It looks like Havoc’s available at Amazon. Might be a few days before it reaches the other formats. Hope you guys like the story. Hope it makes you smile. : )
With 67,000 words for Havoc’s story, I’m on track to finish at the end of the month…but I might wait until September 1st to publish.
I’m pleased to report that the story includes baby gargoyles. I hadn’t planned on babies; they were a compete surprise (as babies often are). They don’t weigh in until the epilogue but I think you guys are gonna like the new members of the Greystone pack.
The epilogue is huge, by the way. It’s like the longest chapter in the whole book…which is another surprise because, normally, I’m not one for long goodbyes.
For those of you who are still waiting, I currently have 60,000 words for Havoc’s story and I think I’m on track to publish at the end of August. Thanks for sticking with the Greystone guys!
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.
Good News! I now have 40,000 words for Havoc’s story which is entirely roughed out…except for the epilogue. Here’s a snippet:
“What are you doing?” she cried, her hands on my chest, shoving me away. “Who are you?”
She didn’t recognize me! But I figured it was the sunglasses. And maybe the man-bun because I’d never worn my hair that way before. So I took off the shades and dangled them from my fingers. I grinned down at her. “Sophie, darling. Don’t you remember me?”
I saw recognition in her eyes as her blue gaze met mine. First there was shock. Then there was something else. Something…more than sadness. Something tragic and resigned. Something that almost broke my heart, that I wanted to reach out and fix. And I could have sworn there were tears in her eyes. “Yeah, I remember you,” she said quietly. “You’re the guy who promised he’d wait for me…then disappeared for the next four years.”
Havoc goes to Sophie’s prom:
The crowd parted and I got my first good look at her.
She was wearing a dress that belonged in a Disney Princess movie, a confection of pure white with a tulle overlay sprinkled with tiny points of light that sparkled as she moved. Her toes peeked out demurely from the bottom of the hem. The dress was modest in front. But out in back, it was something entirely different. It fell so low I could see the dimples on either side of the perfect sweep of her spine.
She was hot and she was an angel.
And I was frickin’ smitten. With a capital “S”.
Besotted with a capital “B”.
Long, dark brown hair. Big blue eyes.
Yeah, it was Sophie. You probably saw that coming. And she was dancing with another guy. Probably that boyfriend MacKenzie had tried to warn me about.
The delicate spray of roses on her wrist matched the pink tie he was wearing. So it was a good bet he was her date. But that wasn’t the only bad news. Because the guy was good looking, too. (Well, good looking for a human.) And from what I could tell, he was a nice guy.
Just my luck.
I’d found the most perfect girl in the world and it looked like she was into someone else.
I have almost 30,000 words for Havoc’s story so I’m making good progress! Here’s a teeny tiny snippet:
Defiance waved a finger in my direction. “So, what kind of get up is that?” he snorted, obviously referring to my prom clothes.
I threw back my shoulders and peered down my nose at him. “This is my prom attire.”
“That’s your prom attire?” he snickered. “From what era?”
“All of them, actually. But I believe the tails and cravat are from the Georgian era. Is that not so, girls?”
“Regency,” they all corrected me as one, confirming my long held belief that there isn’t a girl alive who hasn’t read Pride and Prejudice.
With three days left until Sophie’s prom, the girls took me down to the tuxedo shop in Denver. ‘Course they’d done the whole prom thing before so they were the experts. But—my word! You should have heard the argument that broke out over my pocket-handkerchief. Mac said it had to be white. Elaina insisted on red. But Whitney won the day because—really—she’s the girl boss. And the green silk handkerchief she picked out matched my eyes perfectly.
By the time I was finished, I looked like Colin Firth in Pride or Prejudice. Except I was better looking, of course. I’d rented one of those tailored gray jackets with tails. My shirt sported lace at the neck and gold cufflinks on the sleeves. A pair of closely fitting black slacks completed my ensemble. (The high leather boots were my own.)
I was the perfect combination of romantic era and latest trend as I turned my back on the three-way mirror and faced my audience of girls.
“Well, that’s it then,” MacKenzie proclaimed as she looked me up and down. “I don’t think we can do any better.”
“No,” Mim agreed with a pleased smile. “We couldn’t possibly do any better.”
“Ladies,” I declared in my most civilized tones. “Thank you.”
“You’re just so cute,” Whitney exclaimed, crossing the dressing room floor and pinching my cheeks. She smiled up at me like a proud mama.
I hated it when she did that.
“You’re just so twenty-something,” I mimicked in a high falsetto.
She went up on her toes, obviously meaning to plant a kiss on my forehead. But I intercepted her lips on the way there, pressing my mouth against hers and startling her.
Her cheeks turned an adorable shade of pink. I’m sure she came close to fainting from the effect of my kiss which must have been earth shattering. But when she recovered, she gave me a stern look and wagged her finger at me. “You’re a naughty boy,” she said.
“And you’d be wise to remember that,” I countered, straightening my cufflinks like I was James Bond.