Now that edits are almost completely done, I want to share an excerpt from this latest book. With previous excerpts I used the opening sequences, but with this book I decided to change things since the first paragraph of Marked contains a few spoilers. So, this bit here is not from the opening chapter, but from later in the book when Kyreen has been in the desert for a while. I hope you enjoy reading it!
All of this Kyreen took in as she made her approach to the watering hole, struggling to maintain her walk when she truly wished to run up to the water and dunk her head. Instead she entertained the idea of taking a respite here, camping overnight by the water to give herself a night of rest.
Such thoughts evaporated as soon as she crossed into the clearing. The very bottom edge of the sun, glowing red-orange, had just dipped down to kiss the western horizon and a slight breeze ruffled through the trees. Kyreen paused just inside the perimeter of the watering hole suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of great unease. Something cold brushed against her face, pushing away the cloth. Tendrils of cold tugged at the turban, grabbing hold of one dangling end as though to unwind the cloth. More coolness brushed against her arms then her body, lightly at first up her back, across her abdomen, then against a breast, which made the breeze pause, but only for a heartbeat.
Then Kyreen felt the distinct impression of a hand grasping at her breast, squeezing tentatively then increasing pressure until she hissed in pain through her teeth. Something knocked against her shoulder spinning her around. Now the unseen entity pulled at the cloth wrapped around Kyreen’s head, loosening the turban until she stood bareheaded in the dying light, her mane of curls flowing about her face.
Kyreen drew her sword, holding it at the ready, knees bent, eyes wary, as she slowly turned to observe the clearing around her. When she had made a complete circle and once again faced the water, the shape of a man appeared across the little pond, fuzzy in black shadows at first, then the form solidified. A hulking figure of a man stood in twilight, his facial features coarse, his skin an unlikely gray, his hair shaggy and as black as the eyes which regarded the woman with malevolence. The clothes upon his bulky form hung in tatters but enough remained to reveal their fashion to be more than a hundred years out of style.
“A woman?” the man asked, speaking with a heavy accent Kyreen could not place, his voice higher pitched than one would expect from a man his size. “I have not felt the skin of a woman for nigh on a century and change. I shall enjoy you immensely, poppet.”
If that piqued your interest, then you may want to pre-order your e-book copy of Marked on Amazon.
Also, as I clean up and tweak this newest book, I find myself wondering if I will ever read one of my books and be completely satisfied. Will I always find a missing apostrophe or grammatical mistake? Will I always think of a better word or turn of phrase? Then I wonder do artists look at a drawing or painting and think, “I should have put a blotch of yellow right there,” and do musicians worry about a specific note or melody in their songs? It is easy for me to do this with the written word, but I would love to hear from artists of other mediums.