This is a magical time of year, or it should be. Hence, today’s #1lineWed theme is **MAGIC**. As y’all know, I’m a puzzler. I’m often inspired to write a scene for a future book, sometimes not knowing who the characters are or where the scene fits. That’s what happened with today’s snippet. All I know is that it will be in a future Nightriders MC book. The hero’s name is Warlock. The heroine? I have no idea. She’s not the most forthcoming of characters. She has a story to tell. Too bad she’s not ready to tell it to me.
I stared at the TV screen, frowning. A woman playing a boy, dressed in a green tunic thing, green tights, and pointy shoes, was staring earnestly at the camera. “Clap if you believe,” she/he implored.
Evidently, if everyone clapped, the dying fairy would be saved because clapping implied that magic was real and at work. I didn’t clap because magic? No such thing. In fact, there wasn’t much I believed in besides hard times and that people were shitty, didn’t matter the time of year. I pushed off the ratty couch and punched off the TV. The kid was sound asleep. His mother would be home soon. and then I could escape back into the night where I belonged.
The chimes in the clock tower went off. I didn’t need to count to know it was midnight. My neighbor had gotten home from her shitty job, still apologizing that regular babysitter bailing on her. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. All I wanted now was a drink.
Two hours later, I sat at the end of the bar doing my damnedest to ignore the desperate singles around me. Last call was minutes away and those who hadn’t previously hooked up scrambled to do so now. A body bumped into me from behind and my whiskey sloshed.
“Sorry.” The voice was a sexy baritone.
“Whatever,” I mumbled.
A large hand landed next to my arm and a wall of heat pressed against my back. My barstool swiveled until I faced a muscular chest in a leather vest. I waited a heartbeat then I arched a brow and gazed at the man who’d likely meant to flirt, then ask me for just the fun parts of a one night stand. Damn but he was…not pretty. Not handsome. Beautiful. Yeah. He was beautiful in a scary, wild, almost feral way.
He scrutinized me but I saw no revulsion in his expression. His eyes hardened as they skimmed my face. His gaze lifted to capture mine.
“Warlock!” one of his friends yelled.
“What!” His attention remained focused on me.
“Grab her and c’mon.”
I broke first, glancing toward his leather-clad friends who’d claimed the cute girls.
“Did you lose the bet?”
The corner of his mouth ticked up as he waved the group away. “Nope. I hit the lottery.”
“Yeah. Right.” I sneered from habit but caught a flicker of something in his eyes, like a flashing neon stop sign.
His finger traced my longest scar, running from temple to chin. His touch was feather light but instead of the pity I expected, I got rage. “Fucker who did this still alive?”
“He won’t be for long.” He kissed the corner of my mouth and I couldn’t breathe for minute, again confused by him, by my reaction to him. His eyes lost their hard glint, going from flint to storm-tossed ocean. “Well earned scars should be a fashion statement. You wear yours well.”
And just like that, I was swept away on the back of his bike. He was the beauty to my beast. Riding off like this wasn’t some fairy tale. I still didn’t believe in magic, but I might just clap the next time I saw that dumb movie.