Hey there! Late last week I did a poll to ask you what I should work on for NaNoWriMo.
To be honest, I had planned on starting the second book of a paranormal romance/urban fantasy trilogy, but I had begun to ask myself things like, “Would anyone but me get into this trilogy concept?” (Arguably a better question to ask before beginning book one… ) So I put it on the poll with other story ideas that I’ve played around with a little. I actually liked all the ideas, so I was up for whatever.
But hey, the trilogy idea won! (Just barely — the idea I wrote about 100 pages on last summer came in second, so I’ll probably finish that project at some point, too. 🙂 )
So I’ve just started writing book 2, and I’m going to share an excerpt. I hope you’ll share a paragraph to a page of whatever you’re writing lately in the comments!
A miracle. My heart battered like a bird in its cage of ribs. I ran to the bed, threw my arms around Cristofer, and held him close.
I usually maintained a little distance from Cris. As an adolescent, I had suffered a secret, agonizing crush on him, while he dated and bedded every girl besides me.
For most of this time, I was not yet seventeen, the age of consent in Manus Sancti. If he had been within a year of my age, it would have been legal, but he was four years older. Being with me would have been a capital crime, even if he had wanted to—which he hadn’t, ever. As an empath, I would have known.
My unrequited attraction had never completely burned out. Though I hugged Nic all the time, I rarely touched Cris.
But he was still my good friend, and when we thought he was lost to us, it had devastated me. I squeezed harder, willing him to remain solid and real, as tears stung my eyes. “Cris.”
He hesitated before hugging me back, his arms strong and wonderful around me. His bemusement only increased, along with a spike of—what?
Lust. He said in a warm, amused tone, “Hello.”
He used this tone with attractive strangers. We didn’t speak to each other this way.
I pulled back to look at his face. An arrogant half-smile played on his lips.
My robe had fallen open, revealing my skimpy nightgown and ample curves beneath. Ordinarily, this wouldn’t trouble me or anyone else in the room. Life at El Dédalo did not foster modesty. But Cris’s gaze traveled over my breasts, and my skin flushed hot in response.
I turned to Nic. “He doesn’t know me.” It came out like an accusation.
“Ah yeah, forgot to mention that. He doesn’t know anyone. Not even himself.”
As he spoke, Dr. Morales entered the room. “So far I have no idea why.”
Cris’s half-smirk and a shrug would have fooled anyone else. He concealed the unease of someone in a dream who stands onstage, but doesn’t know any of his lines, or even what part he is meant to play.
Okay, your turn! Remember, this is “WIP Wednesday,” not “Finished and Polished Excerpt Wednesday” (which doesn’t have nearly as good of a ring to it), so it’s okay if it’s rough!