Tuesday Tales 2022-3-15 Picture Skull

Greetings! We are into mid-March already, which means losing an hour of sleep due to DST. We are also graced with a cold spell that followed a day of rain here and tornadoes in a nearby town. Braced in jackets against the cold, my family and I were out and about at 7:30am Sunday morning to buy flowers and garden fixings ahead of the crowd. The front patio is filled with them, to Marigold’s dismay. They will get planted next week. Don’t you like a blooming spring?

It’s time for Tuesday Tales, where authors write weekly excerpts based on word or picture prompts. I hope our excerpts provide some moments of relaxation for you. The picture prompt I chose from our selection this week is a skull on a liquor bar. It immediately made me think of one of my Wytchfae books in progress, Soul Weaver, and so I am delving back into that one. I already have the cover for it, a delicious red purple color, one of my favorites from the box of 64  crayons. When you finish reading my snippet, make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.

Turned aside toward the row of spirits, she felt him reenter the room. There was no mistaking his powerful presence and the taut surges of energy that flickered about his body. She swiveled as if pulled on a string, a fifth of amber Redbreast in hand. Her breath caught in her throat. He had splashed water over his hair and combed it back with his fingers. A wayward lock had already found freedom and lay sprawled across his forehead. His half-closed eyes were still red from the binge following last week’s bloodletting, but they locked onto her with acute sensual interest.

She swallowed and set down the bottle, flattening her palms on the counter to stop herself from moving. Touching him would be heaven—and hell. Her eyes roamed over him as he walked, across his fit upper body and down to the tight jeans that hugged his masculine form. She was used to seeing him leather clad. The casual attire made him look even more dangerous. Goddess help her, he had discarded his boots and was barefoot. Her eyes flew up to his, her tongue moistening lips that had gone dry.

One side of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. Damn it, he knew what he did to her. Swirls of reddish purple billowed in his aura.

She forced out the words. “Feeling better?”

“Your bathroom is pink,” he remarked, ignoring her question.

“So?”

Stopping at the end of the bar, he picked up the skull and examined it. “Old boyfriend?”

She stared at him but didn’t answer,

Panther quick, he moved behind her. She whirled. Not touching, he placed an arm on each side of her and leaned down and whispered. “Is that an old lover of yours?”

I hope you enjoyed the snippet based on the picture prompt, skull. Thanks for stopping by. Check out the other excerpts at Tuesday Tales.

All rights reserved, copyright @ 2022 Flossie Benton Rogers