In the town of Kilmeaden in Ireland, just west of Galway, on a rainy October night, little Bobby O’Connor was lying fast asleep in his warm bed. His mother, Bridie, whet up to check on him. She stood in the doorway, watching his breathing, his peaceful sleep. She reflected on the quite contentment of his life, just herself and her little boy.
She went downstairs and picked up her sewing, listening to the rain hammering against the windows.
Then another sound….
Sage Harris stood with three hundred angry females in the backyard of her Alpha’s property waiting for him to acknowledge that they were all there. Every female who stood with her were half-blood shifters ranging in age from three months to forty years.
Sage appreciated, as did all the half-blood females, the blood of their fathers that flowed through their bodies retarded the aging process. There was not an adult female around her that looked her actual age, they all looked years younger than they really were. For that there was not a female present who was not grateful for having shifter blood running……
If I were deranged, I could walk into the bedroom, grab one of the dozen guns he collected, and shoot him in the back of the head. All the odds were in my favour. At such close range, I would hit no matter how bad of a marksman I was. I’d planned every detail of my escape, but now that it was time, I almost couldn’t go through with it. I found myself standing in our bedroom with the gun case open, wondering how difficult it would be to pull the trigger.
The gun felt heavy in my hand, but not………..
I shut the door to my truck and took a deep breath, unable to suppress a grin. I’m home.
Palm Beach High lay stretched out before me, a collection of gray buildings with the occasional panther drawing, prom poster or plaque on the outer walls. It was a lowly community high school to some, but the best place in the world to me.
I passed a group of girls while walking across the student parking lot. A cute blond among the brood stopped mid-sentence when she caught sight of me. She forged a path between her friends, tousled her hair, and smiled.
I didn’t know her from Eve, but I smiled back all the same. “Hey.”
She twisted around to giggle with her friends. I smirked and continued on my way.
I paused in the middle of the hallway and…..
The downfall of America’s power couple made headlines. Splashed across the cover of every magazine and openly debated on all of the major talk shows was the story of their whirlwind romance and explosive breakup. Had he cheated on her? Had her ambition and success outshone his and caused a rift in their marriage? If the likes of Camille Henderson and Quinten Duran could not survive then how likely was it for the average Joe? They were meant to be together. At least that was the way that they had always been so neatly packaged.
It was hot outside the wagon, the sun shining too brightly for his sensitive eyes, so Morminiu decided he’d rather spend the day inside, in the restful shade beneath the wagon’s awning. He sat on a chest, listening to Yd, the apprentice cartographer, a well-educated phril who was eager to tell stories of his adventures and show off his knowledge. And, being a member of the legendary Edge of the World Brotherhood, the world’s most appreciated scholars, he had enough stories to fill entire tomes. Right now he was showing his guest the caravan’s route to the world’s end on the map.
The atmosphere in Ginty’s was nearly as dark as Dusty Williams’ mood. Hunched over the scotch in front of him, he peered at his hazy reflection in the shiny wood counter. In the midst of wondering if he had time to change jobs before tomorrow, he gave the trendy bar the onceover. A first-timer to the place, Dusty had come here tonight for a self-pity drink or two. Wouldn’t do to be hungover—in addition to the problems caused by his already abrasive personality—for tomorrow’s presentation. He’d zeroed in on Ginty’s tonight like a long-sought destination, bypassing others more familiar to him. Maybe he’d wanted the anonymity more than he realized.
Dusty longed to…….
Weak raindrops were pouring down her leather jacket. It was raining every day lately, and she missed the warmth of Italian sun. Yet Punk couldn’t leave London just like that. It wasn’t just some place for her. She considered London to be a he. A breathing creature with his virtues, weaknesses and vices. His violent dynamism was intoxicating. It would bring her joyful moments of light mixed with deep secrets of a black soul. At first, his huge size and activity caused her dizziness and it took her a while to……
Richmond Park was busy with joggers pounding their way towards Sawyers Hill. They passed women who pushed their buggies chatting about their busy days which invariably centered on their children. Everyone was wrapped up in their own little world on this cold October morning.
An old oak tree surrendered its final leaf to the breeze. It tossed and turned as it fell downwards; landing on the book belonging to a slim grey – haired man sitting alone in Poets corner. He muttered as he brushed it away with a flick of his hand, and then checked his watch, 11.45am.
A thin red ribbon was placed along the book of Psalms before he pushed it into his jacket pocket. The sunshine had been weak behind the grey clouds all morning but now random patches of blue sky allowed its rays to bathe the man. It was at that moment he held out his hands, palms facing upwards, closed his eyes and whispered a short prayer. All his thoughts centered on the impending event he had spent years planning. The bile rose in his throat as he remembered the injustices he had to endure these past decades.
Jane Hawke woke in a cool dark and for a moment could not remember where she had gone to sleep, only that as always she was in a queen- or king-size bed and that her pistol lay under her pillow on which the head of a companion would have rested had she not been traveling alone. Diesel growl and friction drone of eighteen tires on asphalt reminded her that she was in a motel, near the interstate, and it was… Monday.
With a soft-green numerical glow, the bedside clock reported the bad but not uncommon news that it was 4:15 in the morning, too early for her to have gotten eight hours of sack time, too late to imagine that she might fall back to sleep.
She lay for a while, thinking about what had been lost. She promised herself to……..