I’m up to 50,000 words on Havoc’s story and hope to publish by the end of August. No promises, though. Here’s a snippet:
I’d like to point out right now that I didn’t mean to start a fight. I just wanted a human take on the whole Sophie Kowalski phenomenon going on out there on the dance floor. I wanted to know if Sophie looked as pretty to a human as she did to me…or if I was just looking through a pair of gargoyle rose-colored glasses. Because, when it comes to my kind, we see what’s on the inside of a person before we see what’s on the outside. And I thought the sweet vibe pouring off of Sophie might be affecting my judgment. Not that it would change my feelings for her, mind you.
So I elbowed the guy next to me. He was bigger than me. Taller and wider; altogether a big teenager. “Dude,” I growled, and flicked my head toward the lovely vision in the middle of the room. “Is yon lass as pretty as I think she is?”
He scowled down on me. “Yon lass?”
“That girl,” I translated impatiently. “Is she as pretty as I think she is?”
“Which one?” he muttered and turned his attention back to the dance floor.
“The one in white,” I shot back, exasperated. He had to be a simpleton, right? Which one did he think I meant?
“Sophie Kowalski?” he grunted. “What kind of question is that? Everyone wants in her pants.”
And my brain didn’t even want to process that statement. In fact, I think my brain shut down, hung out a “closed” sign and went off to Spain for vacation. Slowly, I turned to face him, my teeth grinding in my jaw, my fingers crushing the paper cup in my hand while a pink fountain shot up from my fist and splashed down onto the floor.
The guy backed away, not because he was afraid of me but because of the mess I was making. “What’re you staring at?” he asked, his scowl deepening.
I looked him up and down then settled my gaze on his face as I tilted my head. Automatically, my hand went my hip where I normally carry my knife. “I’m just wondering what you’d look like without your ears,” I said, my voice silky with violence.
The big guy looked confused. “I’m sorry?” he said like he didn’t understand but was pissed anyhow.
“I’m sorry too,” I growled.
“For what?” he demanded, rolling his thick shoulders like he was ready for a fight if I wanted to start something.
“For this,” I answered. Then I picked him up and threw him into the punch bowl.