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That’s how many times I’ve started and scraped the beginning of this story because Notuzza was an incredibly particular, orderly and dominant character, and I couldn’t quite make him do what I needed him to do. Heck, I had no idea who this male was or what he was doing on the page until Fleur came around and he stated obsessing over her. Then sparks flew and here we are, at the end of their story.
I wish to write more in this world, and hope Commander comes next. To hear what I’m releasing, please visit my website. I have goodies there and my newsletter is infrequent but super fun and you get to see pretty cover designs first.
If you wish to read more in this world, read a sample of Savage in the Touch on the next page.
SAVAGE IN THE TOUCH TEASER
Seven houses hardly even counts as a village, but since our tavern, which also serves as a bed-and-breakfast, is the last stop before the mountain that travelers must scale on their journey to the capital city, Lyan, we get busy.
The inn is strategically located right at the exit to the valley, and we made sure we put up a sign that says:No fluffy bed or pillows for another two moons.Sixty spans is a long time to spend in the forested mountain living in tents. Not to mention, one never knows what kind of criminals lurk in the bushes and what kind of trouble awaits in the mountains.
The road to Lyan is paved with dangers.
Yet that doesn’t stop the refugees passing through our little village. They escaped the horde that’s been plowing through the south of the kingdom. They say the horde devours everything in its path. They say its hunger can’t be tamed.
They say it’s coming.
It’s all a myth. The “horde” is nothing more than a gang of rebels, or at most our southern fae neighbors looking for trouble. And trouble they shall find, since half a moon ago, the king’s army passed through the village on their way south. This means they must already have reached and defeated the horde and are on their way back now.
“Hey, Mag.” I greet my sister as I tap my fingernails on the bar, reminding the drunk in front of me to pay up and call it a night. At thirty-seven, I’ve spent two decades behind this very bar, and I know when the next pint of ale will topple a man. The man isn’t chatty, and the ominous threadbare black cloak he wears obscures most of his face, which gives me an impression he came in to drown his sorrows undisturbed. Here’s to hoping I won’t have to carry his ass up the stairs to the third floor.
Although, if I have to, I will. Third-floor room and board runs at eleven silvers, so a little extra legwork for the guy is included in the price.
“Hey,” my sister says and dumps a large bag of potatoes at my feet. “Here you go.” She wipes her hands on a dirty white apron fastened to our father’s old belt around her waist. Her brown pants will need a wash, as will her white shirt.
I wet a bar towel and wipe dirt from her rosy cheek and neck. “Don’t tell me Mike called in again.”
“It’s past twilight, and I haven’t seen him, so…” She shrugs. “Guess he’s not coming.”
I tuck her golden hair behind her ear and wipe away the dirt over her earlobe. Mag takes after her mother, who might’ve been a fairy because no other creature in all the lands could be this beautiful, with a pixie nose, smooth skin, perfect round eyes with long eyelashes, and shiny hair that never seems to get damaged or dry, not even in the winter winds.
“Rock, paper, scissors?” I ask. I hate peeling potatoes.
“Sure,” Mag says, and we play.
I lose and will have to peel the potatoes early tomorrow.
She winks one pretty green eye. “How did we do for the night?” Mag opens the drawer that holds our coins. A few silvers slide over the wood. Not as many as we need to keep the lights on since the southern rebel problem has cut into our business. Most travelers aren’t on their way to Lyan for vacation or business. Instead, they’re seeking refuge there, and since most of the south is plagued by the same rebellion that’s been going on for over a turn now, the king increased the taxes for the rest of us midlanders and northerners. The tavern and the few rooms we offer upstairs that make up our inn aren’t covering the extra cost.
I rub her shoulder. “The soldiers will return.”
The drunk lifts his head, showing chapped lips in the shadow of his cloak. He snorts. “They did return.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“I’m it.”
Giggling nervously, I hold out my hand. “Pay up and go rest. Breakfast is served early.”
He snorts again. “You and I will be breakfast, and the horde serves itself after dusk.”
Mag rounds the bar and sits next to the man. She yanks back the hood of his cloak, and it falls open to reveal the tattered red uniform of a soldier. A lieutenant, judging by the stars on his pocket.
“What happened?” I ask, a tingle of fear making my heart beat faster.
The soldier downs the pale ale and wipes his mouth with a sleeve, rests one foot on the floor, and wobbles as he stands. “The question is whatwillhappen.”
“What will happen?” I lean over the bar, and my sister leans in too, practically touching him.
