This is a group for writers who want to show short excerpts of their awesome work every Thursday. All genres permitted and a comment on each others work will encourage everyone to keep going with WIP's Our blog is http://thursdaytasters.blogspot.com
Ready for another round of Thursday's Tasty Treats? Another glimpse at the Lotus Petals sequel: enjoy the opening lines of Satin and Steel: Book 2 of Blood and Fire
There was a man standing by the side of the Westminster Bridge. He looked positively cheerful under the light of a single lamp illuminating his curious appearance. He stood alone, patiently rocking on his heels and humming to himself. Tall, long-limbed but not gangly, resplendent in darkly-dyed leggings and a jerkin in harlequin's jacquard , black-and-gold, he was quite out-of-fashion with the modern men of London. He might have sprung from a Shakespearean performance on the stage of the Old Globe Theatre. Perhaps he was waiting for someone there, though it was an ungodly hour to be meeting with anyone, even in secret, over the slow and silent River Thames.
The vampire pondered all of this as she watched him from her distant vantage point. She saw him very well, even in the darkness, and took several long moments to appreciate the sight of him, the slim lines of his handsome frame, the wiry grace nearly hidden by his nonchalant posture. His wavy chestnut hair was cropped short, to his nape, but not as short as other men wore it these days. He appeared smooth-shaven, no sideburns or mutton-chops, either. Indeed, he was a peculiar and remarkable sight—one that any common Londoner would mark immediately, and perhaps that was part of the fun of it.
Her dark, black-cherry lips parted slightly, baring sharp fangs.
The man did not stir as she emerged from her hiding place in the shadows. Even as she quietly strolled up to the bridge, slowly walking right to his side, he never stopped his careful watch of the gloomy night above.
She cleared her throat softly for his attention.
"By the stars above us," the man marveled quietly, his back still turned. "Could it be that an angel of death has chanced upon me?"
"Feste," she grinned. "It is so very good to see you again, my friend."
"And you as well, dear lady."
He finally turned to look upon her, giving her an appreciative once-over before taking her hand, bowing as he brushed his lips against it.
"My dearest Glory Ballantine. You are a vision."
"Flatterer," she scolded. "You might say the same of yourself, standing here in that jester's uniform. Who exactly are you waiting for?"
"Why, you of course, my darling."
His eyes sparkled, and she saw the glimmer of his own two fangs in the cordial grin he flashed her.
"So it must be true then," she purred, taking his arm. "The Councilwoman has sent her agents here to London."
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