#SaturdayScenes #KillMatch

Good evening all! 

(I should really be saying good morning with the time...)

I know I am exactly one hour and forty-four minutes late on my Saturday Scene but, it is better late than never. I'm exhausted and honestly my brains a little mushy right now for a long blog post. Instead, here is my scene from my new WIP Kill Match: A Gladiatrix Story. It is rough and unedited, my apologies in advance.

*

I kept my face as steady as I could, but they both saw the shock before I could mask it.

“Well, thank you for that Alexander. I’m glad we got that out of the way and after the training fight. Same time tomorrow then?” He turned to me and I realized he was waiting for a response.

“No, tomorrow is my dusk practice. I am going home tonight.” I tried to sound professional but still stern enough that they would see I didn’t want to change my already set schedule. He simply nodded.

“Fine. We will practice at dusk, then you and I shall have dinner. I want to hear about the tactics you’ve already learned and where you think your weak points are.”

Before I could respond again he swept out of the room, his pants billowing as he walked,, quickly acknowledging Alexander on his way. I watched him go, and realized what I had missed when he had entered. His gait was one of power and pride. Only the Etruscan’s son could walk like that in Kardia. No one else had known such privilege.

“I see your mind, Ferus. He is not who you think him to be. I would at least give him a few days’ time before you completely disregard his humanity.”

A smirk lit my face at the sound of my nickname. As a child I had been ruthless against my Lanista and because of the promise I held in the arena he had let me get away with having a bigger personality than most Gladiators. I was also the first female he had ever had to deal with and as one of his many coping mechanisms he took to call me the loving nickname of Ferus. It meant untamed.  I rolled my neck to each side, buying time for my response.

“I care not for who he is and is not. The Etruscan’s son can be whomever he pleases and as such it is not my place to mind his chosen path. Besides, by the time he is fully trained I will be back in the Dust Bowl where I belong. Thank you for staying around long enough for that.”

He scoffed.

“Do not take me so lightly, warrior. I did not have a say in what is taking place. It was  aggressively suggested to me.” He moved to slide past me, his robe brushing my feet before he abruptly stopped. “Perhaps when my retirement comes I will join you in the Dust Bowl. For if the greatest fighter I have ever known belongs in such a place, surely I would find my presence there just as comfortable.”

He walked out, not even turning to see my mouth gaping open. The image of my Lanista amongst my family would be funny if it weren’t such a terrifying thought. For anyone who wasn’t used to the power he exuded they would be wary and frightened in his presence. Alexander couldn’t possibly think he truly belonged in the outer villages. With everything that had happened I couldn’t think about if he was being serious or not. I needed to get out of these walls leaving behind my Lanista and his overly eager replacement.

I cleaned up any pieces of wrap that had fallen to the floor during the fight then headed out toward my room on the third floor. With each cold stone step to the top I could feel the scratches that laced my feet. The feet had been tempered, and basically no damage had been done to either of us. But that didn’t take away from the pain that laced from skin hitting skin at half force. It still hurt like Hell, practice fighting or no. I walked into my room to catch three maids tidying up the space. My nursemaid, Gemma, was among them preparing a bag for my night back home.

“Did you put together another from the kitchen?”

She sighed at my voice, not having realized I was behind her.

“Yes. Just like every time before. You think I am incapable of taking care of you when I have done it your whole life.”

She hadn’t taken care of me my whole life, just the last twelve years. Instead of pointing out that fact, again, I changed the subject.

“Did you know that the Price was taking over for Alexander?”

Her tired hands stopped, the shaking in them minute, before they rushed on putting a jacket in the bag.

“Gemma! You knew. You terrible, retched liar! You knew this whole time and kept it from me? I thought we were family.”

That always got to her. She was my family but ever since being a child I had outwardly rejected the notion and it always bothered here. I had wanted someone to feel the pain I did and Gemma had been the unfortunate target of my overly dramatic emotions growing up. A frown deepened into the lines of her face and her hands flew to her hips.

“No, don’t you dare start with all of that again. You are far too old to be messing with an aging woman’s feelings. You know that you’re a daughter to me, but Nero is like my son.”

I gasped knowing I didn’t need to be stoic or closed in with Gemma.

“Don’t you look like that. It isn’t a secret that I’ve raised you both. If you wouldn’t be so self centered you could have found out sooner. Nero has lived on the second floor of this sanctuary since you came here and shortly after his mother died. Alexander wanted to keep the two of you separate. Nero was told the rules to avoid you when he begged to live here and as it seems he’s been doing a lovely job of it. But I guess the cats out of the bag now.” A smirk lit her face.

“You think this is funny? That a ruthless King’s only son is now in charge of over a dozen of the best fighters in Kardia? I’m sorry but I can’t seem to find the humor in my situation.”

I grabbed my boots from the underside of the bed, roughly putting them onto my feet, my sore skin screaming at me in horror. The smile disappeared from Gemma.

“Well, that answers the question of if you’ve even talked to him. He’s not his father Libby. And it would do you good in life to learn not to always read the book by the cover. Nero is not his father.”

I snorted. She knew I hated the reading references and used them whenever she was irritated with my behavior. I grabbed the bag from the bed and walked towards the door.

“You of all people should know that the picture is the only thing I can read.”

#SaturdayScenes #TheBeginning

I'm posting this rather late. Okay, it's only 9pm PST but it's later than I would have liked. I am working on a new serial for Saturday Scenes and I was trying to get the first chapter ready to be posted. Although I tried it's not ready yet. I'm new to writing serials and I want it to be at least edited before I start posting them.

Instead tonight I am posting a scene from my novelette, The Beginning. This story takes place before my novel Red and is the introduction for my Guarding the Vila series. Right now it is being offered on amazon for .99! Red is offered at $2.99 currently. Here's the links:

The Beginning
Red

I am also offering free copies of both books (epub,mobi or PDF) for anyone who would be willing to review them. Please email me at ladieswhowritesg@gmail.com if you're interested.

:) Happy Reading everyone!

*

Dawn had yet to approach, the last echoes of night pushing on the window. I tried to prepare myself as best as I could for the day that lay ahead. My skirts had been worn for days, showing dirt and wear in every seam. I straightened them anyway, frustrated that I would die in rags. My face, hair and nails were so filthy, I looked like a beggar. I scrubbed at myself with such vigor that my once pale skin turned pink and raw. The water pooled black in the small wash bin, salted tears streaming down my face to meet the dark shallows. I pulled away, disgusted with the person I would die as. I grabbed my hooded red cape from the bed, the one Grandmere had made special, just to match the tones in my hair, and put it on to hide any emotion that may cross my face today. When there was nothing else to be done, I simply sat on the cot and waited, eyes too dry to cry any longer. I considered all of the things I could have done differently to prevent this whole mess. I continued to remind myself that this wasn’t entirely my fault. There were things I could not have changed no matter what I had done.

Bernard came to get me and my stoicism shattered into pieces. I didn’t want to die this way, in front of everyone and with such shame. I hadn’t had enough time in my life to do anything worth remembering. This would be the only thing left of me, of my family name. Bernard held a small amount of pity in his gray eyes, only making me want to beg him until that pity took over and he let me go.

“Bernard, please.” I choked. He paused for just a moment, hope rising from the pit of my stomach.

“Girl, there is nothing to be done. This is the only way; the peacekeeper has said so. Crying and begging are not going to help you.”

The tender eyes he had held just seconds before were now blistered in determination. I knew I had lost him and with that admittance, the only hope I had left was brutally wiped clean.

I fought, Bernard’s rough hands overpowering me easily, tying my hands up in knots. He grabbed the lead that had been left between them and pulled me from the room and out of the hall. The high sun burned my eyes and made them water when I was sure they were dried to the bone. I could only imagine the harsh red that had encased my normally pale skin. I looked around, wanting to find someone familiar but only saw strangers. I couldn’t find a single friendly face, one that I had known my whole life. I didn’t know these people anymore. We walked past them and they scrambled to quickly pile in behind us, loud whispers filling the air.

“I heard she killed them with her bare hands then fed them to the wolves. All to maintain her beauty. That’s why her hair is red. It’s from all the blood she has spilt. It is her cost for using magic.”

“Well, I heard she took a wolf as a lover. When her Mama promised her to Jacques, and then to Claude, she had to kill them and her lover was more than happy to help.”

“No, no, her Grandmere was a wolf. She was trying to protect her from the others. That is why no one has found the body—because she’s still out there, alive.”

The lies swirled, causing brilliant storms of rage to take over my sight. All I could manage to think was that if I was a witch, I would have already burned them all. How could these people, whom I had known my whole life, turn on me in a moment’s notice? I survived a horrible ordeal only to be met with another and they were gossiping like children! They imprisoned me because I survived. Because one man, consumed by grief, held hatred towards me while the town’s rumors simply fueled the fire. They should have been the ones to stand trial. I knew my thoughts showed clearly on my face when the people closest to me began to slowly move away. A circle of space was growing around Bernard and me. No one wanted to be near a witch when she was angry, and at that point I was almost glad for the rumors.

Through the trees just ahead I could see the glisten of Esperer Lake, the closest body of water to our village. The same one we would watch our Mama’s wash our clothing in as children. My feet stopped of their own volition, not wanting to take another step towards the water. Bernard tugged on my wrists trying to force my movement until I yelled with pain from the burn of the rope.

“Come now, girl. The more you struggle, the more they’ll think you’re a witch!”

I didn’t care what anyone thought at that moment. All I wanted to do was run as far and as fast as I could away from these people and from what they were going to do to me. I didn’t want to be tested. I didn’t want to drown. But the ropes burned so badly that I finally took a few steps forward and again when I couldn’t take the pain once more. That’s how we made our way to the water, him tugging until I yelped and me holding out as long as I possibly could.

By the time we finally reached Andre, the whole town had formed around to witness the events, mumbling under their breaths about the slow pace I was keeping. I was shocked he would come to ensure this horrific event take place. Betrayal tore through me and I Bernard and Andre pulled me down the rickety planks that floated atop the lake. They finally got me to the edge of the walkway just as the sun reached its peak. Bernard pulled out more twine and encircled my ankles and hands once more, taking the necessary time to ensure the bonds would not break. When he was satisfied that I was securely tied he nodded to Andre. The old man turned to address the crowd.

“We are here to test the crimes of Scarlett Chasseur, to see whether or not she is indeed a witch. The proceedings of submersion will go as follows: If she floats on the surface, while being bound, it is shown that Satan has filled her soul with buoyancy. At this point she will be found guilty and put to death by fire, as chosen by the butcher. If she sinks to the bottom of the lake, her innocence will be proven and she will be pardoned. Let us not drag out this terrible ordeal. Bernard, please begin.”

No sooner than the last words were out of his mouth did Bernard pull me to face him, his massive eyes turning cold. He quickly shoved me backwards, over the edge, before even a scream could erupt from my throat. Water overtook me as I struggled to reach the surface. My body burned with the need for air, and panic clouded my senses. The water seemed to be the last enemy I would ever face. They had won. The realization dawned on me that I was sinking to the bottom, and if I hadn’t been dying I would have laughed at the irony. I passed their test. I opened my mouth, wanting to scream in frustration and injustice, my body flailing with the need to survive. Water engulfed my lungs and took over every empty space inside of me. I was covered in it. I blinked my eyes rapidly, clawing at the incessant drops that touched me, burning from the inside out. Darkness was taking over my vision but from the corner of my eyes I thought I could see Grandmere’s form floating towards me in the distance. I reached my bound hands toward her in a last instinct of survival before the water’s depths took me.

#SaturdayScenes #KillMatch

Hello Everyone! 

My #SaturdayScene today is rather short. This is my current WIP and I haven't gotten enough worked out to really give much else this week, but true to my resolutions I want to post every Saturday so I needed something. In this scene Libraria has noticed the boy who took her sister is in the market and she is determined to make him pay for selling her sister off to be a Gladiatrix (a female Gladiator).

This is a Dystopian Fantasy book that touches on grief, war and the ability for humans to completely disregard one another for the sake of saving themselves.

Enjoy!

*

I ran him down, taking in deep breaths like I had been trained to do whenever my heart rate rose. I needed to get to him before he reached the safety of his training ground. Once he was in their doors, I would lose. Again. I was stunned to see him out, sure that it was just my undying want instead of reality. But, there he was, true as the dust in our city. He was an idiot. 

I seethed, smoke practically sizzling off of me at the sight of him. He had taken her, selling her into the ring. The only way to make things right would be to beat him into a pulp before I figured out a way to rescue my sister. This wasn’t allowed within the city and if I was caught it would mean certain death, but I didn’t care. If I caught him now, I wouldn’t come back. I would find my sister and my family and run into the abyss that was the desert. I would refuge somewhere else or die trying but our ragged Etruscan would not be the one to determine my fate.

I would have been satisfied, complacent even, fighting their battles every week until I was old enough to be let go. I would have lived peacefully. But he had brought my sister into this, against all rules that only one child per family would be taken and his Lanista had made an exception. I was going to spend the rest of my life making them regret it. Rules weren't meant to be broken, unless you were going to break them all. 

I pumped my legs harder, gaining ground and seeing the tiny mark of a tattoo peak above his tunic. He turned his head just enough to notice I was still following before he kicked it up a notch. He was small and undeniably fast. He knew what he was doing when he had shown his face in the marketplace and looked to be enjoying this. He didn’t fear me the way he ought to and that only made me angrier. The harsh stone of his Lanista's home came into view. He was going to get away. I slowed my pace, watching him get further and further from me. I quickly search around me, thankfully finding exactly what I needed. If I couldn't beat him into submission, I would at least cost him something. The stone sailed true as lightening and a sickening thud echoed as it hit his neck. He staggered, eating dirt just in front of his safe haven. It wasn't worth taking the chance of his someone in his house seeing me so I stayed in the shadows of the building beside me, waiting. I sat until the sun reached its peak. He didn't get up.

  

Nero came into my quarters a little past sunset. His mouth was puckered into a frown that could have won a spot in the theater. I resumed pulling off my boots ignoring his presence entirely. He continued watching me and I grew irritated with his judgement. I sighed deep, throwing the ragged heel of my boot to the ground. A deep bang surrounded us, dirt falling to the floor and I sighed again, fed up with the quiet.

“What do you want?” His frown deepened even further, which moments before had seemed impossible.

“Heath was found at his doorstep today unconscious. When asked what had happened he said he was ran down, then struck in the back. He said he couldn't remember who had done it, but you and I both know who everyone is suspecting.” 

His eyes narrowed, threatening me to deny it. I stood, needing to gain any headway against the giant that he was, and shrugged him off.

“At least he had good enough sense not to rat me out. I was sure that little pig would squeal as soon as he woke up. But then he wouldn't get his beloved Kill Match. I guess he does have a heart somewhere.” I went to walk past Nero but his arm shot out, the muscles pulsing as they stopped me at the shoulder.

“This isn't a game Libraria. The minute anyone in the empire believes you are trying to break their rules, that you are trying to best them, he will kill us all. This isn't just about you anymore, so don't you dare drag the rest of us down with you after you've asked for my help. At the very least, think of your sister.” 

I roughly shook off his hand, deliberately pushing my shoulder into his side while walking around him. I turned to him, seething.

“That’s all I think about.” I spat before I turned and headed out of the room.

Resolutions... Sort of

I'm terrible at New Years Resolutions, mainly because I believe everyday, no matter the time of the year, is meant for goals. I always try to better myself and find new things to learn. It just so happens I'm turning sappy in my old age and I have decided that I'm going to make some goals vocal... on the internet. 

Sigh

The world is changing and I can't help but fall to some of its magical inventions. :)

So, here's my resolutions for 2015:

1. I want to be more active on G+ and through my blog. I'll also want to post more on my wordpress and author facebook page, but those are only secondary to the first two. I'm going to struggle, trying to find things I believe are worth typing down and letting go of some of the fear that people are going to hate what I have to say. It is also tough for me to want to reach out to people, not because I dislike networking but because I feel awkward doing so. I'm used to talking to people face-to-face and it is going to take a lot of practice for me to get past that. 

2. I need to button down on finishing multiple projects and writing at least one hour everyday. To do this I am going to research ways to grasp time management and figure out a plan of how to map this out. Also, I want to strive to publish two novels (Riding and Kill Match) and a novella (Unknown) by the end of the year. I want to do all of this no later than October. 

3. I am going to research better and more productive ways to market my novels. I need a better strategy for book launches and to learn how to network more efficiently. I feel like this is an area that I could vastly improve on. 

4. I want to join an in person writing group. Every time I try to do this I chicken out. 2015 is my year!

and finally 

5. I want to grow an audience. My first step towards this is participating in Saturday Scenes every week. I also want to look into doing conventions for authors/readers and look for events that I think my genre will fit in. I know that I will need to get more comfortable talking about what I do and be able to promote myself flawlessly. This is going to take me knowing myself and my writing inside and out. 

Of course there are other things pertaining to friendships and health but these are my writing goals. Needless to say I am looking forward to 2015. I would love to hear everyone else's goals too! 

The Lies We Tell Ourselves

And the damage it can do...

Today I am so determined to update my blog that I'm writing the first draft down with pen and paper. Pen and freaking paper. I understand it's archaic and I'm going crazy with the want to use spell check (which unfortunately, for now, is my brain). Gasp. But with the never ending stream of revelations that I've been having on this surprisingly mild Monday the words are begging to be let out. So, pen and paper it is.

Readers, I have an embarrassing confession to make to you...

I am addicted to Soda Crush. It's completely irrational and if my husband were reading this he would sigh in relief that I have finally admitted the problem. I can't help it. The ooey gooey sweetness of puzzles just begging me to solve them, to take hostage the mediocrity of my day and turn it into a game. It gives me a small way to time travel, to take away minutes, hours even, of life that would be otherwise spent doing...

And that's when I think about all of the time I've lost. That fifteen minute break could have been a page edited. My hour lunch could have been a chapter written or a blog drafted out. The thirty minutes from when I get home to when my husband does, it could be cleaning or packing or creating anything. Why do I want to waste minutes (not to mention hours) of my life, day by day, doing nothing that has any actual value? Its not that I don't have a million and one productive things I could rather be doing. In fact, my list of goals has grown exponentially and I want them done, pretty much yesterday. 

I can only think of two reasons why I would throw away such valuable time. 

One: I'm a terrible, horrible, procrastinator. 

It's a habit I know I need to work on and I do push myself past it when I'm intentionally putting things off. I can usually face the music and have that hated conversation with myself that I'm only denying the inevitable. 

The second reason is one that I will continually deny. My very personality rejects the truth that it could even exists as a possibility and so internet, I tell it to you, in hopes to force out the lies.

Second: I am terrified to fail.

If I'm not doing anything productive, if I'm not even trying, then I have a pretty good excuse why something doesn't work out. I can meld in my mind that I didn't put the necessary effort into it. That if I would have wanted to, I would have succeeded. My brain can't even function the possibility that if I tried my absolute hardest that I could fail. So, to keep the lie alive, I play Soda Crush. 

Ridiculous isn't it? 

But I have the faintest inkling that I'm not alone. I feel like the world is full of distractions that have no meaning or purpose and we spend far too much of our time engaging in it. I'm not saying they aren't fun because let me tell you, I really do enjoy a good puzzle, but they are not worth the whole of the time we spend on them. And I can almost bet I'm not the only one whose afraid to try and I mean really try. This is a hard thing for me to admit, simply because I have never wanted to come off as the type of person who doesn't try. I never wanted anyone to look at me and say that I don't put forth the best effort I can into the things I love. I would hate if a reader accused me of not giving my all into my writing. Because I love to write. But I fear failure more. And my goals are suffering because of it. 

I see the problem now, for whatever reason it came to me today at lunch while I was playing away. I'm not going to vow not to pick up my phone and play a silly game for a few minutes a day, but a few minutes is all I'm going to give it. Instead, I'm going to put minutes, hours even, into my writing. Because even if I fail, I never will have the chance to truly succeed until I put all the possible effort I can into it. And I am scared to death of that. Having goals is terrifying when they matter to you, when you give yourself over to them. I just can't image what my life will be if I don't. Am I going to tell the generations under me that I can master level 356? Or will I show the world the story of my life through books, that I wrote, in my voice, that other people will cherish for years? 

Yeah, the answer is pretty clear. I can't change what I've already wasted but I can make sure that it doesn't get out of control again. And I encourage all of you to tone down the things you put your time into that are not pushing you forward in your goals. It's okay to fear failure, its not okay to let it win.

#SaturdayScenes #KillMatch

Good evening everyone!

Here is a Saturday Scene from my Nano novel, Kill Match: Book One in The Gladiatrix Series. I haven't editing this yet, or revised it, or even completely made sure the entirety of the plot has been hashed out. But I am excited about it and I love the idea that's there. It's going to have to take a back seat for a few months while I hash out the new Guarding the Vila Novella and Riding. Still, I wanted to share it tonight with all of you! I'm thinking I may start sharing this story on Saturdays. Hopefully.

Enjoy!

*

Sweat beads onto her brow and I just wait for them to fall. Once the salt gets into the wound under her eye, she will wince and that is when I’ll make my move. Like clockwork it only takes seconds and just as I suspected she hasn’t yet become use to the pain of a fight. I coil my arm back and strike, a sick thud ringing up through my arm and into my stomach. It wants me to recoil in horror but I push forward. There’s no time for remorse. She wavers, her tall frame unsure of what to do. I can’t wait for her to recover and know that I have to end this while I can. I force my leg up, the cut in my thigh burning from when her boot strap had torn through it. I put as much force as I can muster and aim directly for her stomach. An exasperated release of air can be heard as she folds in on herself and falls.

The loud cheers and banging of cans announces that I have won. I don’t feel victorious but when my Lanista yells my name to the crowd, I raise my hands and smile. That’s what they’re looking for and my group of supporters goes crazy with glee. Many of them have won heavy bets and will be lining their pockets with denarius. I need to convince them to share a small portion of their wealth with me and encouraging their joy tonight will help me persuade them.

The girl I have just beaten has finally come to, her Lanista pouring water onto her face and adding pressure to the cut beneath her eye. She finds me and I can see her good eye well with tears. She’s angry at us both but there’s nothing to be done about it now and she knows it. She nods just barely so no one else catches it but me. I blink and then a towel is thrown over my face and I am guided away before the mob of villagers can engulf me. I can hear the mumbling of my Lanista beside me but I cannot make out a single word. She had given me a few good hits and my ears have yet to adjust. I will need a few days to recover from the damage. The darkness of the towel and the chill of it’s water feel like bliss against my already swollen skin. Being a Gladiatrix may not be the best life, but I did luck out with a very wise trainer.

Alexander Aelius was a legend amongst Kardia. He had trained under the first and the best Lanistas and it was said his entire family had been raised to be warriors. His family name entitled him to choose whatever Gladiator or Gladiatrix he wanted to train before all others, and just as he had chosen my father before me, I was his first pick the year I turned seven. Even though we were not allowed to fight until we were twelve, we were picked much younger. As soon as one fighter passed another had to be chosen. The Lanistas would raise us until we were of age to stand in the arena. Alexander had raised me from the time my father died. He had been strict and regimented in my training, but as long as I performed under his rules he would treat me in  kind when the fight was over. That was more than most had and I knew that despite his impenetrable demeanor he cared for his fighters. I was lucky.

He sits me down onto the cot in my quarters. We have already walked halfway through the center and into Alexander’s training grounds. The building stands three stories, the tallest next to the palace and is home to three Lanista’s. All of which are under the care of Alexander himself. They will grow up to become his prodigies and one day will take his place at the top. I don’t live here most of the time any more. Since my sixteenth birthday I have been allowed to leave Kardia and stay with my family in the Dust Bowl, my village on the outskirts of the habitable land. I sleep most nights in the cot with my sister, her growing form becoming more unbearable as she kicks me in her sleep. Tonight, I will stay here and probably for several days after. When I am beat up as badly as I am now, my body will not be able to heal if I have to spend my nights being punched and kicked. The warmth of my boots are being pulled from my feet, as servants begin to remove my clothes. One finally pulls the towel from my head and I see the bright blue eyes of my Lanista.

“You did well, young warrior.” His voice hits my ears like gravel and is one of the few things that has been able to break through the swollen cartilage. “Now, sleep. We’ll train again in three days time.”

He moves away from me and I don’t even bother turning to see him go. I know his moves and footsteps by heart. I know that he will go train himself, deep into the night, until his body is almost as beaten as mine. Then for the next several days we will both be holed in our rooms, healing together. He has always believed a trainer cannot know good strategy unless he feels the pain of his men. Or women in my case. I am the first Gladiatrix Alexander has picked and many of his quotes are not tailored to include females. This, for whatever reason, made me like him more. Knowing he spared no exceptions for me made me proud. We were equals.

The servants continue to dress my wounds, the few cuts that were obtained from loose buckles, jewelry or any other adornments my opponent had, but mostly they focus on icing my swelling skin. The smells of herbs assault my nose as they rub medicines I know all too well, onto my body. A young girl, younger than my sister, lightly grazes my faces with her tiny hands, aloe and boswellia filling my breathing. She has long brown hair and big doe eyes. She is trying to hide her sympathy for me by bowing her head, but I know she can feel me watching her. She’s so gentle and still I can feel her tremble. I am almost certain I am the first fighter she has helped after a fight and I wish that I could hide my physical pain so she didn’t have to feel so frightened. Before she can step away from me, I grab her hand and squeeze. She looks at me and I smile. She tries not to cringe and I’m sure that my face is too swollen to show any happiness. I let her go and she scurries out of the room.

The others, done with their duties, also make their way out of my quarters, only one staying behind. She grabs my legs and shifts me into the bed, tucking the thick cotton tightly against my body. I know this one, she has been my lady for many years and I’m thankful to know she’s here tonight. She sweeps her hand across my forehead, moving my hair from my face. She looks at me square and I see pride in her smile.

“Sleep, dear. You’re safe once again.”

She scurries from the room, dimming all but one of the candles. I try to fight the darkness but it pulls at my eyelids. Finally after only moments, I have lost and it’s thick tendrils pull me under.

The glaring light made of fire burned its way through my skin. I groan in pain as I try to pull the blankets over me. It can’t already be day when only minutes ago I had fallen asleep. The sound of feet prove me wrong, as if the sun itself wasn’t enough. I roll to my side, losing my breath when the bruises on my ribs are jostled. I had forgotten I had taken a kick to my side. I moved back to my backside, unable to take the pressure of my body. My groans are heard and I feel hands grabbing the blanket and pulling it away from my face. I slam my eyes shut, a pounding headache already beginning at the bridge of my nose.

“I’ve brought you breakfast, miss. And water. I was told that you needed to eat and drink and that I wasn’t to let you bully me out of waking you.” A cool towel is placed over my eyes and I relax, beginning to forgive the servant. “There, that must be better. Now, if you nod your head to let me know you’re awake I can leave you to it.”

I nod my head once, careful not to jostle the brain that must lay inside and I can hear the padding of feet fading. I sit up, careful to hold the towel where it sits. She was kind to leave me, but stupid. If my Lanista knew, she would be cast out for her inability to listen. I can’t let that poor girl’s livelihood be left on me. Besides, we’ve lost enough staff since I’ve been here, I’m not sure we could spare another. I remove the cloth slowly and squint my eyes open. I see the cheese and bread sitting on my bedside, just as she’d promised and a pint of water sweating beside it. I reach for it, the glass nearly slipping from my hand before I can get the other around it. My throat is barren like the wasteland outside and the water is my rain. I can feel my headache running to the depths of my skull as the dehydration is quenched.

Drops spill to my bedding, running down the front of my sleep clothes and making my skin slick. The glass drops as I try to replace it and I am too tired to clean it up. One of my girls will see it soon enough. I skip the dry bread and reach instead for the cheese. It is rich and gooey, easily sliding into the pit of my stomach. It rolls, just once, at the strain it must use to process the fuel. If it wasn’t so exhausted, I’m sure I would be sick. But thankfully my body is worn. I am barely able to finish the piece before I am tossed back into a dreamless sleep.

The next time I wake, it is dark. Few lights flicker in the corners, candles well worn almost down to the nub. I hear whispers of conversation just outside my door and know them both immediately. My nursemaid, Gemma, is trying to calm Nile. He sounds concerned, practically pleading.

“Sir, she needs her rest. I know you are worried, but there is nothing that you can do. I’ve seen to her myself, she’s just bruised. I would tell you if it were serious.”

She’s right, but I still hate the way she sounds offended. As if my best friend since birth shouldn’t be worried after he watched me get pummeled. Even though both Nile and I know that he isn’t allowed in my rooms, the trick was not to get caught by our Lanista’s. I shift trying to hear them better and my voice betrays a groan.

“She doesn’t sound well!” Nile raises his voice from his whisper and storms into the door.

His broad shape is outlined in gold and from the angle I’m at, I cannot see his face. He rushes toward my side and helps me to shift back where I had been laying before I was stupid enough to move.

“Libby, what’re you doing? You stupid, stupid little girl.”

His smile is rich and I try to smile back. I wince and he starts laughing, the rich tones of a musician.

“I must apologize, Gemma. She is just fine. I can see she has enough sense to know she’s in pain. It isn’t as bad as I had assumed.”

I try to punch him and wince again in pain. He laughs, bolder this time and wipes the hair from my face.

“You took quite a beating last night. It’s been awhile since I’ve been that nervous you would lose. I actually considered betting against you. I’m glad I didn’t. Although, Crystal isn’t still in her chambers. Good thing the judge only cares what happens in his ring.”

I try to sit up. I’m glad to hear I didn’t do much damage to the girl, but I hate others knowing how much damage she did to me. I get my elbows underneath me and I push my chest up. Nile helps steady my movements and is ready to catch me if needed. Only tiny memories of dizziness assault me. All that is left is the soreness of my body and the cosmetic look of being beaten. Those are easily remedied and at times can even be a blessing. Pity is one of humanity's biggest weaknesses in a fight. That and arrogance.

“Did you…” I cough, my throat dry from under use and sleep. “Did you win big?”

He smiles. Of course he did. I know that he always bets big when I’m fighting. I’ve told him to. Our village cannot be hit with any more starvation and I know I won’t lose knowing what the consequences will be. Before I can say another word, Nile pulls an all too familiar book from his vest. I try to roll my eyes but get only half way before a sharp pain hits me. I close my eyes and fall back on the bed unable to hold myself up any longer under the pressure. Strong hands help guide me.

“I know how much you love this book, but you mustn’t strain yourself Librarea (Lie-b-rare-e-a; sounds like Library).” He tries sounding sarcastic but I can hear the concern lacing his voice.

“Don’t you dare call me that. I may be down, but I’m far from being incapable of beating you.”

I slanted my eyes open just slightly to see his smile. He knew I didn’t like to be called by my full name. My mother, a historic reader of sorts, had loved the idea of a library so much that she named me in kind. The ironic part was I had never learned to read. I settled in, my head starting to pound from the effort of movement. Nile’s voice became a soft background hum. I hardly needed to hear his words, since I had known this story since my very birth. It was the only book my father had ever read to me. It was the only book I knew. The bass of his words put me back into a deep sleep.

#SaturdayScenes #Red

Guarding the Vila Book One

Happy Saturday morning everyone!

I decided that I would do a Saturday scene today from my novel, Red, which will be released on November 30th. I am so excited to receive the final edit on Monday and finally be able to start polishing and formatting! 

If you happen to like today's post, please check out my novelette that takes place prior to Red. It is free on Amazon for the next two days, so you should hurry! Here's the link: The Beginning on Amazon

**

Marie was staying in the next town over, her children safe from the eyes of people who were watching me. I picked up my pace knowing I wouldn’t make it before dark but wanting to cover as much ground as possible before I could no longer see. Just as the clearing to the village was disappearing from view, I heard a tiny little yip come from a few paces back. A sweet puppy, hardly big enough to be away from its mother, sat with its tail wagging. He must have been the runt of the litter, too small to keep up with his siblings. His face was freckled with white, while the rest of him was colored in a deep brown. Tiny little bones pushed against his all too thin skin and the look of him broke the rock that had become my heart. I considered him for a moment before quickly realizing I was in no place to take care of him, when taking care of myself was more than I was capable of. I tried to shoo him away, yelling at the poor thing until he sauntered off. I took off walking again, only to find him a few moments later trailing behind once again. Several times I stopped to try to push him away, my attempts more half-hearted the more often I did them. Finally I gave into his resilience. I scratched behind his ears as I handed him a scrap from my pocket.

            “You sir, are a determined little pup. Perhaps, you don’t really need me to take care of you.”

He yipped back in agreeance, almost as if he understood. I shrugged, not wanting to read too much into it and continued on. Darkness came along with exhaustion. I crawled into a hollowed out tree, pulling my cape as tightly as I could, trying to push off the chill. The pup jumped up onto my chest, snuggling deep until he was comfortable in his makeshift bed. I became completely overtaken by his audacity and how brave he must be to smell the wolf and not care. I smiled stupidly, and fell into a dreamless sleep. The first one I’ve had since I had died. The next morning I awoke to a gurgled whine of death. The puppy at some point had left my arms and I searched around for him frantically. Not more than feet from me a large white wolf held my sweet little pup in his muzzle, shaking him violently until he was limply dangling and torn to shreds. The wolf then dropped him at his feet, sauntering back into whatever Hell he had crawled out of. I dropped to my knees, wavering at the injustice.

                        “It was a warning.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t need to. I would know that voice for the rest of my life.

                               “What do you mean? A warning for what? How could killing an innocent puppy be justified?”

I felt more than heard her sigh, the earth seeming to come to my aid.

“Because, Red. It’s not about whose innocent and whose guilty. It’s about rules. It has always been about the rules. And the rule is you are not allowed to love. If you do, they will be the ones to pay and you will be the one to mourn. Death means nothing to you until it is done to someone you love. The Guards will come with their Trackers and take everything you want to keep. This was just a warning not to walk too close to that line because there will be no mercy for you, for any of the Vilas.”

            War gurgled in my veins. The Fates from both sectors of Heaven and Hell were playing with a fire that someday they wouldn’t be able to control. My fists dug deep into the dirt, horrible images of what was to come blurring reality. I almost choked on the words trying to fall from my mouth.

                               “What about Marie? The girls?” I would be lost if I had to give them up, but I would if it meant they would be able to live.

“Family is a sacred exception. You have no reason to fear for them. They will not be made an example of like the pup was.”

            I got up from the ground, a promise as solid as the hills held tightly in my heart. I would never bring another the pain that occurred here today. I would keep my distance, staying safely away from the humans. The wolves were my ghosts to deal with and the Fates my future to conquer. I got to my feet slowly and walked, refusing to look back knowing the scene behind me would be forever burned into my memories.