Bronwyn's WIP Friday
This is a series nearly forgotten. It’s a series I really want to write. It’s the series I love the idea too but am afraid of the research I’m going to have to do. Mostly because of the mental state of the characters. It’s the series that I thought was blood and sex compared to me light romance of Moonlit Wolves series. And I think if you’ve read that series you can probably understand that more.
I honestly thought that series was light, how wrong I was, but that means this one…
Anyway, this series will be published. Sometime in the future it’s a series that will push me and I need that sometimes. Hell, most of the time, sadly enough.
I’d also like to add that with this comes a short story, which I have written, in full, lol. I would have shown it here, but, well…gotta keep some secrets.
Tentative title: Making A New Way (Assassin’s Union)
Excerpt – remember this has not been edited in any way
Most things considering Quintus never thought this was how his life would turn out. He’d been all set to die on the field with a sword in his hand, blood on his hands and a smile on his face. It was his life, a soldier’s life; he’d been raised to fight with his fellow brothers.
The funny thing, if you’d like to see things that way, he had died on the battlefield. It had hurt and it had been final.
Then a white light spilled around him, pain rippled around his body, starting with his heart out to his fingers, toes. He’d wanted to scream, he’d wanted to vomit, but he’d been paralysed in his own skin. Only the pain for company.
The pain broke a person. It’s how they were able to get there subjects to worship them.
It was how they were able to tie them to their evil ways, without question of thought, the pain the shock. It killed anything that was left inside of you.
Left for days to fend for himself Quin had been more than grateful when they’d gotten back, given him what he needed in order for the change to complete itself. It wasn’t that they need permission, they didn’t give a shit what they did, it was up to them, it was more for the fact that they were narcissists, older than dust narcissists, they needed to have you beg for it. They needed you to see them as there savour, because if they didn’t change you were left as shell of what you became, crazed, something less than an animal.
Quin knew this to be true. He’d seen more than one be made, they needed them to clean, look after them, these men—beings came from a time and place that they probably wouldn’t know how to wipe their own arses, and he wasn’t exaggerating. His time period wasn’t as bad, but he knew some of the older Lords that couldn’t. Hell, he wasn’t even sure they knew how to wank with their own hands.
Now you’re done here, why not click over and see what April’s got for us this week: http://bronwynheeley.blogspot.com/2015/07/aprils-interlude_31.html