by S. W. Clarke
As we waited, Grunt sipped away at his black coffee in silence.
I never got the impression he was in a rush.
“Say, Grunt,” I said after a while. “Remember that night at the Singing Angel, when you convinced Annabelle to visit Dr. Drow?”
Grunt met my eyes, a certain shame flashing in his own. “You were there?”
I sat forward. “Sure I was. You don’t remember me talking to Annabelle in the hallway? That was when you disappeared out the back door.”
He squinted at me. “Oh, that was you. All I remember from that night was some insufferable blonde who wouldn’t close her mouth.”
I snorted. How perception changes things. “And to me, you were the face of evil.”
Grunt’s eyes lowered to his coffee. “What you saw as evil, I saw as necessary. Valdis needed power to protect Ariadne. I had to play my part in giving him that power.”
I raised a hand. “I know the story. You don’t have to explain.”
“But it wasn’t right, Tara,” he cut in. “I lied to that girl. I got her kidnapped.”
I slowly exhaled. “Did you know it wasn’t right?”
“In a distant way,” he said. “But I was able to push it aside to do what needed to be done. You know, it wasn’t a hard thing to do.”
“You’re telling me,” I said. I was tempted to tell him about all the questionable things I’d done since I’d started hunting Scarred, but I suppose it was enough to tell it to myself.
Like him, I’d known what I was doing wasn’t always pristinely right. But I did it anyway, because it was what needed to be done.
That was what lust for revenge did to you. It warped all your senses, conjured demons in the benign and beauties in the commonplace.
Mariana, who had listened to my internal monologue, didn’t speak. But I did feel her empathy warming the tightness in my chest. How strange—the more I let her in, the more I felt like I knew myself.
The door belled, and Frank arrived. When he’d gotten his coffee and sat down at our table, I waited for him to take a sip of his cappuccino.
“It’s no Happy Mug,” I said, half-smirking.
Frank’s eyes crinkled over his cup. “Definitely not.”
I pulled out my phone and FaceTimed Erik on the number he’d given me. When he picked up, his handsome face was streaked with concern. “Tara? What is it?”
“First”—I panned the phone around—“say hello to everyone.”
Greetings were exchanged—Erik’s the most reluctant of all—before I turned the phone back around to face me.
Erik’s worry had shifted to annoyance. “Are you in a coffee shop?”
“That’s right.”
“So there’s nothing wrong.”
I snorted. “Oh, Corporal. There’s everything wrong. But I thought you’d want to be included in my plans to fix things.” I lowered my voice. “Because I know what the bitch is up to.”
That was enough for Erik. I set the phone upright at the corner of the table as I leaned toward Grunt and Frank.
“Look, we’ve got a month and a half. That’s fifty-three days to hunt her down and save our children. The five of us.”
Inside me, I could feel Mariana’s commitment. She and I were joined in our resolve.
“Five?” Frank asked. “There’s only you, me, Grunt and Erik.”
“No.” I tapped my chest. “There’s one more. And I’ll say right now, I’m bloody glad to have her.”
END OF BOOK 3
BOOK 4: A mortal sin stands between me and my dragon. She should never have underestimated a five-foot blond with two whips and a whole lot of chutzpah.
Trampolining With Dragons is now available for preorder on Amazon.
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About the Authors
Author Bios:
S.W. Clarke lives in Houston, Texas with her partner and two identical—unrelated—cats. She writes to inhabit the lives of the smartest, bravest women her brain can conjure.
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Ramy Vance is the creator of the GoneGod World. Currently, Ramy lives in Edinburgh with his wife, demonic baby, monstrous 5-year old and imaginary dog.
Terrified, he pretty much stays in his office and writes.
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