Dark Fate, is in the making. I'm nearly there with the first draft, only a quarter left to write, but I'm not able to give a definite date at this point. I am a slow writer, I'm afraid. Not through lack of enthusiasm, or dedication - writing is my lifeblood, and keeps my heart ticking - but because I work full time (I'm a night nurse), and because I'm a fusspot. I'm far too pernickety to accept the first words I put on page.
That said, the story is flowing nicely, I know where I'm going, and all I have to do is keep plowing away, and I'll be writing The End before I know it. Then it will need to go through a few rounds of edits, then the beta readers will have their way with it, and then its over to you. I can't wait.
Meanwhile, here's an excerpt to wet your appetite and keep you going.
(Another excerpt is now available on a private page. Join my Facebook group for the password.)
I grip the sink edge, knuckles white, and glare at the contents of the glass vial lying between the taps—the color of a red velvet rose or a fine bottled wine. The viscous liquid looks so innocuous. Innocent. A random sample of blood.
There’s nothing innocent about this vial’s contents.
Every time I see it, the need to taste clenches my throat. And if I take the vial from my pocket to feel the cool glass in my hand, a clamoring monster of desire rips through me like a fire.
Not this time.
I swipe up the tube, tug out the cork, and tip the vial to pour the blood down the drain. My iron manacles and chain clank against the ceramic bowl, the sound echoing off the walls of the small bathroom. The heady smell of cocoa and figs hits my nostrils. My hand falters. God, that scent.
An urge to inhale the smell deeper rises. To press the glass into my lip and lick the rim.
Alexei. That devious bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing when he left me with this. His blood tugs at me like a half-remembered song that begs to be completed. Like a broken tooth my tongue won’t leave alone.
I could wash all temptation away. Watch clean water turn burgundy as the vile substance slides into the drain.
I’ve faced this trial each day for ten days, and the result never changes.
I’ve tried to show the vial to Flanagan, tried to hand it over so he can smash the glass and destroy the contents. Somehow it stays in my pocket, hiding between us. A dirty secret.
Somehow, I can never quite say the words.