Happy Wednesday! Because I am nearly finished with the first edits of Emergence (meaning, Betas, gird thy loins!) I decided to share the first 38 sentences. That’s WIPpet math — 7 for July + 31 for the thirty-first = 38. I had toyed with 31 lines of Chapter 7, seven lines of Chapter 31, but neither suited me. Here then, until my Betas see fit to slice it into bloody chunks, is what passes for the beginning of the second book in The Darkness & Light series.
He had a name. If he searched the recesses of his memory he could recall it.
At the moment, however, a name possessed far less importance than the enormity of breathing. The crone lay nearby, less alive than he, and yet her presence twisted like a knife in the back of his skull. It surprised him she still lived. The brunt of the attack had been centered on her. He had suffered only the magical backlash — and the physical damage of being trapped under shattered stone and wood.
He rolled his head on the pillow and peered through his lashes to locate the source of the hushed voices that had woken him. He recognized the guttural snorts and cackling of one. The crone’s pet, it seemed, had survived the ordeal as well. Pity, that. He hoped it had not been instrumental in saving him. To be in any way indebted to a creature of dubious genetics and minimal intelligence would be unthinkable.
The other voice belonged to a woman, but in the dim light and silhouetted against the fire he could make out none of her features. She straightened as though feeling his gaze. Her eyes glittered when they turned his way. “Lord Donovan, you’re awake.”
She moved to where he laid and knelt beside him. Her hand brushed his forehead and the unmistakable tingle of dark magic flowed from her touch. Donovan closed his eyes as it coursed through him.
“Grumlin, fetch the draught,” she said.
She slipped her arm under Donovan’s shoulders, and lifted him easily to place a cup to his lips. He drank out of reflex and gagged on the warm, sour liquid. She forced him to choke down a few more pained swallows before lowering him back to the pillows, then wiped his chin with a warm cloth as though he were no more than a babe. He curled a lip at the attention, but did not have the energy to object. The scent of lavender and herbs tickled his nose as she drew the cloth across his chest. Coupled with whatever had been in the draught, it served to relieve numerous pains.
He licked his lips. Forming words took time, actually speaking them took immense effort. “How . . . long . . . have I been here?”
The woman made a face. “The better part of six days.” A strange accent gave the simple sentence a musical quality. “How long you laid within the runes, I think was perhaps half that.”
“Who are you?” His voice, in stark contrast to hers, bore an annoying similarity to the crone’s pet.
“I am known here as Teeva.”
As a bonus, this is Teeva’s theme song. As soon as I heard it I pictured her.
Now, go out there and WIP it up. I mean it. And remember . . .