Update: I accidentally posted this early—I was traveling and set it up to go live on Wednesday, but I had the date wrong! Ah well. 🙂
Hi, friends! It’s the first Wednesday of the month! That might not mean a lot to most people, but around here, that means it’s WIP Wednesday. I share an excerpt of a work in progress and invite others to do the same in the comments.
Here are the rules:
*about 500 words maximum (otherwise I’ll trim your excerpt)
*no graphic scenes
*no critiquing or suggestions for improvement on other people’s work (but leaving a kind word might mean good luck for you as a writer)
My excerpt today isn’t going to be in a book, but I’ll probably share it as a freebie to my newsletter subscribers at some point. It’s a future wedding ceremony on a beach between two of my characters.
Like a lot of my WIP Wednesday excerpts lately, this contains spoilers for The Phoenix Codex, but I’ve cut out a couple of things that would spoil the forthcoming book two in the series. One of my favorite things in these stories is coming up with the secret society’s rituals and traditions (and if you’ve read The Phoenix Codex and you remember the initiation scene, you know what I mean.)
[AdSense-B]
Jonathan had practiced the words a thousand times. If nerves or emotion still caused his memory to slip, Father Trujillo would prompt him. He spoke loudly and clearly, from the conviction in the center of his being.
“I, Jonathan Gabriel West, pledge to be a loving and faithful husband to you, Cassandra Maria Rios.” The couple usually kept the name of the family with the longer history in Manus Sancti. Because she hadn’t objected to tradition, in a few minutes, she would be Cassandra Maria West.
“With my words, I will praise and console you. With my deeds, I will honor and serve you. With my body, I will worship and defend you. If we should have children, I will cherish and guide them.” These words were left out of ceremonies between couples who didn’t plan to be parents.
Jonathan glanced down at Cassie’s belly, still flat beneath the dress, before he remembered how she’d told him not to stare at it. He returned his gaze to her face, and her lips curved upward in secret amusement; she’d caught him.
She’d stopped taking her pill six months ago, after their mission in Urraca Mesa, and they’d confirmed the pregnancy only a month ago. They hadn’t told anyone yet, and they’d wait a while longer.
Jonathan’s happiness at the news had been overwhelming. At one point, Cassie had asked him, playfully, if he was hoping for a boy or a girl. He’d surprised her by immediately answering, “A girl.” A daughter would likely inherit not only Cassie’s magic but also his mother’s psychic gifts, perhaps in full, whereas Jonathan only had a portion of them. But when Cassie had asked him if he’d also like a boy, the thought of having a son had filled him with wonder, and she’d laughed at him. Either would be amazing.
Jonathan concluded the vows. “Through joy and sorrow, I will be yours, as long as we both shall live.”
Father Trujillo asked Cassie, “Do you, Cassandra Maria Rios, accept this pledge and take this man for your husband?”
Her smile widened. “I do.”
Jonathan turned to Michael, who drew the ring out of the pocket of his waistcoat and gave it to him. It had been made to coordinate with the engagement ring Jonathan had given Cassie when he’d proposed, which had been his mother’s and his great-grandmother’s before that.
Jonathan knelt in the sand in front of Cassie, placed the band on her finger, and pressed his lips to it. A few murmurs rippled across the gathering; even more than the vows, that was unfamiliar to outsiders, though Jonathan could hardly imagine a wedding without it.
When he looked up again, Cassie had covered her mouth, tears springing to her eyes. He stood. Behind Cassie came a sob; Val was crying outright, and she hastily dried her face with a handkerchief. Jonathan smiled, his heart melting for the woman he’d long thought of as a sister.
Okay, it’s your turn—and if you’re sharing for the first time, good for you. We love seeing newbies! If you like, you can also tell us about your writing plans for the upcoming month or two…or the rest of the year.
If you’re just lurking, we appreciate you, too! Thanks for reading!
I wrote a wedding scene too! It’s in my WIP, which is an alt-history/romance where a 21st-century woman ends up in 9th-century England and falls in love with a Viking. However, I won’t post it here. Instead I’ll post this:
———-
I took a deep breath and peered around the king’s shoulders, down into the valley again. There were only four or five thatch-roofed buildings present in the village. There were some paddocks filled with various animals, a small quay with a handful of boats drawn up to it, and the remnants of what looked like a Roman fort about a quarter mile away. I glanced at the hill we were standing on, tracing a sheep track that led from about where we were standing down into the pastures surrounding the village. The track was narrow and led through a thick forest. “You’ll never get the mangonels through the trees,” I said. “So.” I pressed my tongue against the roof of my mouth and inhaled deeply. I was suddenly nauseous. “Your best bet is to keep the mangonels up here and fire downwards.”
“Very good,” Hálfdan said. “We begin at daybreak.” He turned and descended the hill, going back to his army. Gunvald fell into step beside him, leaving Torsten, Dafi, Pétr, and I standing in the trees overlooking a village that would not be standing in two day’s time. Torsten moved up next to me and reached for my hand. He didn’t say a word. He just stood there in utter silence, holding my hand as tears streamed down my face. The remaining jarls left after clapping Torsten on the shoulder. I appreciated their silence, too. I felt as though I was made of spun glass, held together by sheer force of will. The wrong word, the wrong look, and I would shatter into a million pieces with no hope of ever being reassembled.
“In the hundred years before I was born,” I said after we were alone, my voice tight and choked with emotion, “we have fought two world wars and countless other smaller wars. Over one hundred and ten million people have died in them. Boys as young as sixteen went off to fight and were killed in horrible, awful ways. Civilians have been blown up. Babies slaughtered. Women killed. And every time, we said never again. And yet…” I trailed off and sniffed as I wiped tears from my eyes. “We always seem to find reasons for another war.” I looked up at Torsten and searched his eyes. They were kind, soulful, but remote. The number I threw at him meant nothing to him. He probably had never seen more than five or six thousand people at any one time.
“We are a warlike people, feilan,” he said softly. “We conquer, we fight, we kill. They are too.” He nodded down into the valley. “Maybe if we win here, the Scots won’t be so quick to raid over our borders again.”
“Even if the Scots never bother you again, it won’t be enough for Hálfdan. You heard what he said the night we announced our engagement. He plans to take all of this island and then move onto the continent. Will you follow him? Will our sons? Our grandsons? How many lives must he consume to feed his ambition?”
Time travel and Vikings? YES, PLEASE.
Thank you! I’m hoping to release it this autumn, maybe October or November.
Hi, Fiona! Oh, wow. I LOVE Vikings! And this feels really authentic and historical. I loved it.
Aaahhhhh, that made me cry! At work! LOL! That made me so happy. I have something to post, but it will have to wait til I get home tonight.
Aw yayy! I loved writing the whole scene. 🙂
I’m writing a Fan Fiction for my eldest daughter. We are huge fans of Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir and this is taken from my story “Until I Heard You Sing” which I will be uploading to Wattpad and Archive Of Our Own when it’s finished
The song they are singing is “All I Ask if You” from Phantom of the Opera.
*****************
Adrien took Marinette by the hand and led her over to the piano. Adrien sat facing the keys, while Marinette sat next to him on the stool with her back to him. Max dropped all the lights, except for a soft spot over the piano and everyone found a comfy spot to sit.
Adrien could feel Marinette’s arm shaking next to his, his heart skipping a beat at the closeness of her to him. He leaned back and her silky dark hair brushed against his cheek as he whispered in her ear. “Just pretend it’s only you and me here. Nobody else, okay?” Marinette could only nod and gave an almost inaudible hum of agreement. With that Adrien began to play the introduction.
As he sang the first verse, Marinette looked over to find Alya in the shadows giving her a thumbs up with Nino’s arm slung over her shoulder. She could feel the warmth of Adrien radiating on her, and she wasn’t sure she could muster up a sound when it would be her turn to sing. A soft nudge from Tikki in her purse though, reminded her that she was Ladybug, and she couldn’t let Adrien down. When the moment came, she grabbed up all her Ladybug confidence, took a deep breath and let the music flow from her.
As her voice began to soar through the stillness that surrounded them, it was all that Adrien could do to keep his mind on where his fingers needed to be on the keys and not miss his next cue. His heart pounded wildly as leaning against one another, the words they sang almost started to take on a life of their own. Marinette closed her eyes and let herself be swept up in the moment, saying though the lyrics all the things she wished she could tell Adrien, but had always been too afraid to say.
Adrien knew for the first time in that moment, that there was something more to this girl. He no longer saw her as just a friend. As her voice rang out, he realised he was falling for his sweet and beautiful classmate. He had been for sometime, but he just hadn’t seen it. In that moment, inside their own bubble of light, no one else in the room existed and Adrien dared that maybe someone could love him, someone like Marinette. As the song ended, those who were left in the room sat unmoving as Adrien and Marinette turned to look at each other, their faces flushed, hearts racing and so close that they could feel the warmth of each other’s breath. Adrien really just wanted to take her face in his hands and kiss her. It was then that all the lights came back on, blinding everyone.
Love! My daughter loves this show, too. 🙂
Hi, Jackie! I am not familiar with the source material, but I really enjoyed this. How lovely that you and your daughter share a fandom. 🙂 Thank you for posting!
I’m a sucker for a good wedding! Love it!
—————
There are moments in life when you honestly think something has to go horribly wrong and soon, for the simple fact that life seems so perfect it can’t possibly last. US Navy SEAL Alex “Cowboy” Hammond tried not to worry about that too much and just relished the peace as long as it lasted.
“Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ve got this.” Cowboy looked into the frightened eyes of the petite woman and gave her a flirtatious wink. A cleaning lady, simply emptying the trash and scrubbing bathrooms in the twelve story office building, unlucky enough to get caught in the dangerous crossfire of the Gutierrez cartel. Tears streamed down her cheeks onto the dirty gag in her mouth. She blinked at him in acknowledgement.
He wore a heavy Explosive Ordinance Disposal suit. Layers of Kevlar, foam and plastic protected his body from head to toe in sharp contrast to simple blue cotton dress the woman wore. He gently removed the gag then stroked her cheek with a gloved hand. “Hold very still until I know what we’re dealing with.”
Cowboy took visual inventory of the sophisticated bomb strapped to the rolling desk chair the woman sat on. “Looks like we have a pressure trigger as well as a timer,” he told the team through his microphone. They waited downstairs, just outside a safety perimeter, watching for more potential risks and keeping back curious onlookers.
The woman made a small keening sound, her eyes following every move Cowboy made. He would have preferred to disengage the pressure trigger first so he could get the woman out of the way as quickly as possible. The timer hit the three minute mark, making Cowboy’s decision for him. If he couldn’t diffuse it in the remaining three minutes left on the timer, they were dead. If she moved, they were dead.
He got to work examining wires, following their path, and snipping here and there. His teammates asked him once how he knew what to clip and what to leave. He couldn’t answer them. Of course he knew the mechanics of disassembly having studied extensively in the classroom as well as years of actual field work. But each bomb maker was an artist. Every bomb held the unique signature of its maker.
A rush of adrenaline surged through his veins. A welcome feeling he knew he’d never find in any other line of work. As he held each wire, Alex sensed a knowledge in his gut. He worked fast, never hesitating more than a moment on each wire. So far he had never been wrong.
Love the tension, the confidence that could end in disaster with the next move. Well done! and what a cliff hanger So far he had never been wrong. Love it Diana!
This is great! I want to keep reading.
I love this! It’s so tense, but he loves his work and he’s doing what he was born to do. Thanks for posting!
Beautiful wedding, Bryn! I love the commitment to the bride, and also to any children they might have.
I decided to switch to my fantasy series from sci/fi for now. Tryphosa is a Dragon Dame, her daughter is Nevela. Starsha’s brother is Pinay and he has been abducted.
Tryphosa crawled along the ground loathing the humiliation of the posture. Humans walk on the ground, she thought bitterly, but dragons belong to the sky. Time bound her with heavy chains for each step took an eternity. The thought of the male egg, hidden in a cave now vulnerable to Garthazor’s treachery, pierced her with anguish. I must find Nevela and return to my nest now.
She pumped her wings to rise above the world of men. Searing pain forbade her ascent. All around her, steep cliffs mocked her lowly position. She roared an angry reply to their arrogance.
“I’ll climb you to the sky.” Tryphosa swore. She crawled to the base of the nearest precipice and began clawing her way to the top. Just as she reached the summit, she lost her grip and fell. Never had she feared falling, but the sensation now gripped her with terror. That’s when she heard Nevela cry.
Instinctively her wings spread open. A strong updraft caught Tryphosa and yanked her skyward. Pain tore at her shoulder, but she refused to surrender. Favoring her injured wing and holding it as still as possible she glided toward the plaintive sound.
***
An angry roar shattered Starsha’s peace and filled her with shock and dread as the roof of the woodshed tore away exposing Tryphosa perched on the top of the wall. Her massive blue form filled the opening. Eyes, aflame with fury, glared at Starsha. “I told you not to call her!”
Stunned, Starsha pleaded, “There’s nothing else I could do. We have to save my brother.”
Screams of the village women sliced through her plea. “Dragons! Run for your lives. Save the children.”
“You are toying with forces you cannot comprehend. Because of your summons, I was forced to leave my nest.”
“I am truly sorry, but there was no other way.”
Tryphosa leaned toward Starsha. “If anything happens to my son, I will hold you responsible.”
Starsha saw the anger in the dragon’s eyes and braced herself for the fire to come.
Tryphosa’s weight shifted. The wall collapsed. She caught herself clumsily.
“Come, Nevela. Do not keep company with this traitor.” Tryphosa snatched the hatchling and leaped into the air. Flapping only one of her outstretched wings, she flew awkwardly, slowly; her body off balance.
Starsha had once seen an injured bird fly like this. She also remembered the tawny predator that that seized the opportunity and brought it down. A realization of the seriousness of Tryphosa’s plight sickened her. I never intended to do her harm, Starsha thought. But intentions wouldn’t call back her decision nor change the results.
The dragon dame’s words knifed into Starsha. Instead of healing, she had found cursing. Instead of a powerful ally, she had made an enemy. Now as the blue dragon turned her back, Starsha knew that Pinay’s only hope rested with her. She could not fail him. She would not fail him.
One probably shouldn’t mess with mama dragons. I’m curious as to why Starsha thought taking a dragon’s offspring was a good idea. I hope nothing happened to her egg while she was gone!
Thanks Pamela. Just so you know, Starsha wasn’t the thief. All of your questions are answered in Moon in the Day Sky. I’m glad for your curiosity. Thanks.
Woops. Starsha didn’t steal the egg, but once it was in her possession, she followed her heart and that turned out to be horrible for the dragon and it made problems for Starsha and for the little dragon.
Jessie! What a great passage. When I read this: “Tryphosa crawled along the ground loathing the humiliation of the posture. Humans walk on the ground, she thought bitterly, but dragons belong to the sky.” I was right there with the character, despite the difference in species. Awesome!
Thanks Bryn. My dragons are “people” in my books.
Loooooove fantasy. You painted stunning pictures with your words. Fabulous.
This is a scene from Gemini Asunder. The human Tread has taken Gemma and Taurus to his family home to hide from police. Here we see Taurus react to one of Tread’s sisters.
***
“The Fenrir-Wolves love me, why shouldn’t these puny critters?” Taurus asked.
“Are you really so thick that you’d challenge them?” Allie asked.
Taur pulled his foot back inside the car and closed the door. “No challenge, just don’t want to hold Tread’s hand. Yours, however…”
Allie rolled her eyes and walked to the car door and opened it, her eyes widening when she saw the full size of the male inside it. Offering her hand, she waited for him to take it.
Taur gently gripped the woman’s hand. “Nice strong grip.” He turned her hand over and looked at her palm and fingers. “Some serious calluses too. You get those with the sword play?”
“And fighting.”
He stepped out of the car and rose to his full height, towering over the woman’s six feet. “What kind of fighting?”
She shut the car door before pulling him to the dogs. “Mixed martial arts. Now I am training in European martial arts.”
“With a longsword?”
“And daggers. You dabble?”
“No, I fight to kill, not for play.”
Allie released his hand with a grunt.
The dogs surrounded Taur and sniff his slowly, carefully. Before they had finished, Taur pulled out a baggie of chicken strips and opened it.
Every dog’s butt hit the ground at once and Taur began to dole out the treats.
“Where’d you get that?” Gemma asked with a chuckle.
“That chicken place we stopped at, I traded a whole rotisserie chicken for an amethyst crystal.”
“How’d you manage that?” Tread asked.
Taur’s attention remained on the dogs. “I told the manager it complimented her eyes.”
Tread laughed. “Unbelievable. Allie, this is Taurus. Taur, Allie.”
Taur finished doling out the chicken before wiping his hands on his new big and tall jeans—who knew they didn’t sell leathers—before extending his hand. “My pleasure. Thanks for not feeding me to your dogs.”
She shook his hand, but before she could withdraw it, he pulled her hand close and kissed her knuckles. He looked up through his long, dark lashes—a move that always worked—and paled when he saw the tip of an unsheathed dagger an inch from his left eye.
“Don’t thank me until you leave here,” Allie said with a snarl.
He released her hand but didn’t stand straight until the dagger was lowered and his eye was safe.
Tread and Gemma laughed.
Allie turned on a heel and marched to the side of the house, the dogs right behind her. “Everyone is out back. Better make haste; the grannies are ready to skin your hide for making us worry.” She disappeared.
Taur groaned. “I’m in love.”
Gemma punched Tread in the arm. “Aren’t you gonna warn him away from your sister?
“Uh, no. I learned the hard way that no one fights Allie’s battles.” He lifted the right corner of his shirt, looking at his flank. “I think I still have the scars…”
Bryn, I loved your wedding scene! Especially when he kneeled before finishing his vows. It gave me goosebumps! Great job as always!
Ha! I caught you trying to sneak the WIP Wednesday in early. 😆 I really liked your snippet. It almost made me want to post a part of my main character’s wedding. But then I thought about it. Ambrose’s wedding or an out of story moment with Hank and Dave? It wasn’t an easy choice to make, especially since I’m really happy with how his wedding turned out. But Hank and Dave won this round.
So, here’s my out of story moment with Hank and Dave. This is taking place when they just started dating….
****
Dave kept glancing at Hank as they walked down the sidewalk.
I wanna hold his hand, but I don’t know if he’s ready for that kind of public display.
“Mick hated public displays of affection.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but the words just slipped on out.
Hank turned his head and watched a family of four cross the street. “Do you miss him?”
“What?”
“You seem to.” Hank cleared his throat. “You seem to talk about him a lot.”
“Well…” Dave didn’t know what to say beyond that one word.
“I don’t know how or why you’d miss him. But I guess you two were together. You had. You had a…a…”
“Haaank?” Dave’s heart unhinged from its spot in his chest and was all ready to plummet. “What are you trying to say?”
Hank stopped walking.
Dave followed suit.
“It’s hard for me, okay? I’ve never been in a relationship like this before. I’ve never been the second guy.” Hank finally looked back at him. “If you’re just using me to get over your break-up or as some sort of revenge thing or—”
Dave put his hand over Hank’s mouth. “Stop stop stop. I think I know where this is going and I don’t like it. Hank, listen to me. I am not pining for Mick. That last day he and I were together, he made his feelings for me super clear. And that was it. I don’t love him anymore. How could I when he didn’t even love me?” He uncovered Hank’s mouth. “How could I still love someone who was so tremendously unromantic and unkind? How could I still love Mick when I have someone as wonderful as you?”
Hank took a step forward as if he were going to kiss Dave. He stopped. Uncertainty clouded his features.
“Hank. I love you.”
“Then, why don’t you ever hold my hand when we’re out in public?”
“What? I thought you wouldn’t want me to.”
A smile overcame Hank’s uncertainty. “I am not Mick.” He held out his hand.
Dave eagerly took it.
Hank’s smile grew. “I love you too.” He kissed Dave’s hand.
Dave’s romance-loving heart nearly exploded.
“Are you hungry? I know a place that makes great ice cream cones.”
“Do they sell freezies there?”
Hank tilted his head. “What’s a freezie?”
“It’s like a snow cone, but even better.” Dave’s expression brightened. “The strawberry ones are the best. The lime ones are the worst. They taste like Pine Sol.”
Hank laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. Come on. Let’s check it out.”
Dave held on to his hand. “Okay!”
And now I’m not commenting until Thursday…haha. I am not used to being in 3 cities in one week. It’s been confusing for me! AHHHHHH I loved this so much. So sweet! (I’d love to see the wedding sometime, too!)
Thank you so much! I love writing these two. They make me happy. 😀
I think I’ll post a part of Ambrose’s wedding next month. It’s one of those scenes that I had been slowly building towards for months. When I finally reached that point, I was like “Ahhh! My boy’s finally gettin’ married!” I felt so hyped up and excited about it. 😆
Love this. Made me laugh and warmed my heart.
Aww! Thank you so much!
This is an excerpt from my current WIP. Part of my hero’s backstory, thirty years in the past. He is just 13 years old here, and has taken great risk to sneak down to the detention level of the facility he was raised in because he accidentally learned that his real, biological mother has been being held captive there for more than a decade.
***
When he reached the cell level, he was horrified. There was no light. No windows, no electrical lighting at all. He turned on his flashlight because not even his enhanced eyesight was able to penetrate the stygian darkness.
He could feel her power, it called to him, triggering every response that had been engineered into his DNA. It was true. His mother, his real mother, was the thing he’d been raised to hate, hunt, and kill. His mother was a witch.
She was in the very last cell, cringing in the corner on a cot that was barely big enough for an adult. She wore a grey smock. Her hair was cropped close to her head, as if she’d been shaved nearly bald and it was just starting to grow out. Heavy, magick-nulling copper cuffs clasped her scrawny wrists and ankles.
He felt sick to his stomach. Everything he’d been raised to believe was crumbling around him. What if everything he’d been taught was a lie?
She squinted at the light in his hand shielding her face, in obvious pain.
“Sorry,” he said, quickly setting the flashlight on the floor and directing it away from her eyes.
She blinked at him as her vision adjusted with startling eyes the color of ripe, green grapes.
“What do you want?” Her voice was husky.
He’d stood there like a fool, heart hammering, unsure what to say, finally deciding to cut to the chase. “I think you’re my mother.”
She stared at him. Then her gaze had slid down his form, taking in his neat black uniform before returning to his face.
“They told me you died. But instead they turned you in to one of them.” Her lip curled with disgust. “That’s worse.”
“I’m not like them,” he protested, then amended, “I mean, don’t want to be.”
She didn’t reply.
“I brought you these.” He tossed in two nutrition bars and a bottle of water.
She scrambled for the items, tore open the wrappers, and devoured them both, then chugged down the water before returning to her corner on the cot to watch him again.
“What did they name you?” she asked, after an awkward silence.
“Daniel.”
“I called you something else as I carried you.” She hesitated. “Wyatt.”
“Wyatt.” Repeating the name sounded strange yet somehow right at the same time. He liked it. “Why Wyatt?”
“It was my brother’s name. Our father had a thing for Old West history.” The witch in the cell, his biological mother, smiled at him. The expression looked brittle, as if she didn’t know how to do it anymore, and it faded as quickly as it came.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Sylvia.”
He thought that was the most beautiful name he’d ever heard. Eager to learn as much as he could about her, and maybe himself, he asked, “What about your last name?”
“I’m not telling you that.”
“Why?”
“So you can hunt the rest of my family down and kill them? Or worse, bring them here to lock them in pitch black cells and use them for experiments? So they can create more monsters like you?”
He flinched at that, the word like a knife in his gut. She was right. The only monster in this miserable cell, was himself.
Oh my GOSH. This is just great. When do I get to read the whole thing? 🙂
Also. 10 points to Ravenclaw for use of the word “stygian.”
Setting, story, dialogue etc., all had me riveted. Fan—tastic.
Happy Wednesday on Monday, to all! Lovely wedding scene, Bryn! I’ve added a few words to chapter 19 of Soldier’s Heart (Mass Effect) this month, and I’m thinking about giving Warrior Dove (Dragon Age) another shot with a different structure after abandoning it a while back (378 words):
[During a rescue mission on the planet’s largest moon:]
Palaven loomed in front of them. A bright blaze of orange fire had spread so far on one of the continents that they could see it with their bare eyes.
Jane pointed toward the center of it. “See that mess? Garrus’ hometown is dead center in the middle of it. So’s his dad and sister.”
“Without a Primarch, how long they gonna last here?” James asked.
“I don’t know.” Jane put her helmet back on, checked her armor seals. “And it looks like Garrus has gone from C-Sec drop out to Turian Hierarchy big wig. He’s got some explaining to do. I’ve been out of it for six months. EDI, why didn’t you tell me?”
The A.I. joined their channel. “Do you want me to hack the Turian Hierarchy, Jane?”
“Well—” she gave an exasperated grunt. “No, EDI, that’s not necessary. We knew he was here, and that was probably more information than we’re technically entitled to. Don’t add any stressors to their systems right now. Let’s just get Garrus, get the Primarch, and get out of here. The best way—the only way—to save Palaven is to get this Prothean device built ASAP.”
[A new intro to a story I started two years ago:]
Many have heard the tales of King Alistair and Queen Margie, how crown and Inquisition were reconciled, houses Theirin and Trevelyan united. Perhaps you remember their children, Princess Sera and Prince Duncan, how Sera became the greatest warrior this side of the Frostbacks, Duncan the greatest scholar, and both befriended by the would-be kidnapper who saved their family from Tevinter assassins.
A privileged few know of Prince Duncan’s adventure with his beloved surgeon to find his father’s birth mother, but all know of the eccentric prince sharing a cottage with his love in the crowded streets of Denerim. He visits his sister, the queen, in the fortress, and their parents at an estate in Redcliffe.
All appears well—until strife over magic and heir once again challenge the Theirin family, as Prince Curran must decide between love and duty, and a bloody plot to seize Ferelden’s crown is discovered by Princess Culver, best known as her mother’s spy and the Warrior Dove.
Oooh, it’s 2 for 1 day!
Haha, sorry about the Wednesday on Monday! And I love it that you’re revisiting some stories. Really enjoyed them both!
Thanks, Bryn!
Loved them both. YOu had me at SciFi/fantasy
Thank you, Bryan! Glad you enjoyed it.
That was just simply beautiful!
Oh thank you Mellisa! Thanks for reading!
Oh, I love a wedding scene! That was so beautiful! Makes me remember my own wedding so many years ago…and start planning the vow renewal ceremony with my husband that I want for our 20th in 3 years (our wedding was ultra-traditional, but I want something totally alternative now…the wedding my parents didn’t let us have–medieval garb, Pagan ceremony, personal vows, someplace in nature and private, etc.)
I’m still plugging away at the beginning of my book. I’ve finally caved…added a prologue. It’s from the MC’s mother’s perspective. Since Gabrielle’s father has evolved as the ultimate bad guy in the story, I think he needs a little setup. It’s also kinda in keeping with the wedding theme… 🙂
—-
“You want the truth, Gabrielle?” Margaret Doubek flung a wet dishcloth into the sink. She spun around, facing her daughter. “The day your father vanished was the best day of my life!”
Gabrielle’s lips parted in astonishment. Tears shimmered in her hazel eyes—eyes that were identical to her father’s. She shook her head. “How can you say that?”
Margaret covered her face with her hands; regret squeezed at her heart. Gabrielle idolized Alex Doubek, and Margaret had always respected her daughter’s feelings…regardless of how twisted her own marriage to the man had been. “You didn’t know him the way I did.”
“You seemed pretty devoted to him.” Gabrielle crossed her arms over her chest, pursing her lips. “When I was seven and he came home from that conference in Turkey…you sent me to Grandma’s house for three days so you could ‘catch up’ with him—”
“We had sex! Married people do that!” Margaret groaned, raking her fingers through her hair. She recalled Alex: tall, blond, lean-muscled, and gorgeous…he could’ve talked the panties off a nun. Margaret settled into a stance mirroring her daughter’s. “Hindsight’s a bitch. Your father was my addiction. We had a sickness, not a relationship.” Tears rimmed Margaret’s eyes. She couldn’t bring herself to tell Gabrielle that her beloved dad, a notorious womanizer, had presented more at archaeological conferences than his latest research. Alex never apologized when Margaret discovered his indiscretions, and like a junkie, she forgave him each time. Even worse, she’d dumped the perfect man to be with him. “Did you know I was dating Mark when I met your dad?”
Gabrielle shook her head, her pout softening.
Margaret walked to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair. She sank into it, motioning for Gabrielle to join her. When her daughter sat down across the table from her, Margaret continued. “When I met your Uncle Mark, I knew right away I wanted to marry him. We were dating for three months when he invited me to a family dinner with Grandma, Grandpa, and your dad. As soon as I met your dad, he started flirting with me. He cornered me in the hallway before dessert, kissed me…even asked me out; I can’t believe I said yes. I promptly broke up with your uncle and got together with your dad.” She swallowed past the lump in her throat and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. The hideous sting of her betrayal hadn’t diminished, even after nineteen years. “Six months later I fell pregnant with you, and Alex insisted on getting married. Uncle Mark didn’t come to the wedding, but he eventually forgave us.”
“I didn’t know,” Gabrielle said quietly.
“I’m not proud of it, and I wish I’d done things differently—oh, but not you!” she grimaced, touching her daughter’s arm. “You’re my treasure, Gabrielle. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Gabrielle shrugged, looking away. “I’m glad you and Uncle Mark are now married. It doesn’t change how I feel about Dad, though…”
Wow, I wish I could go to your vow renewal. That is JUST my style! (It’s our 28th tomorrow!)
Killer scene! Dragged me in from the very first line. Thanks for posting!
Belated congrats, Bryn!! ❤
Such a beautiful wedding scene! Makes me want to dust off my own wedding album and flip through and relive the day.
I’m brand new here – hi! I’m posting 500 words from the first chapter of my WIP (which I plan to have my agent submit to Hallmark – woohoo!), although it’s not the very first 500 words of the chapter.
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Even though she was exhausted from the tour, Callie enjoyed the after-party once she was in the room. She really did love meeting fans. Inevitably, they wanted to tell her about how one of her songs had spoken to them, and tonight was no different.
“Did you really have a boyfriend back home when you first went out on the road? You know, like that song Missing You?” a young girl who’d introduced herself as Madison and looked to be about 14 asked her. The girl’s mother started to interject, embarrassed her daughter was prying into Callie’s private life.
“It’s okay,” she said, waving off the mom. Turning back to the young woman, she said, “I did. You know, I wasn’t much older than you when I was first signed. I was 16 and dating and going to prom and doing all the other things teenage girls do.”
“That’s so cool,” Madison gushed, turning to smile up at her mom. Callie had a feeling the girl had dreams of her own and was imagining right now all the ways in which her life would be amazing if they came true.
“Were you afraid to move away from home like that?” Madison asked, no doubt picturing what it would be like to no longer live with her parents. It was likely something that both excited and terrified her. Callie remembered feeling that way.
“It all happened really fast,” Callie said, “but Jim, the gentleman who signed me, took really good care of me. And my mom was able to move to Nashville with me for a couple of years.”
She’d discussed her surprising signing to the label at 16 what seemed like a million times over the years in media interviews, at backstage after-parties and everywhere else she went. Her origin story wasn’t a hot topic anymore but talking about it still came automatically and felt like she was describing someone else’s life, a story she’d heard one day and just memorized. Of course, it kind of was. The label had hired a media specialist to teach her how to give interviews in the beginning. At only 16 and straight out of small-town America, they weren’t about to just let her loose to see how it would go.
As her mother turned away to talk to another mom, Madison asked, “What about your boyfriend? Did you ever see him again?” Callie could see the genuine curiosity in Madison’s eyes. Maybe she had a boyfriend of her own back home, a teenage boy with dreams of his own. The girl’s mother had turned away to talk to another mom accompanying her daughter to the after party.
Callie was surprised at how the question threw her for a moment. No one had asked her about Jesse Callahan in a very long time. Even though she still played songs from that first album on stage every once in a while, she’d long ago learned to detach herself from lyrics to songs like Missing You.
This was great, Kristi! I’d read more!
Aww. thanks Kristi! I love weddings.
I love how you use the girl’s questions to get across a lot of information about your character. Well done!
Great set up for the angst about to come.
Bryn you drive me crazy wanting more. Weddings, magic, psychic abilities…this: “A daughter would likely inherit not only Cassie’s magic but also his mother’s psychic gifts, perhaps in full, whereas Jonathan only had a portion of them. But when Cassie had asked him if he’d also like a boy, the thought of having a son had filled him with wonder, and she’d laughed at him.”
Love it and want more.
Heres a bit of my love story… Forever. Happily. After.
Half an hour later, their food long gone, her groceries overheating in her Jeep, Bethany tilted her head, nibbled on her lower lip and realized they’d been flirting with each other since the second he’d appeared. Chatting with a stranger had never come so easy. She wondered if Hunter felt the same. Then silently reprimanded herself because, I don’t believe in love at first sight, she silently reminded herself while falling deeper into Hunter’s eyes. Time had ticked by so fast as they giggled, smirked, drank too much coffee and…
“Keep chatting.” Alika grinned while pouring more coffee and insisting, “No hurry to leave. Talk story.”
Beth thanked Ali, sipped her coffee and whispered, “You were saying you’re here for a wedding? But not yours.”
“Right. I’m not married.” His dimples teased her. “Do you like weddings?”
Beth muttered, “That’s a complicated question.”
“Well, I go to a lot of weddings and they get old.” Hunter ran a hand through his shiny hair. “I’m in a band. Part of tomorrow’s entertainment at the wedding. When Alika sent me over, I figured I’d be sitting with a mainland tourist and not a fascinating, beautiful local.” Hunter’s eyes scrutinized Beth’s face, then body, then… “I’m sorry.” He giggled. “What was I saying?”
“You think I’m beautiful.” Beth blushed; her cheeks turned beet red. “I c-can’t believe I said that.”
“You didn’t,” insisted Hunter, “I did. You just repeated the truth. Now, since you know Maui so well— maybe you could give me a tour one day. If you have time?”
Is he asking me out?
“Do you live alone or…?” Hunter pointed to her left hand. “I noticed you don’t wear a ring, so—”
Is he asking if I have a husband or boyfriend?
“I don’t want some massive dude punching out my lights.”
“O.M.G. That’s funny.” Bethany giggled for real.
“Your boyfriend beating me up is funny?”
“No. The thought of Koa beating you up is funny.”
“Oh, Koa…you’re, um…boyfriend?”
Beth sipped more coffee. “Well, I do live with Koa.”
“Oh.” Hunter failed to hide his disappointment “Is he someone special?”
“Very. But, not my boyfriend. Too hairy.”
Hunter smirked. “Your dog?”
“Cat. Pretty sure my adulting skills impress him though.” Beth giggled. “O.M.G. I’m acting like such a…a…a, what?”
“Flirty teen?”
“Is that what I’m acting like?” Beth scowled. “I did spell out, O.M.G. instead of saying, Oh My Gosh, didn’t I?”
“You did.” Hunter’s dimples teased as he pursed his lips and shook his head. “How about you introduce me to Koa and I try an impress him with my adulting skills?”
“Oh my gosh! Shouted Beth, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked at the time. “WORK!” She jumped up, knocking her chair over. “I’m late.” Fumbling for her keys, she added, “No, no, no, I can’t be late.” She raced out the door.
Alone at the table, Hunter sat confused and disappointed as Alika stepped up and handed him two checks.
His giggle is a nice touch, as is getting stuck with the check. I love HEA’s and always put them in my long fics, even if there’s some angst along the way. Thanks for sharing, Bryan.
Bryan! I’m sorry I’m so late in responding. This was so much fun. It really conveyed those fluttery crush-y feelings in all their delightful awkwardness. Thank you for posting! (And a belated thank you for the kind words, too! 🙂 )
Well-written as always, Bryn! But I have to ask, with a bit of snark, do they REALLY know what the hell they are getting into? (To wit, my daughter would’ve had one of those demons for lunch!)
A small chunk from ‘Warfare’ here, where June (as a hostage held by a Human trickster/thief and his native Napeequan ‘worshipers’) is being marched toward certain doom with the Mitasterites:
As we walked—with the Napeequans on alert for danger—Cheney hummed a tune. I wondered if Zjarnuha, his lover, now had the feeling that she didn’t know this demigod after all. Not the way she thought. Not the way she wanted to. This pale man who’d tumbled down a mountain, miraculously alive after a Great Spirit attack, this man who’d made whatever promises and held whatever foreign fascination, had now introduced the horror of real strangeness into her life.
The presence of the technology couldn’t be denied now, even if its true nature and purpose remained unknowns. At the moment, I couldn’t determine how she and her kind would be able to understand that there were people—real people—onboard that dark shape crossing the clouds. Were these more spirits coming to flummox them all with their damnable strangeness? For a people who despise technology, would their brains allow them to understand what was happening? How much are we able to trick ourselves into believing what we see?
An hour ago, I’d watched an impressive shuttle descend from the Thorson cruiser’s belly and arc toward the as-yet-unseen outpost. The shuttle rotated to face us—still miles away via footpath—as it descended below a hillside. Who was onboard? Who was I going to be delivered to? The long-winged, wickedly-shaped shuttle could’ve belonged to one of the Grand Admirals. Either way, it spelled doom for all Yrith-Napeequans.
For a time, competing with the escalating fear which shook my bones, I felt a kind of pity for the four natives in my company. They didn’t ask for this. They couldn’t even understand what was happening just beyond the horizon. The huge ship floating on the wind, the smaller ship emerging from the first, the smaller ship falling but not falling without flapping its wings. Worse, by the course, was that they couldn’t understand who was going to come out of that vessel. Who had entered their world? Who was already here, on the surface, already walking the same ground?
Cheney the pale-skinned, one-eyed trickster had concealed his menace for these people. There was no reason to believe the Mitasterites would hide anything. Including their hatred of me.
A gush of what could be described as horror escaped the lips of one of the Napeequan men. I looked up and found the control spire for the Mitasterites’ citadel. It was topped with the standard cluster of long-range communications antennae and may have looked, to my yellow captives, like a great spider had been sucked through a tube, frozen that way, and encased in orange metal. The spinning radar could have been an appendage gone haywire. Perhaps the gun turret, situated just below this rotating bar, was forcing its way through their stone-age ignorance.
The shuttle and a Bulldog bomber occupied landing platforms at the rear. The front was guarded by larger cannons manned by soldiers. Equipment doors were large enough to accommodate battle tanks. This was all real.
Something brushed my hand. Looking down, I was shocked to find the golden skin of Zjarniha’s fingers grasping at my binds. The ‘slow’ sister. Her hand shook. This apparent turn of spirit stunned me. I opened my left hand and her fingers slowly slid over and into my palm. Rough fingertips pressed against the flesh, conveying desperate need.
When she looked up at me with ragged breathing, thin amber-hued syrup filled her eyes. Yrith-Napeequan tears.
Had she, in this terrible hour, finally found an ally in me? Was I the solitary ‘safe’ thing standing among a shattered world?