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WIP 8.9.18

Since redoing the title (Blood Frost Meeting Midnight) and cover art, not to mention doing some serious proofreading (yeesh!), I’ve decided to start sharing some of the Work in Progress (WIP) of

Fighting Midnight

Ankarrah Chronicles Book Two

The woman who birthed me is going to die by my hand. I want to watch the last flicker of life bleed from her eyes as I stand there holding her dying heart in my hand. She ripped away the two most important people in my life as if they were simple irritants, like swatting gnats flitting around her head on a humid summer day.

The decimated bodies of my adopted parents litter my living room. The parts and pieces of people that held me, comforted me, supported me, and loved me were scattered around my sanctuary like so much trash blown down a windswept alley. Their arms would no longer welcome me, their hands would no longer dry my tears, their mouths would no longer smile in humor.

The sorrow drowns out the rage, leaching the heat from my body as I crumple into a ball. A high-pitched keening rises through the still, blood-soaked room. Backing up against the crimson-streaked wall, I lift my hands to block out the noise. My long dark brown hair falls forward as I rock on my heels. The breath backs up in my lungs, squeezing my chest; there’s no air to be found.

“Finley.” A deep voice booms through the thunder of static and rushing thump-thump of my pulse pounding through my head.

The glowing white-blonde hair of Hunter fills my vision, blocking out the horror in the room around us. Latching onto his gaze with my own, he becomes the anchor that keeps me from splintering apart and blowing away like dandelion fuzz in a summer breeze.

“Baby take a breath.” His hands grab my shoulders.

Feeling my mouth drop open, my lungs expand sucking in a huge lungful of air. It shudders through my chest, and a shaky hiss shimmers through the air on my exhale. Over and over again, he breathes with me, watching me. I can feel my legs once again, the bottom of my pants stiff and cool from the dried blood I’d waded through earlier.

He blinks, his eyelids shuttering his eyes for the briefest of seconds, and I struggle to maintain my hold on the last threads of my sanity. I can feel the darkness clamping down on my throat. The chocolate depths find me once again, keeping me from the slide into crazy-town. His warm hands like furnaces against the ice-cold skin of my arms.

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