Thanks to the inspiration of Tuesday Tales and Secret Cravings Publishing, today I start a new novella based on supporting characters in Lord of Fire. Although I haven’t named it yet, the story is a prequel to the appearance of these characters in Lord of Fire. The above picture is our prompt for this week. Please visit the other fabulous authors at Tuesday Tales.
Lucien Silver opened one bleary eye to see what the hell all the commotion was about. Bird caws pierced the air, making it sound like Mother Nature was on some kind of drunken rampage. He blinked and pressed a hand to his throbbing forehead. Oh, hell no, it was him with the monster hangover. Bright sunlight shafted through a crack in the clapboard wall, piercing him with its overdone joviality. It took him a moment to remember where he was. Some kind of deserted boathouse at the edge of the lake where he’d taken refuge last night. He’d grabbed a bottle and lit out from the hotel to escape his leech of a manager and a few dozen rabid fans and had ended up here. The mostly empty bottle reclined on the dirt floor beside his chair. Disgusted, he gave it a kick that sent it spinning.
He looked at his watch. Two o’clock. Christ, he’d missed the press conference. Bradford would kill him.
Groaning, he lurched unsteadily to his feet, holding onto the broad arms of the dilapidated wooden slat chair. Swaying a little, he used the grey wall boards to make his way outside. The huge door creaked open, its hinges unoiled for how long? Had to be at least a decade or two. The view might have been serene and soothing at some other time. Right now the oak trees shading the building were too green, the lake too blue. The heavens were too blindingly bright for the likes of him this morning. He should have closeted himself in his hotel room last night, drawn the heavy drapes tight against the outside world and prayed for haven, instead of coming out here. Instead of running away.
With a shaking hand, he brushed his long unruly hair from his eyes. He’d really screwed up this time. Damn it all to hell.
A plaintive sound captured his attention. Frowning, he looked down. An enormous white puffball sashayed around his ankles, bare above the buttery leather of his Italian loafers. The creature purred loudly and curled around his legs like Lucien was a long lost favorite chew toy.
He grimaced, shaking his leg to deter the affectionate feline. “Shoo, cat.”
The cat ceased its revolutions to peer up at him with disapproving gemstone eyes. “Meoooow.”
The demanding cry should have annoyed him further. Instead, he grinned and shook his head, amused at the opinionated Persian at his feet. “What do you want, cat?”
The cat shoved its not insubstantial weight against his leg and twirled, again stopping to favor him with a periwinkle gaze. “Meooow.”
Lucien furrowed his brow. Reaching down, he captured the snowy bundle, lifting it into his arms. The quicksilver feline was on the move. Black tipped pads burrowed into his chest, soft fur tickled his nose, and a sandpaper tongue flicked delicate laps against his Adam’s apple. The cat smelled sweet, like orange blossoms and pears. Top notes. Below that was another scent that made him think of Chanel No. 5.
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Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Paranormal Fantasy Romance