I’m on time this week! Yay! For some housecleaning bits, I am still looking for reviewers for both Devil’s Dilemma and Devil’s Despair. I got two offers, and I’ll be contacting you this week about what format you want the e-book in. If you’re interested, please let me know and I’ll get you an e-book out.
For today’s WIPpet, I’m going to frame it a bit since I don’t post continuous excerpts like some of the rest of you(I’m evil like that). Amaya has been hurt in a fight and they’ve arrived at Saint Catherine’s, though she is in less than good shape. Contextually, this is actually set before last week’s WIPpet, but, well, I haven’t actually gotten that far since last week and I don’t have much to give you, so I’m forced to look back in the book for something. This is a funny little scene I think you’ll all like. Math is simple today. 17 lines for the 17th.
Amaya dropped her spoon into her bowl, waiting until Harry disappeared before she spoke. “We need to be moving as soon as possible. I don’t give a flying fuck about their rituals. They need to tell us where the damn door is now.”
Deacon nodded slowly. “I thought we’d be leaving as soon as we got here, too. Do you have a plan?” He lifted his eyebrows. “And was the reasonable Amaya you just showed Harry all for show? All the talk about letting the monks do their prayers and rituals and letting yourself heal?”
“I’m fine. I can walk. We can leave today if they’ll spill the beans?”
“Really? You feel up to it?”
She nodded. “Definitely. Absolutely. Without a doubt.”
Deacon sighed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t make me do this.” He reached out and jabbed his index finger into her incision.
Tears sprang into Amaya’s eyes and she bit down onto her tongue, trying desperately not to scream. She pressed her palm to her thigh and rocked back and forth, mumbling under her breath. For a moment, her power surged out of control and a blast rocketed out from her, shattering all the light-bulbs in the cafeteria.
“What the fuck, Deacon?” She glared at him, her eyes flashing with fury.
He looked at her calmly and picked up her bowl of oatmeal, moving it onto his own tray. “I was proving a point. You’re not ready. You won’t be ready for a while. We need to take the time for you to heal before we do whatever it is we need to do. There’s no harm in taking the time. It’s not like we’re on a timeline.”
She waved her arm. “What do you expect us to do here do a week? Or more! Nap? Tan?”
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