Welcome to Mid Week Tease, where my author friends and I post a little something from a WIP, flash fiction piece or from some of our published work for you, the readers. As always, a HUGE thanks to fellow author Sandra Bunino for creating this weekly event.
Good news. I have completed my story Rise of the Lost Prince. Genre: M/F Romance, Fairy Tale, Paranormal, Fantasy, Action/Adventure, with Gothic Elements. And to no surprise, my characters have so much more to say and do, so this will end up being a series called, Lost Boys.
Rise of the Lost Prince has been submitted for publication consideration. *Bites nails* Now, the wait begins for (fingers crossed) hopefully an acceptance.
Only mad-men would fight to protect those who would never welcome them fully into the human world they had the misfortune of being a part of….
Petúr always knew he and his brothers-in-arms were different. Something more. Something not human. Yet, he never expected to find out the truth of their origins, nor fall for a human woman whose father was set to destroy Neverland.
Ever since she was a child, Wyndi dreamed of an angel with eyes of the purest gold, although she never really believed such a man existed until she met the hauntingly beautiful Petúr of the lost boys.
With a prophecy to fulfill, a woman to protect, a portal to find, and evil darklings out for blood, will Petúr be strong enough to rise up and claim what’s rightfully his, or lose everything to a long-time nemesis, Grapple the Dark?
Excerpt featuring the spunky Bell:
Bell watched the body-glittered, life’s-a-party gals take turns on the lap of the life-sized Jolly Roger statute. One girl kissed his painted cheek while rubbing the top of his pirate hat. Another, vigorously grabbed his lifeless resin crotch. Things only proceeded to get raunchier when the cell phones came out to take pictures of the, look-at-us-while-we-molest-the-statue event, so she went to her happy place. The place she allowed her mind to go when she wanted to block out the sights and sounds of the noisy world around her. Nothing bad could touch her there. In that world, it was too beautiful for the harsh ugliness surrounding her to take hold. In that world, she could unfurl her wings without fear and fly.
Floating through the forest among the huge moss-covered trees exploding up from the lush fern-carpeted ground, Bell glanced up at their branches stretching and reaching for the sky where they almost touched the puffy clouds. Slivers of sunlight fell through that heavy overhead canopy, hit the flora in shimmering pin-pricks of light, and caused the dew on the green leafy vegetation to twinkle like diamonds.
Drifting on the breeze, she passed a small speckled fawn. The young deer was headed toward the burbling sound of the peaceful brook which curved around an ancient boulder. The craggy rock had been claimed by nature ages ago, but sprigs of blue and gold wildflowers had somehow found a home nestled within the fissures time forgot.
“One mooore, Babycakes,” Cromwell Darlingheart said in a slur as he slid his empty shot glass across the black slate bar.
She was wrong. At least one thing was ugly enough to penetrate the serenity of the woodland home she’d unwillingly left behind.
Blinking, Bell extended her arm and caught the glass. She rolled her big jewel-green eyes, totally irritated.
“I think you’ve had enough. And if I hear, ‘Babycakes’ one more time, I’m going to call your daughter and tell her where you are,” she said, not bothering to hold her tongue.
Music from the jukebox started. A harsh ding followed by the cook shouting out, “Order’s up,” and the raucous sounds of men playing darts in the far corner swirled around her. She missed the peaceful sounds of nature.
“No?” She lifted one thin blonde brow. “Try me.”
“I’m not wo-worried, Baby—”
If she wasn’t in such a public place she could glamour him, or as her beloved sister would’ve said, “Put the fairy whammy on him.” However….
Bell grabbed her pink cell phone from the pocket of the apron she wore tied around her slender hips and brandished it. As she suspected, Cromwell shut-up mid-sentence. The threat of his daughter giving him a verbal thrashing for drinking himself into yet another stupor would do the trick. But still, even if she worked for his daughter, Cromwell was ultimately the Big Kahuna. Not only was he the owner of Darlingheart Inc., but also the owner of Jolly Rogers Bar & Grill.
Cromwell burped; loud and long.
Yeah, she thought with a brow crinkling scowl. Sometimes smiling prettily and being pleasant was a hard thing to accomplish. With a sigh, she smoothed out her features. Hard or not, she needed to be somewhat careful if she wanted to keep her shitty bartending job because she had to pay her rent. Even so, Bell straightened her spine. She wasn’t in the mood to placate him as she usually did.
Cromwell frowned, rested his pricy suit-covered shoulder against the huge fish tank which made up the entire living wall beside him, then hiccupped. A second or two ticked by and she practically saw the wheels turning inside his head before he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and draped his arm around the shoulders of the muscled man seated next to him on his left.
“Well…Jessup. I suppose it’s time to make like a banana and spl-split.” He broke out into an obnoxious chortle.
Jessup glared at Bell, electric blue eyes sizzling. For a human, he was sort of yummy.
“Thanks” he said.
Without removing her gaze from Jess, she placed the dirty shot glass into the container beneath the bar and nodded at Cromwell’s hired body guard. “Any time.”
The burly guy shook his head, and helped his well lubricated boss up from the barstool.
“Bell,” Sven called. She turned her attention to the slender man dressed in a flouncy pirate shirt and long dishwater-blond dreadlocks. “I need five Appletinis for table six.”
Bell glanced over at the table in question to see five, skimpily dressed, females. The same females who were putting on a show with the statuary earlier. All sparkly and giggling, they admired their fake, over-the-top costume jewelry now. All of them were draped in the stuff. Huge rings, dangling bracelets in every color of the rainbow, beaded necklaces, and one even wore a bedazzled plastic crown.
“Did you card them?” she asked.
He nodded. “They’re twenty-one, just barely, but legal. They came to celebrate with the blonde who’s wearing the shiny silver dress and the princess tiara.”
Sven was being far too kind when he described the blonde’s clothing. Oh, it was shiny, and silver, although Bell didn’t believe what the blonde wore actually qualified as a dress. More like a sequined Band-Aid. In fact, if the girl giggled any harder, the bountiful, bouncing cleavage she was obviously so proud of was going to give way, and the bobbsey-twins were going to pop into full view.
Fairy godmother help her. Later, she’d need to scrub her eyeballs clean. Bell quickly looked away. The last thing she’d wanted to see was the color of birthday girl’s barely there panties. Didn’t the tiara-topped princess know how to close her legs when she sat?
“Celebrate what?” Being a skank? Bell bit her bottom lip; glad she only thought the last part of her question. How some females chose to portray themselves didn’t really matter to her.
“Her twenty-first birthday,” Sven answered.
“Ah.” She would never understand why humans actually wanted to celebrate the fact they were getting old, but whatever. She arranged five martini glasses in a straight line. “I’ll be a minute on the drinks.” Bell turned and stretched up on the toes of her pink and black lace-up platforms to snag a bottle of Vodka from the neon-lit liquor display behind her, then twirled gracefully with the bottle in hand in time to see the local frat-boy pack come wandering in.
The self appointed leader of the group, Blain…Blain…what was his last name? No matter. Blain something-or-other would eventually work his way over to the bar, flirt and do so horrifically, and then attempt to regale her with NOT jokes.
Crap on a cracker.
He smiled at her—all teeth. Could the night get much worse? Then she figured the night sure could, and so would, when part of the testosterone frat-pack broke off and gravitated toward the table of over-the-top glitter-gals, leaving Blain something-or-other—whom clearly, and to her great dismay—was headed in her direction.
FOR MORE MIDWEEK TEASE: