how psychologically challenging writing can be; just have to get back in the saddle when the story bucks you off. 🙂
The intensity of this scene really sucks you. I felt like I was in the hall with them! You really get across how she is being treated like a pawn in her Father’s political game!
Thanks for reading, Meg! I found it a bit difficult to write because (thankfully) I’ve never experienced such treatment. Had to make her hate/fear her father…looks like it worked. ☺
Wow, just wow. That was intense Bryn! I can’t wait for more. A new idea has been nagging at me and this is a very rough beginning of that. Putting this into words has help center my focus back on Finding Roan but I definitely want to explore where this story wants to go.
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Today was the day. I jumped from bed and hurried to the kitchen. It should have arrived in the night because I was born at 1:10 in the morning. Sitting on the table next to a plate of piping hot cinnamon rolls was a soft pink scroll tied with a white ribbon. The official seal of the Department L’amour was set in red wax. I could already picture the snow white frame containing my scroll and wedding picture hanging in the foyer of my own home. It had always been my favorite thing to stop and admire whenever I visited someone’s home. Now, I had my very own.
“Happy birthday Rosy Posy.” My dad said and kissed the top of my head. He reached over me to grab a cinnamon bun but his hand froze halfway to it’s destination.
“It’s here.” He said sadly and abandoned his breakfast. He went to the coffee pot and fixed himself a cup then sat at the head of the table.
“Daddy…” I started but my mother shushed me as she entered the room. She made her way to my father and sat next to him, taking his hands in her own.
“Phillip, you do this every eighteenth birthday.” She said with a sigh.
“Three daughters before her and it isn’t a bit easier Ann.” He was so heartbroken, all the excitement I had felt when I woke up fizzled out like a candle in the rain.
“You aren’t losing me Daddy.” I said as I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed. He patted my arm and sniffed.
“No, no I’m not. How about you grab your old dad a cinnamon bun Rose.” He replied smiling. I was passing him a plate when the twins came tumbling into the room.
“Is it here? Did you open it without us?” Lily and Ivy cried in unison. My mother shook her head.
“Is that any way to greet your sister on her birthday?” She admonished and the girls hung their heads contritely.
“Happy Birthday!” They said each kissing my cheek. The quietly fixed themselves a plate and got a glass of milk before joining us at the table.
“We are so blessed that it has arrived. Poor Delia Lane received a Gray Card two mornings ago. Her mother was beside herself. To have lost your soul mate before you even had a chance to meet…” She let her voice trail off. Gray Cards were rare. I didn’t know of anyone from our sector to receive one in the last thirty years. Her going away party was at the end of the week and she left for the Graylands the day after. I let out a breath and said a silent thank you that I had not met the same fate.
“Well, open it.” My father said, the story of Delia had sobered us all. I broke the seal and slid the ribbon down until it dropped on the table. My hands shook as I slowly unrolled the parchment. This was it. The words that my soul’s own match would utter to me at our first meeting. So many questions whirled in my mind but I know who I hoped would say these very words. We weren’t supposed to form attachments, romance before the meeting of souls was strictly forbidden. But we loved each other. It had to be Jonah. Why else would I feel the way I did about him?
“Is this seat taken?” I read aloud. The words that would forever change my life. The words that would sweep me off my feet and carry me off into the sunset. A meaningless phrase made important because it was my eighteenth birthday. A phrase that would be the start of our love story, our life, our family. I couldn’t help but get teary eyed. Glancing up, I saw my mother brush her hands under her eyes.
“I’m so happy for you Rose.” She said. My Dad leaned over and kissed her softly.
“Have I thanked you lately for letting me copy your notes?” He asked with a smile and my mother blushed just as she always did when he quoted from their words. I smiled at them and stood. I had a paper due in a week and had reserved a spot at the library in Sector Green as they had the best books regarding vegetation and agriculture. I grabbed my bag and raced to the bus stop. I would miss my spot if I didn’t catch the 9:15.
I had settled on a table near one of the vast windows that overlooked a field of wildflowers. The Green Sector was truly beautiful. My mother was from here and my love of nature had come from her. I opened the first tome and scanned for keywords that would provide evidence for my thesis. I was so engrossed in research that I did not notice the young man approach my table.
“Is this seat taken?” He asked. The words, our words. I didn’t expect the moment to happen so soon.
“No, it’s yours.” I said looking up. His eyes widened in surprise and he dropped into the chair across from me.
“It’s you.” He breathed, a smile spreading across his face. And you’re not Jonah, I thought.
OMG, Meg…LOVE it. I really hope you pursue this story; it’s exactly the sort of thing that I’d devour. Looking forward to reading more sometime!!
Thank you so much! I am really torn now. Ideas are swirling about this world and taking over when I should be focusing on the book I am currently working on.
wow wow wow, Meg! This sounds like a really awesome story idea, like some kind of cross between The Giver and Divergent with some lighthearted romance thrown in. I would definitely read this!!
Thank you! After reading your comment I made The Giver connection. The sectors remind me of the factions for sure.
I love this excerpt. His surprise and her silent disappointment. Would love to read more. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you KC. I really liked that part of scene too. I feel there are the makings of a love triangle forming. I think it’s going to turn out the Jonah gets a gray card essential leaving him free to be with Rose.
Hi, Meg! Oh wow, this is fascinating. Great worldbuilding and you really left us hanging here! You’ll have to share more!
Thank you Bryn! This world is really speaking to me. I have started keeping notes on the ideas that keep swirling in my head. Any advice on what to do when two stories vie for your attention? I’m so torn.
Man, you really pulled me into your universe and left me wanting more!
Thank you! I really enjoy creating worlds. I prefer to read books that let you escape from the regular world so it’s no surprise my writing heads in that direction.
Holy smokes, this is great! I am dying to find out where this story is going!
Before I get into trouble, am I allowed to put an excerpt here from the story I’m currently publishing in instalments on Wattpad, or does that count as a published story? I’ll leave out the link and story-title.
Hi Lia! Sorry for the delayed reply. Hmm, great question. I think Wattpad is okay!
Wow, Bryn, powerful scene! I’m working on chapter 26 of The Amatus and the Altus. We’ve had a vision of a dark future and scramble to prevent an assassination (493 words):
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Karl could play the Grand Game. He didn’t even mind it. He hadn’t imagined that he would ever be more than Leo’s shadow at court, but he probably knew the rules as well as any other noble—and how to break them. The masquerade was for Celene’s peace talks, but it would be the Inquisitor everyone watched most closely, Josephine had warned him.
Invitation to the Winter Palace secure, the Inquisition prepared to officially enter Orlais. Karl’s traveling party would be accompanied by the Nightingale of the Imperial Court and an Inquisition honor guard.
The horses of the official delegation would need new livery, just as the people would.
The Orlesians would expect them to sneak additional soldiers across the border. Leliana had plans for those agents they would allow the Orlesians to find—and those they would not.
Karl would have liked an excuse to leave Cullen behind—as did Cullen—but the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces needed to attend with the rest of the Inquisition’s leadership. At least Curly put on a brave front; he considered the formal affair part of his duties.
Cassandra was the only one who wanted to go less than Cullen. Her stubborn refusal to meet with the tailor had actually led to Josephine raising her voice. The Nevarran Princess and Antivan Lady’s row happened behind the closed door of Josephine’s office, but could be heard by everyone who lingered in the main hall to listen, including Karl, Leo, and half the tavern’s mid-day patrons.
“What are you doing?” Cassandra demanded.
“Measuring you myself, my lady,” Josephine answered.
Leo snickered and Karl grinned back. He didn’t mind sitting out on this session, but he wished he’d been allowed to observe Dorian’s—Josephine had dragged Karl away, stating that he would be a distraction to Dorian and the tailor, and that she had twenty-six documents for him to review before the next meal.
For the next several moments, the ladies did not speak, other than an occasional disgusted grunt from Cassandra.
“Done,” Josephine said brightly. “Your new uniform will be as comfortable as the armor you wear into the field, but please do not use that as an excuse to kill anyone at the fete who asks you to dance. An impolite ‘no’ will suffice.”
“I know how to be polite,” Cassandra grumbled, tromping toward the door.
Everyone except Karl and Leo scattered before the Seeker yanked the door open.
She stopped abruptly. “Inquisitor. Did you need something?”
“Just on my way to meet with the Ambassador,” Karl answered with exaggerated innocence. He had, in fact, been on his way to lunch.
“So,” Leo grinned widely, “Will you be a vision in lace, or are you going for dragon bone details?”
Cassandra glared at him.
“Velvet!” Josephine called out and Cassandra snorted, a hint of a smile finally zipping across her face before she returned to frowning.
“She likes the velvet idea,” Leo called in to Josephine.
–
Jenson couldn’t see what was happening as Jeff lunged into the back room, but he knew it was his turn to act. Grabbing the gun from his belt he jumped off the bar stool and waving it over his head he yelled at the top of his voice.
“Everybody out!”
No one moved. Everyone in the bar appeared so stunned at the turn of events they simply turned towards Jenson with slack jawed amazement and did nothing.
Two loud shots rang out from the back room. Then three more in rapid succession, then two more.
At the first sound, several women screamed and everyone in the cantina moved at once. They stampeded for the front door, shouting and jostling. Tables upended, glasses crashed to the floor and shattered. The Mariachi band sprinted towards the exit with instruments in hand. A chair splintered. Excited shouts in Spanish and English dissipated as the bar emptied.
When the last patron had hightailed it outside, Jenson surveyed the room and was shocked to see that Victoria was the only one left. Why she stayed, he didn’t know. Their eyes met. He could tell she was scarred, but she was also calm and purposeful. She ran to him and threw her arms around him. The acrid smell of gunpowder wafted from the open door of the back room.
Then Jenson sensed movement. He turned in time to see Rolando staggering into the main room. A large red spot bloomed on his upper chest. It grew as he stumbled towards Jenson and Victoria, gasping and wheezing. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, he seemed dazed as he pointed a large automatic pistol directly at Jenson’s face. Terrified, Jenson maneuvered Victoria behind him and stood his ground dead centre in the middle of the room.
Rolando stopped no more than five paces away and leaned against the bar breathing heavy, raspy breaths and looking as if he would collapse at any moment. Jenson raised the Beretta. His hand trembled like a leaf in a wind storm. He had no idea where the gun was pointing. His knees were about to give way. He backed up a step, pushing Victoria behind him. Suddenly Rolando seemed to gain strength and focus and lurched forward. Raising the gun again and pointing it at Jenson’s chest he pulled the trigger. Jenson blinked in shock as Rolando’s gun made a resounding click!
Misfire!
Gritting his teeth Jenson squinted and squeezed the trigger of the Beretta.
Nothing! He squeezed it again harder, still nothing.
The safety!
He lowered the gun and fumbled with it with both hands trying to remember how to release the lever. Jenson looked up just as Rolando caught him on the cheek with the butt of his pistol. Things went black for a second. Little shooting stars danced in front of his eyes. The next thing he knew he was horizontal, the Barretta clattering on the wood floor next to him. At the same moment, Rolando grabbed a handful of Victoria’s hair and dragged her in front of him as a shield. Jenson, dazed but conscious gazed in horror as Victoria struggled against Rolando’s grip.
Having scooped the Beretta off the floor Rolando now trained the gun at her temple.
Jenson tried to get up but stopped cold as three local policemen, guns drawn, burst into the saloon and skidded to a stop. Rolando pointed the Beretta at each one in turn. Victoria, her face contorted with fear writhed in front of him. At that moment, Jeff lurched from the door to the back room. Despite a flesh wound in his right bicep he was holding his gun in that hand as steady as an oak tree. He had a bead on Rolando. In turn Rolando had a bead on the policemen in the doorway.
“Don’t do it,” Jeff said forcefully. “It doesn’t have to go down like this. Just drop the gun and let the girl go. It’s going to be alright.”
For a long moment, the room froze in a stalemate. Victoria stopped struggling. Everyone was breathing hard. Eyes darted. From his vantage point sprawled on the dusty floor, Jenson noticed a grandfather clock in the corner for the first time. It’s loud ticking echoed in the otherwise dead silence. Rolando slowly broke into a fiendish grin as he looked again from Jeff to the policemen and back. Through his raspy breathing, in his heavy Mexican accent he said slowly, “Fuck you!” Then pulled the trigger and shot the nearest policeman in the chest. At almost the same instant, Jeff squeezed off a round and caught Rolando square in the forehead. Blood and brain matter sprayed against the wall as Rolando buckled backwards, dead before he hit the floor.
Victoria screamed, turned and kneeling, grabbed Jenson around the neck. Burying her face in his shoulder she sobbed with fear, anger and relief. Speechless, Jenson tried to process what he’d just seen. Everyone stood slack jawed for a few seconds. Then, the policemen sprung to action. One yelled in Spanish for Jeff to drop his gun. The other pointed his weapon at Jenson and yelled something he didn’t understand. Several more policemen streamed through the door. With alarm, Jenson put his hands up as Victoria still clung tight to him. Chaos ensued with the policemen pointing guns into the corners and behind the bar in search of other shooters.
Hi! I loved reading your little snippet! There was a lot of tension in that, it actually got me caring for the characters even though it’s the only bit I’ve read about them!
I’m working on a pretty large scale fantasy/medieval time novel (with lots of little twists too it though). MostlyI’ve been doing the prologue which is largely lore haha. The story is just barely getting introduced and setting into motion at the moment, but I thought I would share a part of one of the more important “events” so far. It probably wont make that much sense, because there is so, so much context needed behind it, but oh well. I hope someone enjoys it at least a bit! Also thanks to everyone else who posted here. Loved reading it! here is my little extract (I’m sorry that it’s more than 500 words):
And she studied his eyes too.
They suddenly opened. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered. He squinted. The sun hit his eyes and they glittered blue like a glacier, or like the bottom of a stream of meltwater. A deep, wise blue.
“…Mhh- I fell asleep.”, he murmured and rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose. Then he stretched and yawned as he got up into a sitting position. He gave her a quick, drowsy kiss. Then he froze on his spot. “Where is Lucier?” , he said suddenly. Ylvie broke from her enchantment and looked around. She couldn’t see him
“He must lie where you put him. Was he sleeping?”
“I… I’m not sure.” Ingar quickly got up and ran over to the bed of grass where he had put the child. His blanket was empty. The drowsyness of sleep was suddenly swept from his body, and it was as though a great, cold hand had suddenly grabbed his heart. “Lucier? Lucier!” At once, there was desperation in his voice. A deep fear rose within him. A fear that had rested within him from the very birth of his child. Ingar knew of the gloom that pursued his bloodline.
“Ingar!”, Ylvie suddenly shouted. “Ingar, on the mire!” He ran to the brink of the mire and looked out across the landscape of treacherous wet moss. Far out, on a tiny strip of grass, the year old boy sat on his fours, staring into the shimmering blackness. Ripples were dancing across the surface. The infant seemed perplexed by the tiny waves. He seemed to be looking at something. Something deep down, in the darkness of the cold waters.
Ingar shot of like an arrow into the mire. He ran without thought straight across the wet moss, over treacherous patches of mud and floating grass.
“Lucier!! Get away from there! Get away!!”
The child was crawling closer to the edge. He was spellbound by something in the dark. He held out a tiny infant hand. It touched the surface of the water.
“Lucier! Get away!”
The ripples were growing. He made a small, perplexed gurgle and put his hand down into the water. It broke through the surface and sunk. His tiny body followed, and was swallowed by the deep blackness.
The world was swallowed by water. A low, rumbling murmur replaced the chirping of the birds. The baby looked into the abyss. The world swayed around him, wobbled and drifted. Bubbles rose from his mouth and it was utterly dark. His young eyes could see silhouettes in the deep. Swaying, black shapes. The long, thin arms of waterlilies and the skeletons of long dead trees, brown and rotten on the bottom of the mire. His own hands shone sunlit against the blackness. As he sunk, the light faded. It became a soft ripple over his skin. It dissapeared.
Something stirred. A cloud was rising from the deep layer of mud and rotten leaves. It moved at the bottom of the mire, and made the dead plants rise in a storm of red-black whirls.The rumbling of the water rose in strength. He was engulfed in the cloud of mud and dead matter, and all became black. A thick, impregnable blackness. He had sunken now to where no light can reach.
The child looked deep into the blackness. His eyes gazed at the darkness, wide open.
And two slim lines of yellow opened in the dark.
As he gazed into the abyss, it gazed back with tiny, red pupils in gashes of burning yellow.