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Viewing: Blog Posts Tagged with: lovers&apos, Most Recent at Top [Help]
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1. Lovers' Spats (Panthan's Abyss)

Today's excerpt is from my young adult paranormal Panthan's Abyss, which is a work in progress still.

*Spoiler Alert* 

If you're waiting for this book's release and don't want to read any possible spoilers then pass by this one, please.

Characters: Laura and Grayson

Past tense told in 3rd person from Laura's point of view for this scene.

 

The mouth let out a moan and she covered it with her palm.  The vessel was in pain.  She could stop pain.  She was supposed to stop pain.  Using her free hand, she wrapped its bare neck, releasing her endorphins to seep through its skin and into its bloodstream. 

No longer hurting, it fell silent.  She wrapped her legs around the waist and sucked in another mouthful.  And another.  It took five deep pulls before the legs gave way.  They tumbled to the dirt and she let out a chuckle.  From now on, she would take all her vessels standing because she’d liked the rush of the fall.  

This one was full of blood and she had been starving.  Her chest rested against its ribs.  Her heartbeat was rapid, the vessel’s faint.  Hot breath oozed across her hand, still covering its mouth.  Soon, though, the breath grew weak as well.  The heart sputtered to a stop, the steady stream of blood on her tongue flagging.  She sucked harder, trying to pull every ounce of the liquid velvet into her.

It was then she was yanked away, some unseen and unknown force snapping her from her kill.  She came up hissing, her claws slicing through empty air.  As she kicked, her feet found something solid so she had at it once more, whatever it was.  A grunt muddled through her foggy hearing.

 “No!” Gray yelled.  “No, you can’t!”

She was shoved against the wall, crumbles of dirt spewing in every direction.  She threw a hand up, ready to slash his face, but midair caught his growl as one of her own diamond blades stabbed the middle of her palm.  Fiery pain zapped across her hand and up her forearm.  She slammed her head back, tasting gritty soil as she let loose a high-pitched scream.

Using her only free hand, she twisted, yanked the dagger loose, and dropped it to the ground.  “My God, you’ll pay for that,” she gritted out between her front teeth.

Grayson snarled in return, ready to lunge, but she never gave him a chance.  With both hands, she attacked, picking him up and tossing him across the passageway.  He crashed into one of the wooden braces, knocking it in half, but took no notice as he rolled from the raining dirt and lunged for her again.

Prepared, she spread her legs for balance and waited.  As he neared, she threw out a punch.  It landed hard and sharp across his cheek.  He stumbled, but righted in seconds, swinging his leg around.  She ducked under the kick.  A stupid move on her part, because the instant she popped up, he clamped both her wrists and shoved her hard into the wall between two braces.  Like lightning, he drove a dagger into each palm, nailing her solidly against the wooden columns.

“No…No!” she cried.  “Don’t you understand?  You’re not real.  None of this is real.  And I am nothing.”  She laughed, twisting in her painful hold.  “Do you know what they used to say?  They used to say you were mutations.  A government experiment gone wrong.  Science.  There was no God in their equation.  No Satan.  And I believed them.  We all did.”

He stood before her, huffing, tears streaking down his filthy face.  “You fed from him.”  He leaned over, resting his opened palm against his thigh.  With his other hand, he pointed at her.  “You fed from him.  Took his lifebl

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2. Lovers' Spats (Pieces of Me)

Jealousy and the fear and pain of loss. Today's excerpt is from my young adult novel Pieces of Me, which is currently undergoing reconstruction.

Characters: Aspen and Jason

Past tense told in first person by Aspen

 

A dozen thoughts buzzed through my brain as I stared at her, beginning with an image of myself smashing one of those heavy vases over her auburn head.  Somewhere in the middle were the words, “He’s mine,” said with an animal like growl.  At the end, she had a bloody nose and a few missing teeth.

 Only problem was he’d ignored my texts all day.  In addition, Terry’s visitation was not the place to deal with these things.  I turned away, going to the guest book set up in the corner.

 Throughout the evening, I tried to catch Jason’s eye.  He refused to look at me.  When I finally built up enough courage to approach him, he replied to my condolences in a monotone consisting of two flat syllables, “Thank you.”

 India smirked at me with her eyes.  Until she did it I would’ve thought the action impossible, but I knew better now.  Besides, wasn’t there such a thing as laughing eyes?

 I was crushed, confused, and in tears by the time Dad and I left.

 Still, I wasn’t going to give up on Jason or my vow to make sure he knew I was there for him.  By eleven-thirty, I’d repeated my performance of the night before and arrived around the corner of Jason’s street.

 I flipped open my phone for the umpteenth time, but he hadn’t replied to me.  Is this where we ended?  Was she in there with him?  Had she convinced him he didn’t need me?  Had he ever even cared about me in the first place?

 With so many questions spinning in my head, I thought I’d go crazy.  My hands shaking, I dragged my hair back from my face, yanking hard at it, as if I could jerk all those insane thoughts right out of my head.

 But they weren’t insane, were they? 

 They had to be.  He couldn’t be telling me it was over.  I didn’t believe him.

 I yanked on my handle and hopped onto the sidewalk.  I shoved at the door, but then caught it with a quiet, “Oh,” as I remembered the time.  I wasn’t supposed to be here.

 I tiptoed down the sidewalk, up his driveway, and to his window.  Once again, I sent him a text.  I stood there, shivering, waiting, my phone open in my hand.

 It vibrated and lit up.

 
Jason: U need 2 go home

Aspen: No.  Let me in.

Jason: not 2nite

Aspen:  Y?

Jason: jus go home.  I’ll talk 2 u tmorow

Aspen: I’ll jus sleep out here then.  I’m not leaving.

Jason: fine.  U do that.

Aspen: I will!

 

I sank to my butt against the brick wall.  A few minutes later, I dug out my gloves and put them on.  I didn’t care what he said or thought.  No, I did.  He needed to remember that we were in this together.

 He also just had to come to the understanding that I was fighting for my fairytale ending here.  I wasn’t going to stand by and watch him fall.

 I pulled my phone from my pocket.

 Aspen: jus so u know, I’m still here.

 He didn’t answer.  I curled up on my side underneath his window.  It was freakin’ cold out.  My nose started running.  I rubbed my glove underneath it.

 It wasn’t below freezing.  I couldn’t die out here.  Besides, I was shaking all over and that was a good sign.

I checked my phone.  Thirty minutes had passed.

 

Aspen: still here

Jason:  I don

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3. Lovers' Spats (The Souls of the Fey)

I guess on the outside people always see something different than the true person who is inside. This is also true of couples. I get asked every once in awhile about arguments between my characters. "How do you write them? You and your husband seem to get along so well."

True, we do get along for the most part, but of course we argue. lol As all writers and artists know, inspiration comes from everywhere. I use past situations of my own or I'll catch an argument out in public and cast my own story with my own characters into the roles. Love scenes are awesome, but when I edit I find myself the most intrigued by the lovers' spats. So I thought I'd use the following week to post some of those on my blog each day, just for the entertainment value. Feel free to play along on your own blog if you'd like. I enjoy reading them!

My first scene is from The Souls of the Fey between my characters Sarah and Asku. The language is a little older than my YA novels and you'll probably find this book has more romance and heat in the scenes than my others. I guess I was just feeling the sharp claws of love when I wrote it. ;-)



He crooked a finger. "Come, let's have it out, and be done with it."

She turned away, but he yanked her around to face him. "You never did give a damn about me, did you?" she asked.

"Stop that."  He shook his head sadly. "Even now, to look at you feels wrong."

"Why? Because I'm not what you want."

"Wanting and needing are different things."

"I know that."

"Do you?" He raised his brow. "Tell me what you want of me and then tell me what you need of me."

She fell silent. Was there a difference in her mind between the two? She wanted him as much as she needed him, didn't she?

"The hate. Let's start there," he said softly.

With a jerk, she pulled from him. He caught every crumb of her emotions. "You take. And when you do, you take everything of me. I have nothing left so I go numb. No, I hate, for I don't want to feel anything. Then I start a fight because I need you to feel something. You've built walls all around you and I thought I could break through them, that I would be the one to pull down the gray, but it's not so. You're only cold and untouchable and not mine."

He took her arm again, squeezed. "I will always be yours. But until you can feel without a shove, I am untouchable. And you can hate me until hell freezes over if it makes you feel something."

"Hell has frozen over," she spat out. "It stands before me, rigid, and I'm the one shattered."

"I am not what you need, Sarah." He shook her arm, making her look at him. "I am not what you need. I will always be a part of that nightmare and when it ends, if I were to stand before you still, husband, lover, you would hate me far worse than you do now. And your hate would grow, a corrupt vine, choking any love I had for you."

He laid his hand gently on her cheek. "We are not meant to be. Not like that."

"Then how are we meant to be? What is there here for us?"

"Friendship," he said. "If I could take back what I did, I would, but only because it was wrong and selfish and very unmanly. I don't want to take it back though, for it was what I wanted. Yet certainly not what either one of us needed. Can you deny that? Can you tell me what passed between us does not link into the shame of that day? I am nothing more to you than the good side of death and violence. A memory you can look upon, for your husband's turns into a nightmare."

He flicked the ruffled lace at her throat. "This black? Who do you mourn for, Sarah? Your husband or yourself?"

&quo

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