Name of fiction work? And were there other names you considered that you would like to share with us? The title of my up and coming book is called The CROSSING. The first title I thought to use was Devil May Care. Though it’s a cool name, I decided the other name is a better fit.
Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo? I work from my old trusty desktop.
What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I like to drink coffee or cold water while working and I do it from my desktop. I like complete quiet. Though at times, it’s hard to do. I have a Yorkie and my cat is either wanting inside or outside or she wants water from the sink. She’s more demanding than a child.
“Blood? And immortal life? What are you, a vampire?” I burst into laughter, verging on hysteria. “You’re insane!”
Baring his fangs, the Cajun snatched me up into his arms and flung me to the ground. I landed on my head with a hard thud jarring my brain into confusion.
When the haze lifted, horror pierced my mind. Throttling me, the Cajun squeezed his long fingers around my neck, choking the life from me. I opened my mouth to rake in air, but instead, he forced the crimson liquid down my throat.
The blood smelled of human waste and tasted like death. I fought, gagging, spewing the foul blood back into the Cajun’s face. Each second passing, my mind faded into unconsciousness.
Suddenly the weight lifted, and air poured into my lungs. I rose up on my elbows, hacking up the remains. Sobbing and trembling, all I could think about was showering and burning my blood-stained clothes that swaddled me in stench. I spied the bottle beside me shattered into pieces, laying in a puddle of crimson. Relief welled up in my heart. Good! Diablo couldn’t force anyone else to drink that foul stuff.
My eyes lifted, combing the parking lot. I noticed the bikes were gone. The Cajun and the other biker had disappeared, leaving nothing but dust in the wind. The only one in sight was the boy. My gaze locked on his broad shoulders as he stood over my body like a guard dog.
He turned and spoke for the first time tonight. “Get up!” he bit out and then in a rush, he grabbed my upper arm, hauling me to my feet. “I’m taking you home.”
“Is this some sick prank?” I choked out, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Ignoring my question and in cold silence, the boy dragged me by my arm across the lot. His eyes roamed the parameter as if he expected the return of his friends.
We came to a halt at a Harley parked under the street light next to where Ella had parked her Beetle. Shivering uncontrollably, the sea breeze nipped at my skin with no mercy as I clung to my shawl.
The boy paused, eyeing me from head to toe. In an attempt of chivalry, he shrugged off his leather jacket and tossed it over my shoulders. “Take my coat.” His icy tone confused me. “You’re going into shock.”
“Thank you,” I muttered through tears, avoiding eye contact.