Following the release of my contemporary romance novel, Slow Dancing, last April, it’s been a bit of an uphill climb finishing Midnight’s Flight, (The Cynn Cruors Bloodline Series, Book 8). So here is an excerpt for you from the book which will be out in October 2018. Happy Reading!
The warriors turned the moment the nerve centre’s glass doors slid open. Graeme took a look at Luke’s plate and his mouth widened to show even teeth.
“Eirene allowed you to swipe the bacon willingly?” Graeme whistled. “If only I was that lucky.”
“You could be if you kept your hands off it in the first place and waited for her to offer it to you.” Blake deadpanned but laughter lurked in his stare.
Graeme snorted. “You’re just as bad as I am, Strachan.”
Blake lifted a shoulder. “I’m the prodigal son. She cuts me some slack.”
“I’ll concede that round.” Graeme shook his head with a rueful smirk.
“Let’s begin.” Roarke broke their ribbing. He sipped his whiskey infused coffee.
Finn approached Luke offering to lace his coffee with the living water that sharpened their minds. Luke raised his mug gratefully accepting the libation. While he wasn’t looking, Zac took a rasher from his plate.
“Hey!” Luke pushed him.
“Call it a welcome to the brotherhood token,” Zac grinned unfazed while he slowly chewed showing Luke how much he savoured the rasher with the requisite hhhmmmm.
“I see yer all in good spirits.”
“Not exactly, sire,” Luke replied, a sly glance at the medic and sage. “Zac’s just messing with my breakfast.”
“Och the welcome to the brotherhood ritual.” The Hamilton nodded his face breaking into a smile. “Tho that’s no something done in all faestens. Just in Manchester.”
“Why is that?” The minute Luke glanced at the screen, Graeme tried to swipe a strip. Luke growled low and menacing. There were a few snickers..
“It started with Eirene. Bacon now is part of your Faesten’s lore.” The Hamilton cracked a rare smile. “You’ll get more ‘o that, Luke. One down four to go.”
Luke groaned before snatching his plate and keeping it close to his chest. The warriors laughed in good humour.
But Luke remembered another life right after he had been able to escape his watery grave. Dragging himself out of the Boston River, he hid in the shadows of the nearby forests hell bent on returning to his childhood home. He kept to the paths still unused by many patriots but well known and used by Algonquin scouts. The lessons he learned from his adoptive mother’s people had come in handy. His father had taught him how to gather food from the wild but having fought his way out of his water logged coffin, his mouth watered and his stomach growled at the smell of meat roasting on spits. Using his speed and gift of moving through space, Luke had cut a chunk and escaped to the woods before anyone noticed. Taking his fill, he used his gift once more to return to the hut where he had lived the early years of his life. There, he ate what he stole, the meat held close to his chest. His stomach was finally full, but his heart was completely empty. Because the hut was completely deserted, the windows gapping teeth on a face pock marked by time and the elements and Ezekiel was no more, dying of a broken heart after Luke had been branded a traitor to the patriots.
There was nothing left to tie him to Boston.
Fast forward three centuries and Luke still had to fight for his food. He was sorely tempted to spit on his plate to stop the greedy fingers.
Zac made another attempt to swipe from the slowly dwindling amount of bacon on Luke’s plate.
That’s it. No one really messed with is food and got away with it.
Zac’s fingers recoiled in shock.
Luke grinned, challenging the rest of the warriors’ incredulous looks.
“Not. My. Food.” His voice was deceptively calm but edgy.
“Are we done with putting our scent or spit on our territory?” The Hamilton’s voice boomed but there was no mistake that he was enjoying what he was seeing.
“I beg your leave, sire.” Finn requested and turned away. Moment later he faced the plasma once more. “Eirene is making a shield load of bacon and waffles to bring here.”
“Your mate’s a saviour,” Zac said in appreciation and gratitude.
“And my angel.” Finn acknowledged before crossing his arms over his chest and leaned against the mantle.
“Right,” The Hamilton began. “Ye all ken why you’re here.”
Finn looked away. “Still doesn’t sit well, sire.”
“When D’Argyl died, we all assumed that we’d see the end of the war or at least close to it.” The Hamilton began as though Finn hadn’t spoken.
The bacon was having a difficult time sliding down Luke’s throat. He could practically see himself gulp like a looney tune.
“Granted it wouldna be overnight but the elation most Cynn Cruors have because of Herod’s death strengthens the possibility of the war ending soon.” The Hamilton paused. “Blake are ye okay wi’ this?”
They all looked at the youngest Cynn Cruor who sat on one of the ergonomic chairs by the Faesten’s newly upgraded computer system where a huge computer table replaced the bank of computers.
“I’m good, sire.” Blake’s smile was short. “Dinnae worry about me.”
The Hamilton grunted and ingested a lungful of air. “When Dac stayed wi’ Herod they had a visitor. This visitor informed Dac the real reason for securing Specus Argentum in La Nahuaterique. The visitor also told Valerian that Zac had developed the serum to make all Cynn Cruors immune to any silver’s effect. The visitor was a Cynn Cruor.”
Copyright 2018 © Isobelle Cate
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