Tips on Becoming A Stronger Writer by George Bernstein

Tips on Becoming A Stronger Writer 

by George Bernstein

So, you’ve written your masterpiece, edited it, refined it, and maybe even attended a writers’ conference or two. You’re fired up over transforming your work into the gem you know it should be. Here are a few things I’ve learned to make your novel stand out as professional …things I believe has made my novels,  A 3^RD TIME TO DIE and TRAPPED, so hard for readers to put down.

One of the first things I do is go back and shorten chapters. Three to five pages each, sometime even less. Yes, occasionally one may need to be a bit longer, but most can be cut into several “pieces.” I took many chapters from both novels and made three or four shorter ones out of them. Start a new chapter (instead of a double line break) every time you change a point of view. I have several of little more than one page.

Look at James Patterson (not necessarily his “co-authors”). You’ll see chapter breaks at any small pause in the action, even during the same scene. This makes the story more immediate, and keeps the pages turning. Readers want to keep going, just to see how things pan out. Believe me, it works.

Similarly, keeping your paragraphs brief… seldom more than 3 sentences…  keeps white spaces on the page, making everything easier to read. I’ve seen many novels… sometimes even by “top” authors… where a long paragraph just begs to be broken into smaller pieces. Nothing is more daunting than looking at a paragraph that’s a half-page long.

And anything you want to stand out… to make important… should be on its own line. As an example, turn, “How can he do that? Damn!” into:

“How can he do that?

“Damn!”

Keep dialog brief and punchy. In real life, people ramble and make many verbal pauses, but that’s a no-no in a novel. Don’t hesitate to use contractions, as we all do in every day speech. Where it used to be considered wrong to use, “don’t” instead of  “do not,” it’s now not only acceptable…it’s preferred.

Don’t overdo accents that are tough on the reader to follow. In A 3^rd Time to Die, my 17^th and 19^th Century characters speak in the colloquial usage of their times, to help set the scenes, but writing in badly corrupted speech and/or accents is a bad idea. It can bog down the action and take readers out of the story.

You want your audience to know who is talking without adding a “Tag,” by use pacing, and maybe colloquial words, like “y’all,” and “Miz Maren,” as my character Kevin does in Trapped. Or use background preferences, as my character, Phil, does with sports. He’s “the quarterback” and Rhonda is the “new team manager.” It works, making speech attributions plain without tags.

And speaking of tags, when you do need one for clarity, stick as much as possible with “he said; she said.” Groaning, muttering, cursing, etc. get pretty quickly overdone. Let you reader know the speaker was “groaning” by how it was said, not by describing it. Several professional editors and reviewers complimented my limited use of tags.

Direct inner thought is usually done in italics, compared to described thoughts, that are in regular fonts. i.e.;

What the Hell’s going on? (1^st person thought). How can he treat Kevin like that? (3^rd person description)

Next, challenge yourself on dialog. This is where many writers fail, sounding stiff and unnatural. A popular technique is to read it out loud to someone else. You may suddenly see how stilted it might sound.

Then, in your final edit, aggressively seek out static words, changing them into more descriptive action words. He “shambled across the room,” rather than “walked.” She “studied his face” rather than “looked.” He “darted out the door,” rather than “ran.” He “settled into the chair,” rather than “sat.”

Finally, cull out extra words, and try not to repeat a descriptive word in the next sentence.

All little things that may help differentiate you from the pack. Offer your readers that Lexus, instead of the Volkswagen.

Good luck.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre - Romantic Suspense 

Rating – PG13

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 Connect with George Bernstein on Facebook & Twitter

Portals to the Vision Serpent - Carla Woody

— Chapter Four —

AT NIGHT BEFORE he went to bed, Preston had marked the moon’s cycles and felt an undercurrent of expectancy, barely contained. Mama Luna had kept a nightly vigil in the garden as well, and the loom continued to rest. The two of them shared an unspoken pact as though they were waiting for something to break. Preston wondered if Sybilla had detected the strain of excitement galvanizing the household because, instead of rushing off on far-flung assignments, she stayed home. Periodically, Preston noticed her contemplating him with a fine eye. Other times, she scrutinized Mama Luna going about her daily activities, perhaps trying to tease out something in her actions. For the first time ever, instead of longing intensely for his mother to be there with him, Preston had wished her gone for a while.

Finally, she did go. The assignment to Norway came suddenly, probably too good to turn down. She threw some clothes in a suitcase and left, after giving him a perfunctory kiss on the head and some short instructions to Mama Luna. The moon was waxing. In two nights’ time it would be full.

That will be when time is best, he thought to himself. For some reason, he chose to remain silent about this secret thing. Even though he had no clue what the “best time” was about, he knew it was well revealed to both Mama and Smoky but equally unspoken.

If you speak about some things, they lose their power. Smoky gave him this advice some time ago.

“Why, Smoky?” He hadn’t quite been able to figure out that one.

It’s natural to want to share with your friends. But sometimes people don’t understand some things, particularly things they can’t see with their eyes. Or things that don’t make sense to them. It scares them and they don’t like to be afraid.

Preston stared, his lips forming a perfectly round “o.”

“Like when I tried to tell Mom about you?”

That would be one example.

After Smoky started keeping him company, Preston wanted to share his new friend. He had asked his mother if he could invite him to lunch. She set a place for Preston’s guest at the table. But when no flesh-and-blood little boy showed up, yet Preston carried on a lively conversation toward the chair across the table, her brows knitted in confusion. After a while, a slight smile began to play around her mouth. Later he overheard his mother on the telephone to one of her co-workers.

“I wish you could have seen it! It was the cutest thing! PJ jabbering away to an imaginary playmate!” His mother’s friend must have had something to say on the matter. “Do you think I should worry about him? His father had problems, you know.”

His ears had pricked up at mention of his father, but indignation overcame his curiosity. Smoky wasn’t imaginary. He also felt a little ashamed, like there was something wrong with him. So he decided not to ever mention Smoky, even when his mother said to invite his friend to lunch again. He didn’t want her to laugh at him. He longed to tell her everything in his small life. But, from that point on, there were some things he made the decision to withhold.

The day his mother left for Norway was a Saturday. Preston had felt liberated. To express it, he played really hard in the back yard, running and jumping straight up in the air, pretending his feet had springs. Indeed, it felt like he could leap right up into the sun. He talked Smoky into a sword fight. Smoky called it “fencing.” Their implements looked different, too.

Preston made his sword about a month before during arts and crafts at school. It had a wide cardboard blade and handle. He’d glued aluminum foil over the blade and sprinkled glitter on the hilt. Not too much. It didn’t stay glued anyway. Every time he held the shaft some of the glittery stuff came off on his hands. One time he must have accidentally smeared some on his face because his mother noticed and proclaimed it fairy dust. He liked the idea that his sword was magical. He remembered the story about King Arthur. The magic rubbed off on him, just like the fairy dust, and made him wise. Preston relished knowing things other people didn’t. After all, he had Smoky advising him on how to notice things, and Mama Luna confided offhand tidbits.

When Preston ran circles around Smoky jabbing the air with his sword, Smoky gave his own arm a sharp shake. A long band of vibrating light emerged from the end of a finger. Preston thought in terms of Smoky having arms and fingers, but it wasn’t really like anyone else’s. It was more that he could see with his inner vision. Smoky’s blade, though, he could make out clearly as throbbing luminous pixels. Smoky had allowed Preston to thrust and yell until apparently he had enough. Then he took laser-like aim with the light particles, and tapped the spot where Preston’s hand met the shaft. The sword inexplicably flew out of his grasp and arced over to land several feet away. Astounded but gleeful at the challenge, Preston retrieved his weapon and charged back to win the day. Several times these events repeated themselves until he was just plain worn out.

Red-faced and sweaty with play, Preston huffed and puffed, “How do you do that, Smoky?”

Instead of running and expending his vitality needlessly, a true warrior becomes still. Then he can tell where the openings are for things to go his way. That’s when he acts because he knows the truth of his action.

“That’s what I want to be! A true warrior!” Preston beamed and waved his own finger in the air with half a hope that light would project.

“Solocito!” He heard Mama Luna calling him to dinner, sticking her dark head out the back door. When he came tearing into the house with a last bit of rambunctious energy, she laughed and exclaimed how stinky he was from his hot play. At least that was the gist of what he understood her to say. But she allowed him to sit at the table with her anyway and fed him his favorite meal: franks and beans mixed with some yellow mustard, carefully sprinkled with sweet pickle relish, and tater tots on the side.

After dinner she bustled him off to take a bath, ignoring his loud protestations. It was their way of joking. With his mother, he’d learned to be quiet most of the time. She usually seemed to have something on her mind.

“Very important tonight for you to take your bath, Solocito!” Mama nodded knowingly at him and closed the door to give him his privacy.

“Oh,” he peeped. A light bulb went on. He quickly discarded his clothes and submerged himself in the warm water. He thought briefly about playing frogman, but it seemed bathing had taken on a new significance based on Mama’s words. So, instead, he dutifully soaped himself and made sure all parts of himself were sweet-smelling and clean. By the time he had emerged from the now dark-ringed bathtub, he felt the effects of his earlier exertion, a full belly and freshly scrubbed body.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre –  Fiction / Coming of Age / Historical

Rating – PG

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Connect with Carla Woody on Facebook  & Twitter

Website http://www.kenosis.net/

The Tales of Nick: The Seduction of Sera by Steve Wilhelm

Prologue

Dark, cold, trembling. Where was I? I shook my head and slowly the black turned to a dull grey.

I opened my eyes and strained to see something—anything. My head throbbed as if a ping hammer was constantly pounding from the inside. The more I concentrated and tried to focus, the more I felt the pain in my head. It was overwhelming, and there seemed nothing I could do to overcome it. Why was I hurting so? The tumultuous angst was indescribable. I seemed totally immobilized, body, mind and soul. Where could I obtain help? Was there anyone out there? I practiced my relaxation therapy, and obtained a small amount of relief . . . but then . . .

There was that pain again, but it wasn’t as overpowering as before. As I tried to blink several times, all I could see was that dull grey and I realized I was blindfolded, unable to move and bound as well.

So many questions raced through my fogged mind. Where was I? Why was I blindfolded and incapacitated? What the hell was going on? I tried to scream, however only a muffled, senseless sound came out of my mouth. So I was gagged as well. Once again, I wondered where I was. The sick feeling of dread spread rapidly through my body when I realized I didn’t even know my own name. My God! I didn’t even know my name! Had I been kidnapped, drugged, or had “another one of those nights” again?

I stopped struggling and listened for a few minutes. I heard the cold clank of a door latch and it was frightening. I was in major trouble. I had no idea who was on the other side of the door. I began to think I was going to be a victim of some sordid type of torture which sent shivers of terror coursing through my body. Every thought of imaginable horror went through my mind. The door suddenly opened, and banged against the wall with such force, I thought the next sound I heard would be the hinges breaking and the door crashing to the floor.

“Nick? Are you awake?” A female voice.

The sound brought a new stab of pain into my head. I couldn’t tell where the voice came from; it could’ve been from in front of me or behind, or even inside my rattled brain, but fear engulfed my entire being. Suddenly memory and recollection began to flood in. I knew who I was.

My name was Nick Ambrose. I was a first time author, a recovering alcoholic and I was currently in deep shit. What the hell had I done to get into this hell hole?

It didn’t matter, I thought. My best offense at the moment was to try to relax, remain calm, slow my breathing thus to feign unconsciousness. If my captor was unsure if I was awake I would buy myself some time to form a plan on what to do. I was in trouble, and I knew it. There was no escape. I tried to think what my options were. Being quiet and appearing unaware of anything were my best options at this point. Just examine this moment by moment.

As I slumped back into the chair that confined me, I struggled to piece together the chain of events which led me to such a bizarre and possible deadly condition.

Buy Now @ Amazon @ Smashwords

Genre - Thriller/Romance

Rating – R

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Connect with Steve Wilhelm on Facebook

Website http://stevemutt.wordpress.com/

#Free Brownie Points by Jennifer Coburn

Sometimes that’s the way the Thin Mints crumble...

When Lisa Taylor and her family move from San Francisco to the suburban paradise of Los Corderos, they know their family won’t fit in perfectly. They’re the only interracial family in the neighborhood. Lisa is a snarky sculptor. And 13-year-old Logan is gay.

After Logan is repeatedly bullied at school, he finds his niche in an unusual place – his twin sister’s Girl Scout troop. When he tries to join, the organization refuses, so the boy sues for gender discrimination and sets off a firestorm of national media coverage. This only makes matters worse between the Logan and his father, a macho firefighter who is already struggling with his son’s sexual orientation.

Adding to the strife is Lisa’s increasing distaste for Junta Moms who wish each other “Namaste” while rigging school elections and stealing each other’s husbands.

Join the Taylors on their hilarious journey as they face the fight of their lives and,in the process, discover what it means to be a family.

Praise for Jennifer Coburn’s Books

"Jennifer Coburn’s Tales From the Crib is a deliciously fun, laugh-out-loud read

about one woman’s journey toward motherhood. You won’t be able to put this book down until you arrive at the final, satisfying page.”

- Emily Giffin, author of Where We Belong

“The Queen Gene is entertaining…fresh, fast, and unpredictable…I didn’t want it to end!”

- Jennifer Lancaster, author of Jeneration X

“I absolutely loved The Wife of Reilly. It’s so funny and snappy, it was a total

delight…a riot from start to finish, but an intelligent, thoughtful one that says a

lot about the nature of love and relationships.”

- Marian Keyes, author of This Charming Man

 

Brownie Points by Jennifer Coburn

Amazon Kindle US

Genre – Women's Fiction

Rating – PG13

4.1 (81 reviews)

Free until 20 September 2013

Four Winning Ways To Promote Your New Book Online by Brian Cormack Carr

I self-published my first self-help book How To Find Your Vital Vocation: A Practical Guide To Discovering Your Career Purpose And Getting A Job You Love last month.  I’ve been promoting it online and so far with some good success – in the first week after its publication, it climbed into the Amazon UK Kindle careers bestsellers list.  

Here’s what I’ve done and what I’ve learned from the process:

1. Build Your Author Platform Early

Don’t wait until your book’s out there before starting to build a presence online.  If you do this first, you’ll have a readymade audience to market your book to.  Definitely establish an author’s blog and/or website, and start building an audience through that.  It’s also useful to have a mailing list which you can invite prospective readers to sign up to (usually in exchange for something free such as a book extract).  Readers can get a free sample of How To Find Your Vital Vocation by signing up to my list, for example. 

2. Choose Your Distribution Channels Carefully

Marketing a book is one thing, but readers have to be able to buy it quickly and easily.  Your job is to make sure it’s widely available.  Amazon currently claims the lion’s share of online book sales, so it makes sense to make sure your book is available there.  For eBooks, Amazon’s Kindle Direct Publishing is an essential channel, and Smashwords will make your book available for Nook, Kobo and Apple’s readers.  For paperbacks, Amazon’s Createspace is a useful print-on-demand option because it will ensure your book is always “in stock” at Amazon.

3. Don’t Spam - Be Sociable!

Another essential part of building your online author platform is via social media.  There are so many options today, it can get confusing and overwhelming, so I suggest choosing a couple you feel comfortable with.  I use Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest currently.  But don’t use them as a way to spam your followers.  Instead of constantly begging them to buy your book, engage them in genuinely useful conversations.  Share information and be helpful.  Then when you do (occasionally) mention your book, people will be more likely to listen!

4. Think Long-Term

The really great thing about marketing a book online (and using online distribution channels) is that your launch doesn’t have to be a flash-bang short-term thing.  Some authors do try to coordinate their promotions so that they generate a big spike in sales as soon as the book is released so that it helps with its rankings in online sales charts – but that tends to work best for authors with an established audience.  If you’re new to this (like me!) then it’s best to focus on the long-term.  Be prepared to build up interest in your book gradually.  It’s not as though it’s going to suddenly disappear from the bookstore’s shelves!  It’s out there now, and you can take time to promote it.

As well as the options outlined above, you could consider setting up a ‘virtual book tour’ by guest posting on other blogs (which is what I’m doing with this article) and there are also advertising options that might be worth exploring (such as Facebook).

The best of luck to you!

~

BIOGRAPHY:

Brian Cormack Carr is a writer, certified career coach and chief executive of BVSC The Centre for Voluntary Action, one of the UK's leading local charities.  He trained in personnel management with Marks & Spencer plc and gained an MA (Hons) in English Literature and Language from the University of Aberdeen.  Brian has nearly 20 years of experience in the fields of personal development and leadership, and has helped hundreds of clients, readers and workshop participants to find fulfilling work and a renewed sense of purpose.

Website: www.cormackcarr.com

Twitter: @cormackcarr

HOW TO FIND YOUR VITAL VOCATION:

Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords

Genre -  NonFiction / Careers

Rating – G

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Brian Cormack Carr on Facebook  & Twitter

Website http://vitalvocation.com/

Brian Cormack Carr – How I Became A Published Author

How I Became A Published Author

by Brian Cormack Carr

I self-published my first book How To Find Your Vital Vocation: A Practical Guide To Discovering Your Career Purpose And Getting A Job You Love last month, after promising myself that I’d have a book written and published by the time I hit 40 in June 2013.

It took me around ten months from start to finish.  The journey has been a lot of hard work – but great fun. If you have a book in you, then I hope my story will help you to get started on your own writing/publishing path.

I’ve Always Been A Writer

Creative writing was my favourite subject at school, and I even won a couple of creative writing competitions when I was a student.  In fact, I ‘wrote’ stories before I could write words.  When I was very little, I created a marvellous super hero called BAM! and I used to tell myself stories by drawing pictures of him in action on my toy blackboard.  I’d draw one picture, then rub it out and draw the next to advance the story – almost like a comic strip.

Unfortunately, because I only had a small blackboard and had to keep rubbing out the pictures, absolutely no evidence of BAM! now exists.  But I’m telling you – he was amazing.  He’d definitely give Superman a run for his money.

Writing (I did eventually graduate from the blackboard to pen and paper) soon took a back seat to more practical considerations like earning a living. But I still wrote sporadically through the years, and was briefly a member of a couple of writing groups.  I always knew that one day I’d come back to it…

Writing To Promote My Work

In 2009, I set up a life and career coaching practice, and started blogging to promote my coaching service.  Pretty soon, I remembered how much I loved writing, and started putting it to work in my coaching work.  I wrote an online coaching programme for my clients, and soon started guest posting on other career coaching blogs.  I even landed a paid gig writing for a blog about healthy eating!  Writing was beginning to take a more prominent role in my life and work.

Writing For Writing’s Sake

The coaching clients on my online coaching program – which I had named Vital Vocation – gave me lots of positive feedback on the material in the program, and several asked if I would consider turning it into a book.  I didn’t need prompting twice.  It was ten months until my 40^th birthday, and I had long harboured the ambition to be a published writer by the time I hit 40.

I got to work and repurposed the modules in the coaching programme into chapters for a book.  Some of the material was audiovisual, so that had to be converted into new written material.  It was a madcap, hard-working ten months.  But it was fun, and so worth it.  Four days before my birthday, I self-published How To Find Your Vital Vocation onto Kindle.  In the week after its publication, it charted in the Amazon UK Kindle careers bestsellers list.  Not bad going for a first-timer!

Self-Publishing Or Bust

I chose the self-publishing route not because I don’t want a traditional publishing deal – that’s certainly something I’d be interested in one day – but because I wanted to get my work out into the world, and I was impressed by the many self-publishing options available to authors today.  EBooks, print-on-demand paperbacks, social media platforms – the scope nowadays for authors to write, publish and market their work is just amazing.

I’m making the most of it – what about you?

BIOGRAPHY:

Brian Cormack Carr is a writer, certified career coach and chief executive of BVSC The Centre for Voluntary Action, one of the UK’s leading local charities.  He trained in personnel management with Marks & Spencer plc and gained an MA (Hons) in English Literature and Language from the University of Aberdeen.  Brian has nearly 20 years of experience in the fields of personal development and leadership, and has helped hundreds of clients, readers and workshop participants to find fulfilling work and a renewed sense of purpose.

Website: www.cormackcarr.com

Twitter: @cormackcarr

HOW TO FIND YOUR VITAL VOCATION:

Buy Now @ Amazon & Smashwords

Genre –  NonFiction / Careers

Rating – G

More details about the author & the book

Connect with Brian Cormack Carr on Facebook  & Twitter

Website http://vitalvocation.com/

The Iron Locket (The Risen King, Book 1) - Samantha Warren

*~*~*

Kane leaned against the wall drumming his fingers on his sword. As a prince of the Southern land, he was unaccustomed to waiting and it grated on his every nerve that Leanansidhe had the gall to treat him like a common servant. The wooden door beside him slid open and he straightened with expectation.

A pixie scuttled out, carrying a tray with an empty goblet. The door closed behind her again, shutting Kane out with it. His snarl startled the faery and she squeaked, dropping the goblet to the cold stone floor. She leaned over to pick it up, but it slipped through her spindly fingers, clattering across the hall. Kane's anger exploded and he drew his sword to swing at the creature, but she scampered out of his reach. She eyed him briefly, then darted in, grabbed the goblet, and retreated before he could connect with his deadly weapon.

"Get out of here, then," he shouted at her. He didn't need to tell her again. She took off, her flat feet slapping the stones as she retreated.

"Why are you abusing my servants?" Leanansidhe leaned against the oak door frame, crossing her arms over her ample bosom. One delicate eyebrow quirked toward the ceiling and her full lips held a natural pout. Her silky chestnut hair was pulled back into a tight, no nonsense bun, throwing her prominent cheekbones into stark relief.

Kane straightened and sheathed his sword, shoving it into the bone scabbard that hung from his belt. He raised his eyes to Leanansidhe, locking her in his glare. When they first met, she had balked at such bravery, but soon she came to welcome his forthright attitude and refusal to bow down to her as a slave. "You're late." The comment was meant as a rebuke and his irritation bled into his voice.

She smiled, her full lips parting to reveal sharp, white teeth beneath. She sauntered over to him, moving one luscious hip at a time. Her low-cut black dress hugged her figure and accentuated all her curves. A slit up the side revealed one long, powerful leg, its smooth skin peeking through as she stepped toward him. His eyes dropped to her shoes, black and strappy with heels several inches tall, then inched up her body, pausing at the exposed navel. The material covered very little and he struggled to control himself as she reached out with a black nail and traced it along his chest. Despite the heels, she was still slightly shorter than him and she used that to her advantage.

Raising her lidded eyes to his, she smiled. "I am never late, my darling. I am always exactly on time."

He struggled to breath as her nail traced down his chest and across his abdomen. His brain screamed at him to pull away, to insist they focus on business. It was dangerous to let Leanansidhe have the upper hand like this. He knew if he let his guard slip she could get him to agree to just about anything, but at the moment, his body didn't care. It wanted to give in and let her have her way with him. He tilted his head down, his lips craving hers. He saw the predatory smile waiting there, the victory in her eyes, but the pull was irresistible.

The clatter of metal on stone broke the spell. He jerked away, stumbling back several steps to distance himself from the powerful faery woman before searching for the source of the noise. It was the servant he had attempted to kill, trying to gather the tray she had forgotten in her haste to retreat before. She stared at the pair with enormous eyes as she picked it up again. A snarl erupted behind Kane a bare moment before the pixie squealed in terror. Bending in half, she clawed at her feet, screaming with pain and fear. Kane watched as stone crept up the creature's body until she was an unmoving statue.

"Hmmph. That'll teach her." Leanansidhe dusted off her hands as if she had been playing in the dirt. "I never really liked her anyway. Too much of a sniveler." She pulled her face back into an alluring smile and took a step forward. "Now, where were we?"

Kane took another step back and rested his hand on the sword at his side. He squared his shoulders and imagined his face as the stone statue beside him. "We were going to discuss this potential business arrangement."

Leanansidhe's smile was replaced by an irritated pout. She shot a useless glare at the petrified servant and sighed. "You're no fun. Fine. Be that way." She brought back her seductive smile, but this time it held a predatory edge. "But someday, I will have you. Make no mistake about that. I always get what I want, and I want you."

Kane raised his chin and glared at her. "We'll see. For now, we need to discuss business and keep it on a professional level."

Leanansidhe nodded once and dropped her seductress act. Her manner changed entirely, becoming business-like as she turned back toward the door. "Very well. This way."

Kane followed her inside. The room beyond was paneled in rich mahogany with a large glowing fireplace along one end. A velvet-covered couch and several chairs were arrayed in a semi-circle around it. An enormous desk stood about two thirds of the way down the room on the opposite side. Behind it was a plush executive chair that would make even the Four Queens jealous.

The walls were covered with tapestries depicting gruesome battles and wild love scenes, as well as the heads of numerous faeries. Kane recognized several of them. Leanansidhe was well known for her penchant for having debts repaid in a method that was satisfactory to her, though not necessarily to the debtor. Death was her favorite payment of all, especially if it involved trophies.

She strolled across the room, making sure that Kane watched her every movement and he berated himself when he felt disappointment as her bottom disappeared behind the desk. He raised his eyes to hers and she grinned in victory before waving a hand at one of the chairs in front of the desk. "Sit, please."

Kane shot a glare her way, which only caused her grin to grow, but he settled into the chair, placing the bag on the floor beside him. The chair was stiff leather, designed to look expensive and welcoming, but squeak with every tiny motion to make its inhabitant uncomfortable. He almost smiled at the thought. Lea knew how to take advantage of every situation and he was willing to bet that she did not make a single move without weighing every option first.

"So, my darling boy," Leanansidhe oozed as she reclined in her chair, crossing her shapely legs in front of her. He could just see the tip of an exposed knee peeping over the edge of the desk. "Have you done what I asked of you?"

His glare deepened. "Would I be here if I hadn't?" He infused his voice with more venom than usual.

Her eyes twinkled. She knew she was getting to him. He chided himself at falling prey to her games so easily. With a low growl, he opened the bag and withdrew its contents. He tossed the shriveled head onto her desk, watching the blue eyes disappear again and again as it rolled toward her. Her lips curled in distaste as she stopped the offending object by placing one finger on the graying skin. She picked it up by its blond hair and gazed into its eyes. Her annoyance evaporated in a flash, replaced by a disturbing amount of glee. She began to giggle like a school girl chatting with her friends.

"Oh, this is rich. Priceless," she gushed, her eyes glowing with a wild insanity. "Oberon, King of the South. Greatest warrior... or not, apparently." She set the head down and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk as she clasped her fingers under her chin. "Tell me, Kane, darling, how did daddy dearest take it when he found out his one and only son was a traitor, hmm? Did it break his poor cold heart?"

The cruelty on her face did not go unnoticed. Kane pressed his lips together and met her challenge with silence. She didn't need to know that his father, the most powerful faery to ever live, had not begged for his own life, but had pleaded with his son to remain faithful. She did not need to know that Kane had shed so many tears, he almost couldn't see his father's chest well enough to pierce it with his blade. She did not need to know that his own mother had stared in silent horror, unable to even cry out, bound by her own child, forced to watch as he ripped the life from his father and then sliced off the man's head to take as a trophy. She did not need to know that Kane's own heart was breaking even then. All she needed to know was that he had paid the price she demanded.

She was still watching him, waiting for him to crack. But true to her nature, she grew bored quickly and sat back, crossing her legs. "Very well. Keep your secrets for now. I shall know soon enough. Anyway, you have proven your loyalty to me. I shall honor your sacrifice by making you my General. General Kane. That does have a nice ring to it, does it not? You will answer to no one but me, and when we remove the old hags from their thrones, Faery will be ours. The South will be yours to rule as you wish, while the rest of the land will be mine. Fair?"

He didn't answer for a moment. Though he had known the deal all along, ever since that first day when he ran into Leanansidhe in the Grey Wood after arguing with his father decades ago, he still was hesitant. He glanced at the table, staring into the cold dead eyes of the man who had given him his name, the same man who had denied him many pleasures and treated him like a common slave most of the time.

"Yes, that is fair. As long as you stay out of the South and let me keep to my business."

"Of course, my darling. The South is all yours, including all of its inhabitants." She placed extra emphasis on the word "all" and he stiffened. She caught the movement and smirked. "Mother is still there, is she not? Alone and afraid, without either of her men to care for her? But with daddy dead, that leaves room for a certain son to step up and take the place of king, does it not?"

"You're sick." He rose and grabbed the bag, stalking toward the door.

"Oh, come now, Kane. Don't be like that. I was only joking."

Her fake apology only made him angrier. He paused with his hand on the ivory handle when he reached the door, turning his head to the side. "When you need me, send word." Then he left, slamming the door behind him. He could hear her delighted giggle through the wood. It seemed to slip under the door and echo down the halls. He leaned against the wall near the statue of the servant, staring at it without seeing a thing. His mind was racing, going over the events of the last several days. He kept returning to one specific image, that of his mother, tied to the bed, screaming at him, pleading with him, the horror on her face when he ripped the life from the only man she had ever loved. He knew her pain. It ripped at him every day, threatening to tear him to shreds.

Pounding a fist against the stone wall, he growled, focusing on the pain blossoming out over his knuckles instead of the unwelcome image of a human girl with red hair, a ghost from his past. He straightened and willed the hurt in his heart to subside. He shoved the new statue out of his way as he passed and smiled in satisfaction as it shattered across the stones behind him.

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Genre –  Paranormal Romance

Rating – PG

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