Welcome to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked for this week's Mid Week Tease hosted by Sandra Bunino.
Authors: this is a great opportunity to spotlight a few lines or even a paragraph or two from a new release or backlisted title. Readers: you get to sample some delicious snippets! We’ll do our best to tease, titillate and tantalize you into the weekend.
My Mid Week Tease is from The Beltane Witch. Sabrina Foxglove has just survived a nasty crack on the head and Darius Winterbourne, Summer Court Chamberlain, is taking her home with help from her friend Moira.
Moira led them through the kitchen to the back rooms of the bar and gathered her purse, coat, and keys. She hustled them out the door to her snow-dusted Jeep parked beneath a small overhang. Darius set Sabrina in the back seat and climbed in beside her while Moira stepped out to sweep the windshield. Sabrina wondered where he’d put his huge sword, grateful she didn’t have to hold it for him in the car.
Oh, man, that sounds bad. Can I hold your big sword, Darius? She had to stifle a giggle. Thank the Goddess he can’t hear my thoughts.
“All ready?” Moira asked as she started up the Jeep.
“Yes.” Darius brushed her shoulder with his as he sat back, and she inhaled a scented gust of warmth from his jacket.
Sabrina turned her face before he noticed how much she enjoyed it. She let her gaze drift out her window, hoping the drive home would be quick so she could get away from Darius’s sensual allure.
They left the town and headed across the railroad tracks, bumping over two sets of them laid side by side. Her gaze followed them where they merged together in a synchronicity of rails and ties. Sabrina wondered if her life would ever find such a connection, the perfect blending of two life-lines into one continuous path.
She laughed silently at herself. Not likely after Tommy.
She turned her head just enough to glance at Darius’s noble profile.
And not likely with this peacock, either. He’s a player and the Fae’s minion. Definitely not husband material.
Sabrina tried to ignore the flare of pain from her burned belly. Why am I even thinking of husbands? Marty Robinson must have rubbed off on me after his last threat. She sighed and closed her eyes. A woman needs a husband like a zebra needs a frying pan.
Get your magic, mayhem, and motherhood fix here: