|Mini-ornament books from a friend! Adorable!|
You can't keep a good muse down. Nor can you get any mercy.
WARRIOR OF THE AGES
Enjoy the following excerpt.
LIAR, BETH THOUGHT. Despite his bipolar-on-crack behavior, the Zeus-like cop definitely liked her. Granted, he’d thought she was somebody else at first, whoever Clan Huron was. He’d realized his mistake quickly though. Then like a Greek god suffering from a head injury, he’d gone from bad cop to good cop to nutter cop and back to bad in the course of a few minutes. Still. He definitely liked her.
Peeking in her rearview mirror, she watched him stalk back to the cruiser. Boldly adjusting the mirror to get a better look, she bit back a sigh. There was something about him that made her want to like him too, but who could like a whack like that? Starting her car, she kept an eye on the mirror, her hand on the gear when she saw it. A light she’d seen thousands of times in dreams, danced in a brief sparkling column near the back of the police car. She sucked in breath as it vanished. Something tingled through her. Not fear—a thrill. Always, since she’d been a child, she’d known those lights existed. The memory of what they were was elusive, like trying to catch a thought that raced away faster as you reached for it.
The cop pivoted to look at her and their eyes met in the mirror. His were steely, hiding something. They held her gaze a brief second, but that was all Beth needed to see to understand the truth. The Police Chief hoped she hadn’t seen the light. That light meant something had happened, something serious, something he didn’t want her to know about. He wanted her to leave and instinctively she cooperated. Giving him half of what he wanted, she shoved the car into gear and pressed a toe of her favorite lemon colored stiletto pumps against the gas pedal, leaving a spray of gravel in her wake. That cop, however, would quite possibly see her again. She wasn’t going anywhere— Willowyth was right where she belonged. And if that was in his way, that was just too bad for him.
THE OLD GUARD’S second voice seared through Kahtar’s brain. “Honor Monroe critically injured.” Anger and frustration wrestled with disbelief as Kahtar sent a battle cry. Like a wave it moved silently from his mind, echoing towards the consciousness of nearby warriors. It consisted of only one word. Pray. That was where Honor’s only hope lay, in the healing prayers of his fellow warriors. Jumping into his squad car, Kahtar turned it in the opposite direction of the departing Orphan.
Racing over miles of country road, frustration won as his leading emotion. The slow means of transportation the car provided was infuriating, although the speedometer edged into the red zone. Putting miles between the Orphan and Old Guard was mandatory. It would be nothing short of a miracle if Beth White hadn’t noticed the Old Guard shimmering his warning message. For her sake, he hoped she hadn’t.
Scanning the abandoned roadway, and then into the empty sky, Kahtar braked hard. The cruiser’s tires shrieked in protest, leaving a rubber trail the back end spun into the wrong lane. Unpleasant burning smells filled the car as he backed recklessly into the woods, right over weedy shrubs and through bramble, hiding the vehicle out of sight from both road and sky. Turning the key and tossing the door open, he shouted, “Old Guard!” The shimmering column of light appeared again briefly, solidifying into a man that stood considerably taller and broader than Kahtar’s ample mass. His hand grabbed Kahtar’s upper arm, and before the door stopped swinging, both men vanished.
A SHIELDMAIDEN'S VOICE
“Me too,” she said.