Interview Tani Hanes Author of Farraway Mist
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cooler, a Chocolate Chip or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Tani Hanes and Farraway Mist!
Tell us what inspired this particular story?
I wanted to write a sort of homage to stories I admired, namely Daphne DuMaurier’s Rebecca, Stephen King’s Bag of Bones, and Richard Adams’ The Girl in a Swing. Of course, being able to read and admire works of that stature doesn’t mean you can reproduce anything similar! But I wanted to try.
What secret do you use to blast through writer’s block?
I’m really lucky, in that I don’t usually get blocked! I mean, I do struggle with plot points when I don’t have the requisite knowledge to get from one place to another, but I always know what I want my story to do. And I had a teacher once who gave me the best advice ever: Never stop writing when you don’t know what you’re going to write next. You should be on fire to get the next bit down when you stop. This will pretty much guarantee that you come back to write it, see? If you wait until you’ve ground down to just complete and total frustration, then you push everything away and stop for the day, well, you’re pretty unmotivated to come back, and you might even give up on the whole thing, which would be a shame.
Who is your favorite character of all of the books you’ve written and Why?
I like the children I’ve written, and the animals, believe it or not. In the book I’m promoting here, Farraway Mist, the dogs are actually a crucial part of the plot, and I like them. I love them. The animals and the kids are so pure. They have no filters, no ulterior motives, I love that about them.
Why do you write what you write? Contemporary, paranormal, suspense, etc.
I like romances the best. Even this one, which is my first try at a paranormal mystery, is really just a very sexy love story with paranormal elements added in. I love people meeting and falling in love, and having babies or whatever, if that’s a natural part of the story. I really enjoy dialogue, and expressing the characters’ personalities through
You’ve got a time machine, a cloak of invisibility, and one hour. Where would you go, and what eavesdropping would you do?
London in the late 1880s; I want to know who Jack the Ripper was!
Okay, you’re casting the movie version of your novel – who would you choose for the main characters? We’re talking dream cast.
This is pretty easy. For George Wilder, the male MC in Farraway Mist I’d have to go with Harry Styles. He’s always kind of my go to lead, anyway, but in this case, he’s English, he’s in his twenties, he’s a singer, he’s beautiful, with long hair…need I say more? Plus I think he could pull off that whole brooding, Mr. Rochester/Max de Winter thing, you know?
Scout is not as clear to me; possibly Shailene Woodley, or Saoirse Ronan?
What’s your favorite part of being an author?
Talking to readers!! Hands down. I suppose there might be a day, way out there, when I might get tired of this, but as of now, I love when readers want to talk about the characters, or they tell me a certain part made them smile or cry or whatever.
SPEED ROUND FOR A LITTLE ADDED FUN:
Speed Round (one word only answer): Yep, I know torture for a writer!<evil laugh>
Favorite movie: A Room With A View
Favorite book: To Kill A Mockingbird
Last book read: Lonesome Dove (re-read)
Favorite color: violet
Stilettos or flipflops: slippers!
Coffee or tea: both
Ebook or audiobook or paperback: paperback
Pencil or pen: fountain pen
Favorite song: Night Changes (One Direction forever!)
Streak or not: yeah
Favorite dessert:
Favorite junk food: chocolate covered cherries?
Favorite thing to do to relax: crochet or knit
Champagne or gin: I don’t drink!
Paranormal or Historical: paranormal
Wonder Woman or Top Model: Wonder Woman
Favorite TV show: Dexter?
Hot or cold: cold
POV: omniscient (I LOVE HEAD HOPPING)
I’d die if I don’t have: SUSHI
Thank you for putting up with the questions and playing our speed round!
as well. She exclaimed over how well balanced they were, and how well they swung, their heft. And how shiny they were, and how pretty the color was.
George just smiled, pleased with how well received his gift was.
whole links, while the dogs bounced back and forth, rambling along the
different scents. In golf, at least, they were well-matched, and had a good
game, with Scout having the weaker but more accurate stroke.
began to come up just as they reached the last few holes. “Maybe we should
stop,” George suggested, looking around.
on, this is all private, right?” Scout coaxed. “No one else is
around, there’s no danger of anyone up ahead getting hit by a ball or
anything.” She looked at him imploringly. “We can be quick, can’t we?
It’s just that I haven’t played in so long.”
let’s be very quick,” George stressed, once again enticed by the lovely
sight of her hips as they twisted when she swung her club. “You’ve seen
how rapidly the mist can come up.”
through quickly, trying to see up ahead as the fog rose up the cliffs.
explain the topography a little to help out, and Scout did okay, calling on her
memory from her previous walk along the links. They kept the dogs close to
avoid hitting one of them with an errant ball.
got thick enough to block out the sun, and Scout pulled on her sweater, which
had been tied around her slender waist.
cold?” George asked. “We can head back if you like?” He stepped
close and rubbed her arm.
head.
the last hole, right?” she asked. “Let’s finish.” George nodded
and stepped up to the tee.
through, by which time their hair was wet from the mist and fog. They could
hear the waves, too, crashing into the rocks. They quickly shouldered their
clubs and began walking toward the house, which was shrouded in fog.
Slow down, please. Remember how slippery this bit here can be,” George
entreated.
slowed her steps. After a minute or two, she stopped and looked around.
“Where’s Jess?” she asked.
looked. “Fuck it all, where’s she gone off to now?” he asked,
irritated beyond all measure. For no reason he could fathom, he was uneasy. He
wanted to get back to the house, he wanted to get Scout back to the house. The
longer they stayed outside, the more nervous he felt.
going, Scout, carefully, though. I’ll call Jess and catch up in a mo,
okay?” he said.
to say she’d just wait with him, but she saw the look on his face and just
nodded, not wanting to worry him any more, and turned and kept walking. They
had to be pretty close to the house by now, anyway.
on, girl!” George called. Bandit, understanding that Jess’ absence was
gumming up the works, promptly went to look for her. George knew that he’d find
her and bring her back right away, and that she’d probably be contrite and
embarrassed.
if not polite.
how far ahead Scout was, and stopped dead in his tracks. Oh god.
something on the trail next to her, some amorphous shape, darker than the
surrounding fog. It was hovering about eight inches off the ground, hulking
over Scout, who didn’t seem aware of its presence.
Her name was torn from his mouth, a warning which she would never understand.
How could he convey what he needed from this distance with mere words? That she
needed to run, defend herself, be careful?
toward him, not understanding her danger, but hearing the terror in his voice.
As she turned, she slipped, dropping her clubs with a clatter. She grabbed for
the railing, which she knew she should’ve been holding all along.
footing, reaching desperately for the iron fencing. She saw George drop his own
clubs, coming toward her at a dead run, Bandit appearing out of the fog behind
him like a wraith. There was no way he’d reach her in time.
beneath her feet began to crumble, and Scout knew that she was going to fall,
and probably die. It was at least a couple hundred feet down to the beach
below,
soft, sandy beach, but rather a rocky, cove-like one, deep and beautiful for
taking photographs. The stairs were cut sharply into the cliffs, and she would
probably hit most of them on the way down.
brief moment when she thought she could save herself, when she managed to grab
the edge.
inexplicably, she felt something else, and it pushed her, pushed her body and
hands, peeling her fingers off and shoving her over the edge.
just as she was sure she was going to fall, George was there, throwing himself into
the breech, literally throwing himself behind her somehow, grabbing her around
the waist, changing her trajectory, so she fell, not into the chasm underneath,
but onto a tiny ledge, a V-shaped opening between two rocks carved into the
stairs.
with a hard thump, hitting the rock wall hard. Scout carried the momentum for
both of them, being so much lighter, and kept going, nearly over the edge.
George kept his hold around her waist, hauling her back just in time. He pulled
her close, his heart beating like a triphammer in his chest.
each other, knowing how close their escape had been, both breathing like they’d
just run a marathon.
George, thank you,” Scout gasped through chattering teeth. They looked
around at their tiny, wet surroundings.
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged England, Farraway Mist, Paranormal Romance, Tani Hanes by Tena Stetler with comments disabled.
S.B.K. Burns Author of Entangled – Ages of Invention
When I was in high school, my science teacher gave me tickets to do my lab research at the Franklin Institute of Science. Back then I knew there was something historic about the place, was in awe of the size of the building, the stairways, and the exhibits, but never investigated further. FLY LIKE AN EAGLE was born at the opening of the Franklin Institute. Growing up in historic Philadelphia, I knew stories were there to be discovered; I just didn’t realize the intrigue of the time.
While Jane Austin wrote PRIDE AND PREDJUDICE under the regent for “crazy” George III, industrialists and government officials, members of the Philadelphia Philosophical Society (including Thomas Jefferson), wanted to honor Benjamin Franklin by opening the Institute. I made my characters in FLY LIKE AN EAGLE, hero and heroine, children of those industrialists: lucky Samantha, daughter of Proper Philadelphia Society and Migizi, treated like a servant, his industrialist father having fallen in love and married a Native American woman, the leader of her Delaware doodem.
The Delaware Native Americans, like other Algonquin speakers, had a word for the power of human consciousness—bimijiwan (The Flow). It just seems that the resurrected future queen of Scotland, Ireland, and Britain, Electress Sophia of the House of Hanover (the ancestor to today’s British Royalty), oversaw the building of a quantum computer all out of crystal lenses. Long Live The Q! With the quantum computer serves as a time machine that focused The Flow of Life into both past and future.
Do you see yourself in your characters?
I always admire writers of memoirs. They have to be gutsy to write all the experiences they had, depending on the way they looked at their lives, their perspectives, and the intimate details they’re willing to reveal. I never found a single thread that I was comfortable with in my own life. I was different than others in that with my scientific curiosity, I was always experimenting. But, I am more the sort to step into the bodies of my characters and playact their parts, rather than exposing all the famous people I was lucky enough to know (and that includes my parents). I always felt uncomfortable about speaking of those who have passed on, because I’ll never know what their true motives were. And that’s what it’s about for my characters. If we don’t know their motives, it’s hard to judge them. And I don’t want to put myself in a place to judge others, or to put those judgments out there. END OF SOAPBOX!
What do you want your readers to take away from your books?
In my life, I have fallen in and out of love. TAKE THAT BACK! I don’t think I’ve ever fallen out of love with anyone I was in love with. But I did learn to move on. As to the themes I enjoy sharing with my books: most deal with diversity. My characters are challenged because of the society they’re born into. Their relationships are taboo. Dawn, in ENTANGLED, is born into the lower class, and Taylor, into the upper class. Samantha, in FLY LIKE AN EAGLE, is forbidden from marrying Native born, Eagle, but encouraged to marry his white industrialist father, many years older than she is.
I like my sci-fi heroes to be artificial intelligence androids that look and operate like humans (maybe even super humans). They’re considered one step down in society and, so, romantically forbidden. In my NANOWRIMO performance this year, I wrote a story I’m excited about: a contemporary romance between a “white” woman, a physician, and a black man, a Navy SEAL and firefighter. He rejects her because she’s white. Though she passes for white, she’s a dark-phase African albino from Tanzania, both her parents black (The albino race introduced in LEGENDS OF THE GOLDENS SERIES.
If writing is your first passion, what is your second?
I’m a scientific generalist with several advanced degrees and lots of courses out the whazoo! On my philosophy website (www.TheUnionOfOpposites.com) I extend the things I’ve learned (about conscious awareness) in my published research and use them to seed the themes in my novels. Sometimes the ideas can be difficult for those not into sci-fi, suspense, thrillers, or adventure (or those who just don’t want too many surprises). For those readers, I take my cue from some of my reviewers who just skip over those few geeky sentences. I don’t write formulaic, meaning that I don’t read another author to find out how their characters make love, how their worlds are run, things like that. In that way, I guess my novels are all my own kind of memoir, pieces of my nerdy life shared with my characters.
finished the second suggestive sentence of her self-regression, she was here in
the misty Lowlands of Scotland, not far outside Edinburgh. As on her previous
trips, she was literally in Lily’s body, experiencing all the woman’s senses
and emotions, but none of her thoughts. So frustrating.
Fly Like An Eagle:
most probably escaped to the house. Migizi (Eagle) would return her shawl,
hoping by the time he caught up to her, she would have put on something a
little less fetching.
been wrong about him. Leaving me alone with Ronaldson’s nubile daughter? Look
at her as a sister? He’d have more success taking flight by jumping off a cliff
and flapping his arms.
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Paranormal Romance, Sci-Fi, steampunk, Time travel by Tena Stetler with 1 comment.
Interview With Aletta Thorne author of The Chef & the Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins
Give a warm welcome to Aletta Thorne, author of The Chef and the Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins.
Pull up a chair, grab a drink of your choice from the cooler, a Chocolate Chip or Peanut Butter cookie from the plate, and let’s find out a little about Aletta Thorne and her newest release, The Chef and the Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins.
I live in an old house that has ghosts in it, and I do believe in them. Now, I never had QUITE the experience that my heroine does (ahem), but I like our ghosts. They keep the place from feeling lonely—really! Also, I think the best ghost stories have a strong element of humor in them. I wanted to write a funny romance with ghosts in it. Ghosts and food. I used to be a chef myself.
What defines you as an author? As a person? Are they one in the same?
I think I am the pretty much same on the page that I am in person. I have always believed that fiction is a true lie—a story that didn’t actually happen but could have and maybe should have. My new book The Chef and the Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins comes from the best part of me: the part that is funny, loving, and uninhibited. The pieces of me I don’t like I left out of the story!
How long have you been writing?
This is my first “big-girl” romance, although I have been writing young adult books (under another name) for a while, and I’ve published poetry and articles about music and food since I was in my twenties (a long, long time ago). I started making up my own tales and rhymes when I was about seven. So let’s just say it’s been a million zillion years.
What do you want your readers to take away from your books?
I want my readers to lose themselves in my books and to be entertained and feel like they are in an exciting other world. And I want them to laugh and read the funny parts out loud to their friends. Also, I’d like it if they stayed up late reading and then had a really good night of rest except for a few slightly weird dreams…
Why do you write what you write? Contemporary, paranormal, suspense, etc.
I write paranormal romance, whether it is for a young adult audience (under another name) or for adults. Paranormal is where the magic is, and the author has a wand to wave! Who wouldn’t want a magic wand?
You’re exactly right! Give me that magic wand!
If writing is your first passion, what is your second?
Music: I sing, play dulcimer and guitar, and am part of a really good choir. And I also DJ on an internet radio station I run with my friends.
You’ve got a time machine, a cloak of invisibility, and one hour. Where would you go, and what eavesdropping would you do?
Great question! It actually sounds like the premise for some of the YA stuff I’ve written. I think I’d just take a walk down the main street of my Hudson River Valley town in maybe 1880, and see what it looked like, and listen to the way people were with one another. I imagine I could go somewhere and try to stop a war from happening, but from the time travel I’ve written and read, that doesn’t always turn out well!
So true. Thank you so much for answering my questions.
A Peek Between The Pages of The Chef and the Ghost of Bartholomew Addison Jenkins.
A ghost. Of course he was a ghost—even though before that night, she’d never felt anything spooky at her place in the almost-year she’d lived in it. Alma still had the plate with the omelet on it in one hand. Ghosts didn’t eat, did they? She held it out to him anyway.
“Go ahead and have your supper,” he said. “I don’t need food. I take it you understand why.”
Alma nodded, not sure what to say. For a ghost, the man looked rather … dashing, she decided was the world. He must have been muscular in life. There were nicely rounded biceps under that loose shirt, and they showed when he moved his arms. His knee knickers fit tightly over a flat belly, and his stockings made his calves look like they were made out of smooth, white marble. His eyes were a startling, luminous golden brown.
“Sadly, we are still perfectly able to smell a good meal cooking.”
“We?” Alma said.
The man nodded. “Your dead,” he said, solemnly.
“My dead?” she said.
“Well, you live here, don’t you? So, I’m your dead, now.” He stopped looking so serious then and as if guys in knee knickers and white stockings were born doing it, he opened her refrigerator and pulled out the bottle of Chablis. “Here, give me your glass,” he said, and topped it off. The glow from the refrigerator’s light made him even more luminous—and just the slightest bit translucent.
“Thanks,” she said, although it was her wine. She put her plate and glass down on a little enamel-topped kitchen table she’d bought at a local church thrift shop and pulled out one of the table’s funky old chairs for herself.
“Fork? Napkin?” he said, pulling those things out of the drawers next to Alma’s stove. Alma used cloth napkins from the restaurant supplier—big white ones.
“You know where my things are,” she said, spreading the napkin across her lap.
“That shouldn’t surprise you,” he said. “Eat your omelet while it’s hot. Go ahead.”
Alma took a bite. “Um, the pepper grinder on the stove?” she said. “Could you, please?”
“My lady.” He smiled and handed it to her with a little bow.
She ground a little pepper over her plate and took another bite and sipped her wine. He sat down across from her, put his elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands.
“I enjoy watching you eat.”
“Okay, I guess. It’s not … weird?”
“No.”
A ghost is watching me eat an omelet. “What’s your name?”
“Bartholomew Addison Jenkins,” he said. “These days, I just use Bart.”
“These days. But you’ve been here since you…”
“Since 1784,” he said.
“Which was when you died, I guess.”
“I must tell you, dear lady, saying that to one of us is considered rude. In better ghostly circles, that is. Some of us are not aware we are dead. Some of us do not like to be reminded of it.”
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Aletta Thorne, Holiday, mainstream romance, Paranormal Romance by Tena Stetler with 1 comment.
Welcome LM Pruitt Author of The Damned Series
Have a seat and grab an insulated mug. I’ve got hot chocolate, hot cider and coffee. Choose your pot, they’re labeled. Pick your choice of a Snicker-doodle, Chocolate Chip or Peanut butter cookie from the plate. Yep, I baked them myself. Lets see what LM Pruitt’s The Damned Series is all about. Thanks for joining us!
Damned:
Jackson.” She stuck out one hand, something in her eyes daring me to not take
it. “And you are…?”
I took her hand, making my reluctance more than obvious. The second my skin
made contact with hers, a spark of energy shot through me so violently I
couldn’t help but gasp. Swallowing, I said, “What brings you to Savannah?”
for work.” Without releasing my hand, she slipped out of her seat and slid in
to the one across from me. Leaning in, she lowered her voice and said, “I was
fully prepared for it to be another dull, routine trip but now… well, now I
think I’m glad I got assigned this route.”
fluttering in my stomach wasn’t unfamiliar—I was far from a virgin and I’d not
only done Mardi Gras and Spring Break in Miami but I’d also spent a month in
Europe after my college graduation. But this… this was something different. And
not because it was caused by a woman.
Visceral. Almost feral. Like she’d tapped in to some hunger I wasn’t even aware
I’d had and now that I did the idea it would go unfulfilled was almost too much
to bear.
work with me.” She lifted our joined hands, brushing her lips over my knuckles.
“I have a feeling you would be… amazing.”
as if all my attention was focused on the small bit of skin where she’d kissed
me, tendrils of lust spooling out through the rest of my body in lazy ribbons.
“What do you… what do you do?”
souls.” Her eyes darkened, her breath catching in her throat and I realized for
the first time I wasn’t the only one affected by our contact. “Or rather the
energy from them. The actual soul is taken up by someone else—it doesn’t
matter, the details can be explained later.”
I trailed off, part of me sure she was joking and an even larger part of me
sure she wasn’t. “Really. Why?”
She flicked her tongue over her lips and I sucked in a shallow breath. “Because
it’s fun.”
make you….”
This time when she smiled, a dimple appeared in her left cheek and I was caught
with the sudden urge to kiss it. “More specifically a succubus.” My confusion
must have shown because she laughed. “I fuck people for their energy—sometimes
to death, sometimes not. It all depends.”
do that to me?”
shook her head, her hair sliding across her shoulders, the tips curling over
the swell of her breasts. “I told you. I want you to work with me and my
sisters and Lilith.” She leaned closer and I breathed deep, the scent of her
perfume almost painfully exotic. “I want you to join the ranks of the Morning
Star and spend eternity tempting the weak and the wicked.”
suggesting was lunacy. Madness. Even if I believed her, the idea of giving up
my life to be some sort of demonic minion was ridiculous. Although….
giving up? A lifetime spent catering to David’s whims, denying myself the
things I truly enjoyed because it would be bad for his reputation or his
political chances or his weight? A lifetime attempting to please my parents and
knowing it would never happen because nothing would ever overshadow Joanne’s
sacrifice? A lifetime being nothing but the substitute?
would I be giving up?
nickname I hated hearing from David sounded and felt like a caress coming from
Lacey. Lifting our hands again, she ran her tongue over one of my fingertips
before nipping lightly. Her voice was heavy with promise when she spoke again. “Come
play with me.”
breathed out the single word before leaning over the table and crushing my
mouth to hers.
soul anyway?
When you died, what did you see? And please don’t insult us or waste our time
by claiming you saw nothing.”
for a moment, torn between doing just that and telling the truth. There was
something about meeting the be-all-end-all as far as the creation of everything
went which made me want to keep our conversation to ourselves. On the other
hand, I didn’t relish having to go through the whole dying thing again and I
had a feeling the key to my miraculous return rested in those few minutes when
I was, to quote the younger dead, all dead.
white room. And a woman.” I paused, hesitating another moment before
continuing. “She said She was the Power.” I took a deep breath, holding it a
few seconds before exhaling. “And when I asked if She was going to kill me, She
said no, it wasn’t my time to die. And then I was back here.”
enough.” Joanne shook her head, her hair sliding over her shoulders. “Michael,
it’s not enough. You know how She is. She could have been playing one of Her
fucking word games and any minute now—.”
The almost giant next to her knelt down, kissing the side of her head before
murmuring something in her ear. Whatever he said reassured her enough to have
her letting up some of the death grip on my hand although she still didn’t let
go. Michael turned to Gabriel, standing silent and watchful in the back of the
room. “Can you speak with Her?”
less likely to lie to me?” Gabriel snorted. “You know She doesn’t play
favorites.”
that’s a lie. She was willing to sacrifice innocents to keep you whole, if not
happy.” Gideon’s gaze flicked to the tall redhead who, if I was keeping up with
the names being thrown around earlier, had to be Lucinda. “She’ll answer your
questions, even if She doesn’t want to.”
She wouldn’t answer me. I said there was a good chance She would still lie to
me.” Gabriel sighed. “But fine—as the patron saint of women and children—.”
your resume.” Joanne’s voice was so acidic every person in the room, archangel
or not, flinched. I lifted my brows but stayed silent. This Joanne wasn’t the
one I remembered. This Joanne seemed as if she could not only reduce a person
to tears with a few words but she would enjoy doing it. “Now go do your job.”
Gabriel offered a bow which was just a shade shy of mocking, his smile dying
away when he glanced at Joanne. “Right. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
flash was enough to blind me but thankfully sulphur free. Although I was
feeling less and less like death with each passing second, I wasn’t quite ready
for the scent of brimstone.
him off, didn’t you, Mom?” Olivia widened her eyes, blinking rapidly. To be
fair, the majority of the people in the room were reacting the same way, the
only exceptions being Joanne, Barry, Raphael, and Michael. “You know how he
feels about being ordered around.”
you feel.” Joanne’s face softened ever so slightly, her lips curving upward.
“In case you wondered where you get that particular quirk from.”
on my brother.” Michael kissed her cheek again, tucking her hair behind her ear
and studying her face. Whatever he saw there had him nodding. “Why don’t we all
go in to the other room for a few minutes? Leave the two of you alone?” He
glanced over at Raphael and Gideon, standing silent and watchful with matching
looks of suspicion. “Do you think that will be a problem?”
human, hell, yes—she had multiple seizures leading up to a massive cardiac
episode and she was dead for damn near ten minutes.” Gideon paused, sighing and
shaking his head. “But I’ll admit, I don’t have a goddamn clue what’s happening
here. Even when the Power is generous enough to provide a miracle, She still
tends to make it hurt, just so you don’t mistake her kindness for weakness.”
please.” Joanne’s voice broke and once again the entire room responded,
although this time there was a definite degree of panic. People all but tripped
over themselves in an effort to exit the room, the sole exceptions once again
being Michael, Raphael, and Barry. “Just a few minutes.”
Fine.” Gideon shoved Lucinda toward the flap which apparently served as a door,
nodding rapidly. “If anything happens, yell.”
we’ll be outside.” Olivia scooped up Douglas, ignoring his whines to stay with
Nana. She paused with one hand on the flap, glancing over her shoulder. “Do you
want me to go get the others?”
Joanne shook her head, clearing her throat before continuing. “I need a few
minutes.”
shifted her gaze to Barry. “Are you coming?”
Striding across the room, he nudged his way between me and Joanne, kissing the
top of her head and then mine. “Let me know if you need anything.”
as to who his statement was directed toward and right then it didn’t matter.
Joanne nodded, stretching up and kissing his cheek. “I don’t know why you were
there but thank you.”
was a nod before he followed Olivia out of the room.
next door.” Raphael leaned across the bed, giving Joanne a hard, brief, almost
possessive kiss. Glancing at Michael and lifting his brows, he said, “Call if
you need anything.”
hero, girl.” Michael didn’t kiss her, instead simply pressing his forehead to
hers. “Call.”
She glanced at me, her smile clearly forced. “I promise.”
exchanged another look before leaving the room, the flap dropping shut behind
him. For long minutes, there was only silence. Finally, Joanne sighed and shook
her head.
fuck have you gotten yourself in to?”
Ruin:
Cam strapped the saddle bags he’d somehow managed to stuff all my clothes in to
the little bike—not quite a motorcycle but bigger and less dorky than a
scooter. When I didn’t answer right away, he stepped over to me, grabbing my
face in his hands and squeezing. “Coniglietto. Is it done? Did you take care of
her?”
own ears my voice sounded dull and lifeless. Considering the fact I felt high
as fucking kite, I could only assume it was shock. “I took care of her.”
he meant, not exactly, but I’d taken care of her the best way I knew how.
of horrible things, on purpose and accident, and I had no doubt I would do more
horrible things still. But I’d be damned even more than I already was before I
actually killed my sister.
pressed a quick, hard kiss to my forehead before steering me toward the bike.
“I have little doubt the archangels will be here soon—so we shouldn’t be.”
going?” It didn’t matter. I had, for all intents and purposes, hooked my wagon
to his. If anyone threw doubt on my commitment to the so-called cause, all Cam
would have to do was point out what I’d done to Joanne. Sure, there might be
trouble when it came out she wasn’t actually dead but it could all be explained
away as yet another newbie mistake.
taught us how to not kill people. Not the opposite.
Prague.” He settled himself on the bike, gesturing for me to do the same. He
handed me a helmet, his lips curving upward when I stared at it blankly.
“Safety, little rabbit. And a disguise. It’s safer for us to blend in at the
moment.”
hands felt thick and clumsy as I struggled to strap on the protective headgear
and I cursed under my breath when Cam finally took pity on me and did it
himself. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
little rabbit.” He brushed his lips over mine before flicking the tip of my
nose. “Now, let’s go take over the world, hmm?”
Torment:
longer.”
around, continuing to study the skyline. “I’m fine.”
the morning. You should be asleep.” He didn’t sound angry about the fact I
wasn’t or the fact I was standing outside in late September in sleep pants and
a thin cotton tank. If anything, his scolding sounded as if it was for form and
nothing else. “It’s been a long day for all of us.”
turn around, studying Barry with the same intensity I’d shown the various
buildings of Prague. “Why are you mad at me?”
He pulled a cigar from the pocket of his sleep pants but didn’t light it,
staring at the tip for a moment before sliding it back in his pocket. “I’m
tired, Julie. As I said, it’s been a long day. The next few days—weeks,
rather—promise to be equally long. We all need to sleep, to keep our strength
up for what lies ahead.”
touched me since we got back.” Since he stood in front of my sister and ripped her
heart out and then walked away without a backward glance. “You’ve barely said
anything all night long.”
tired.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a
long sigh. “There’s been quite a bit of upheaval in the last thirty-six hours
or so. Quite a bit. Forgive me if I’m not my usual charming self. You have more
than enough people here to pay you attention if you’re feeling uncared for.”
I meant.” I turned back to the city view, widening my eyes and blinking rapidly
in an effort to keep the tears at bay. I didn’t have a problem with using tears
as a weapon when they were called for but I wouldn’t use them with him, ever.
“You’re right. It’s late. Go to sleep. I’m fine.”
I’m not going to sleep until you do.” I heard the sound of metal scraping over
concrete and glanced over my shoulder to find he’d pulled one of the patio
chairs free of the table. Sitting down and stretching out his legs, he said,
“As long as you’re here, I’m here.”
only frustrate us both, Julie Elizabeth, and we’ve had enough frustration for
the day.” He slid further down in the seat, almost slouching, and crossed his
arms. “As long as you’re here, I’m here.”
out before I even realized it was in my mind and I bit my tongue, already
regretting it. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer that.”
When I didn’t move, he uncrossed his arms and held out one hand. “Please.”
balcony, I took his hand, curling up in his lap and resting my head on his
shoulder. We sat in silence for a few minutes before he cleared his throat. “I
don’t know any other way to say it. I can simply say as long as you’re here,
I’m here. When you want to leave, we’ll leave.”
we go?” Joanne’s face in the instant after Barry verbally sucker punched her,
Asmodeus’s face the second after I shot him, flashed through my mind and I
hunched my shoulders as if the memory carried a physical blow. “There’s no
place left. We burned all those bridges today.”
bridges is they can always be rebuilt and when they are, they’re stronger than
before they burned.” He brushed my hair away from my face, stroking one hand
down my back and pulling me tighter against him. “But since you don’t want to
leave, the discussion is moot.”
right thing.”
done the wrong way is no longer the right thing.”
way to do this differently, we would have taken it.” We’d tried to take it.
We’d tried to meet the others halfway. Nobody—Lilith, Asmodeus, the Power,
Morning Star—wanted to bend.
to break them.
begin today, there is no turning back. You and your supporters will be branded
traitors. There will be bounties on your heads.” He pressed his lips to my
hair, breathing deep. “On all our heads. You’ve never lived through a war.”
question but I answered anyway. “No, I haven’t.”
through more than my fair share, even considering my age. When it’s impossible
to die from manmade weapons, you tend to fight in wars simply to alleviate the
boredom.” He turned, pressing his face in to my hair. “And they’re nothing
compared to supernatural wars. So far you’ve only seen the pretty side of Hell.
There are things which will be unleashed which should never exist out of
nightmares.”
us?”
shook as he stroked my back and I wasn’t sure if he was trying to comfort me or
himself. “Some things can’t be unseen or unfelt. You’ll carry it with you until
the day you die.”
to scare me?”
warn you. Up until now, everything about this war has been theoretical. Until
today, no true shots were fired.” He drew back, his face unnaturally somber,
even for him. “I know you did what you had to do and I don’t fault you for that
decision.”
officially started the war.” I nodded. “I know. I’ll live with it.”
worse.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “They always do.”
get better.” I had to believe that. If I didn’t, then there was a good chance I
was wrecking and ruining lives for no reason at all. I pressed my lips to his,
lightly, for comfort more than anything else. “Things will be better. We’re
going to make them better.”
We didn’t have any other choice.
It was wonderful having you with us today LM Pruitt. Please feel free to stop by anytime. Good Luck with The Damned Series!
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Posted in Authors' Secrets Blog and tagged Damned, LM Pruitt, Paranormal Romance, Ruin, Torment, Wicked by Tena Stetler with comments disabled.
