In Motion 2.2

Starting Paragraph: It’d been this way for months, now.

      Cadmus sighed deeply into the matrass under him. His fingers buried deep into the fur of his pet—for now—Daniel. The wolf.

Cursed Happiness, book 6, first line

What I did this week:  {this is another loooong one}

We’re going to start early this week, with a Sat slot—I had the time, since my man decided to have naps, so here I am writing the erotic shit right out of my head.

Really, people that’s what I’m writing, sex, sex and a little more, though a lot of the complete emotionally shit isn’t in it as such, because that’s a little bit tricky when you haven’t really had a full hand in that part of the mud yet.

Oh, and the book above, it’s only that deep into the series, because a novella comes first, just so you know. Also the first book that I ever wrote on this series, the book that made the series come to life for me. Brought these Cold Warrior to my attention in the first place. Really, it’s the scene that when the male character in that book comes onto the deck and sees the rest of them that made me fall in love with them.

Now let’s hope I can get you guys to fall as deeply as I have.

But that’s more about my writing, and storytelling than anything, isn’t it?

So here’s my treat, just remember that I wrote this back in, like, ’09 and I have done nothing to fix it up, the first three books came to mind and went to the front, leaving this one in the wind, for the moment.

The people have changed, the places, and I’m not sure whose really who at the moment, because lots have changed while I was writing the first book, this, isn’t even close, though the story in this one probably won’t change.

[Information and looks, are what will change. There has been no editing, from anyone]

Shit, shit, fuck! What was he going to do? Hamza had his hands in his hair. He had pulled out his iPhone and jotted down the number plate of the black van that pulled out of the side of the road with his Mirabel in it. Yes, his! No one else was allowed to touch her but him. And she defiantly wasn’t meant to go anywhere without him.       What was he going to do?       Changing from murderous anger to gut retching fear his couldn’t get his head together, couldn’t think of anything but getting to her. But where was she?       He knew that she was most likely with her father’s brethren but it had been a long time, and most went even welcome since he had even seen any other those men. Out of the ten of the guards only eight survived today and none of them lived in the heavens anymore. No Aphrodite had taken his generation as her guards when she realised that their fathers were too distracted to do their job. It hadn’t gone down well and left them without any contact, any love from their fathers.       But still he had to find her, had to have her in his arms. And if anything happened to her he was going to rip threw them like a dog threw his abusive owner. Because he didn’t think he could live without that woman, at least not happily.       Man he had it bad for that female. And if it wasn’t for the fact that she had been taken from him before he could seal the deal he would have been happy to admit anything she wanted, needed him to admit for him to stay in her life. He wanted in her life so badly that his eyes stung as he struggled to get a grip on what he was going to do.       First he needed to think. And that was something that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. He couldn’t think, couldn’t calm down though he knew that he would have looked calm.       So on that thought he pulled out his phone and rang someone he hadn’t spoken to for years.       “Hey man, long time no chat,” a very cheerful tone came through the phone, which was a shook because the last time he spoke to Cray, his brother by breed, he had been as unemotional as Hamza is, or was, because there were some ringing in his voice too.       After Hamza double checked that he rang the right person he put the phone back up to his ear to find a male laugh of amusement across the line.       “Shut up. How...?”       “Fell in love bro, it’s the only way around it.” Cray said, knowing what Hamza was on about without him really saying anything.       “Shit, mate, congrates.” And Hamza could hear the happiness in his own tone. it was slight, real slight and if you didn’t know him you would think he was saying it because that’s what was meant of him, but he and the man on the other end new better.       “Seems you, too, have found yourself in a similar position,” Cray’s tone seemed to be laughing slightly.       “Kinda why I’m calling, but first who’s you lover.”       “Wife, my wife is Giovanna.” He said and there was such love in his tone that Hamza thought that his eyes would shine with pride, and that love again if they were face to face.       “She one of the Janes?”       “Yep,” Cray said and left it at that. But everyone knew that an immortal Jane was a woman born with the ability to see things that are not shown. They are all different in some ways. Some can see the future, some the past. Some will touch an object and see all that’s touched it. Some can hear thoughts, some can see spirits. Some can... well you get the drift they are the female breed of the warriors. But like the sons were beauty, warriors (strong, fast, loyal, beautiful) the daughters were Janes.       “Congrats again bro,” Hamza said and he really meant it even though his tone only showed a little of that feeling. Though being able to show that little bit that he was, well he was over the moon – Or would have been if his inside hadn’t hollowed out because of the absence of Mirabel.       “Thanks again.” there was a pause. Where neither said anything, Hamza wasn’t sure if he wanted Cray to help anymore. He was now happily married, what if something bad happened, Hamza was going to come and get Mirabel out from the grips of what? Maybe eight Immortal worriers that were created to fight and win, they are stronger than their son’s but still it didn’t matter to Hamza, well only that he would still go in, but would he take someone with him?       “So spill bro, what’s going on?”       “I’m not sure it matters much to you anymore. I don’t want to take you from your family bro.” He said, honestly. And even his tone had a splash of that emotion.       “Fuck that. You only get one chance and seeing that your ringing without full use of your emotions means something big has happened to her, something that can be fixed with some help.”       “Our fathers have taken her,” he told Cray in a grave tone. One that was flat and empty. a touch on anger that seemed to come from somewhere deep.       A foul curse, slight pause and it sounded as if Cray was walking through a door and into a nosier room. “I’ve got three of the brothers here. Where are you?”       “Ah,” Hamza said looking around. He seriously had no idea where he was. He hadn’t really noticed anything but her as he followed her around. “Not sure mate, it’s hot.”       There was a laugh over the phone line, “I guess things don’t change.”       “What you getting at?”       “You’re a jumper, Ham. You tend to do without thinking, so thanks for calling bro, it means heaps, really.”       “Yeah well, it’s not like I know where she is and I have none of my crap here so I can’t really help her without knowing anything.”       “To true,” And then away from the phone, “Hey bro’s guess who I’ve got online?” there was a flat, like emotionalist ‘who’ “Hamza,” he told them and then an emotionless voice filled his ears.       “Hey Ham,” the flat tone was deep, gravely, Maynard.       “What’s up May?”       “You seem to have found some of your emotions mate, lucky you.” his tone was anything but thinking he was happy. Though it wasn’t as if there was anything to suggest he wasn’t happy about it, just didn’t care. But Hamza new the difference lived the difference. When one of the brothers said something you believe it. And they do tell the truth even if there jealous of you.       “Thanks bro. Hey texted me the GPS your at. And not in a wall again please I’m too spaced to deal with it.”       “K bro, I get Cadmus on it, he’ll lock in yours while he’s at it.”       “Thanks man.”       “No sweat, literately, soon bro.” and they hung up.       Hamza paced backwards and forwards in front of the bar that he was in. Still he had no clue where he was, at the moment he didn’t have enough head space to care. The boys would help, even if it was just to point him the right direction he would take it, anything to get Mirabel back and to fill his hole, for she’s the only thing that will be able to fill that space for him.       Gods she was it for him. Only four hours and one kidnapping and he knew that he was so close to falling in love with her that he was titertottering on the edge. But still he couldn’t be completely sure, even with the black hole of death opening up in his chest. He was a warrior; yes he may be an unworthy one, which could be why he wasn’t letting himself fall the whole way.       Like he didn’t want her to be stuck with a man that didn’t deserve to have her, and maybe there was a tiny part in him screaming to be a man and not do what he wanted to dive into. He wanted to love her but there was so much pulling him back.       Pulling him back to the point that tells him, you’re an idiot. How can you be in love with a woman you’ve spoken to once, and lusted for two days? Like really man, grow a pair.         But he didn’t want to. He wanted to be with her, he would have lost everything in him to make sure she was safe. To guarantee she lived for as long as she so wished. And he knew that she would wish of a long time.       She was passion he had never been close to and when he was all he wanted was for that passion to be focused on him. He would happily beg for it. Anything she wanted, for however long she wanted it for.       His phone beeps, making something in him jump, one step closer to finding out where she was.       Swiping his thumb across the screen he saw the numbers he need, concentrated on it and then pulled everything he was inward, and willed himself to that position.       It was great, all the new technology that told you were you where. What was better was that they didn’t need to know where they were going on the hole. You have to see to flash there. They didn’t, all they needed to know was where the place they were landing ecstatically. He could still flash to place by thinking where he wanted to go, and it was quicker, needed less time to do that. But it was easier to have the numbers at him fingertips to move to the place.       “Ham,” a collective of toneless, emotionless male voice called out to him as he walked up the back steps of, what he thought must be Cray’s house.       “What’s up fella’s?” his tone was dead as well as he stopped at the top of the steps, to the left four large beautiful dark haired males where sitting on deck chairs around a glass top table. The air was so stick hot that he wished he could take off his shirt. Only here for a few seconds and it was sticking to his back.       The other men were topless and he was sure they were only wearing shorts.       Walking over to them all he started shaking hands. All the boys looked as they called themselves brothers. They all had to perfect lines on their faces to be anything different. They hair a different colours brown, if not black. They bodies were the same. The same wide chest, tall height, solid abs (though that was public service not born to them. they couldn’t help it, believing a pretty face was nothing without the perfect body), they were every inch the warriors they were born to be.       “Cray, man, your home...?” he said as he shook the hand of the near black brother. Too much time in the sun with dark olive skin, his hair was such a light brown it could have nearly been seen as blond, but wasn’t. his had tattoos wrapped around his chest and left shoulder a picture of, who he assumed was his Jane, or daughter maybe. The rest of them were just thick coloured lines. “...Beautiful.”       “Yeah, thanks.”       “No probs, is your Jane home?” he asked as he looked at Maynard a nod hi was shared as they took hands.       Maynard skin was the palest, but still a golden brown. His hair was cut long at the front short at back, a dark blue died into his midnight black hair. His left nipple was pierced with two rings hanging out of it. His ear held a large hole with a... shark tooth? – hanging off it. Hamza new that May’s right leg was tattooed from the flat of his foot to his hip in senses of life, as if he was going to find the meaning of life and his legs held the falling of it. There also seemed to be a tattoo across the inner part of the arm he was shaking, thick black writing in the old script they were born to speck.       “Nar she’s off visiting her mum. Won’t be back for a week,” Cray finished as he got up, “you want a beer, mate?”       Hamza shrugged, “sure, bro.” And he walked into the house.       “Hey Ham,” Cadmus said standing up slightly in his chair so that they could shake hands. And they did       “How’s life, brother?” he asked Cad. Cad was the most baby looking one of them. His beauty swung more towards the cradle robbing ladies. And he used it. All that short mid brown hair and clean shaven, perfect trimmed man, left everything as the same so that the woman with experience would take him in and treat him bad. He loved it.       “Same old shit, different location. You man, ‘cause let me be the one to say it. You look like you been run over by the shit mobile.” That got a laugh out of Hamza, and that laugh actually sounded like it was meant to. Shit, it felt good. But more importantly Cad had said all that in his flat empty tone, so it sounded off. But Hanza lived in the words the sound. Gods he missed his brothers. Wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t seen then in so long.       “Feel like it too,” he said, his tone emptying out again.       The last man there was Joachim, a laptop in front of his eyes made him look odd. He was the biker man of the group. He was taller, thicker, and a dark light filled around him. But being that his mother was as much of a bitch as their fathers he had right to be.       His whole body was tattooed and pierced, though it looked, Hamza had always liked the man’s artwork, as he got a new piece on his skin. His dark brown hair hung around his shoulders, but at the moment was softly plated. His face held a few days worth of beard growth, which always sat there. His eyes though were beautiful. It’s not to say the rest of him wasn’t but his eyes, man. They were a blue so bright they glow in his face.       But no matter what any of the man did to themselves they couldn’t get rid of the perfection they were. Why they even bothered Hamza didn’t know, but they tried and failed as soon as they were able.       “So you were in America, bro,” Jo’s deep toneless voice came to Hamza as he sat down.       “Yeah, makes sense, I guess.”       He big man shrugged his shoulders, “To you maybe, I don’t get it. Or that’s to say why they would chose there is something I don’t get.” Obsessive’s Lips, book 4, page 11-15

So there you have it, the part of the book that made me sit up and take note, I wanted to know about them all, in-depth and live. Though like I mention before, this was writing a long time ago, and a lot has changed since then.

My writing style, or at least, thought around what I write, maybe, really, I don’t know, can’t tell this shit if no one tells me. But hey, if you liked it, I hoped you enjoyed and if you did, great, ‘cause I’m not getting worse, if I do say so myself.

Okay, so book 6 is a book off the novella before it, which is both nothing and will explain a bit, or maybe I just want to write that story first and needed characters and well....

Today I wrote 1,186 words—and hey, it was actually the start of the book!! Yeah.

Mon: but.....

That’s seems to be the key to any book. The but...

What would us readers do without the but....? How would we ever know what the suspense in a book was without it?

Okay, okay, I’m not being fair, far from it actually but it’s there and at the moment it’s like the only thing I’m able to see.

The worst is the fact that this is all coming from me reading the back covers of romances.

Scratch that, it was actually the blurb that came off Bloodrose, the whole start of it was in a way that clearly had her coming out and much more about the personal relationships she’s developed and all that, and then, the last sentence: “That is, if Calla can make it out alive.”

Is it just me, or was that line just a little too cheesy, like we wouldn’t know what the outcome to the end book in a trilogy is...

Well, it’s be cool, I think, if the person didn’t live, but then I’m all into something different, but still I’m not stupid enough to think that would sell. People want their heroines to live, end of story.

Really, it was just that line.

Tue: ...Sorry, but....One Piece....I....

Crap! *Sigh*..... Sorry

Double time it tomorrow...?!

Wed: it’s so funny. Mostly, since you don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, which I know is a most of the time thing, but get over it.

I feel like reading. It’s the only time I have ever wanted to forgo writing, forgo my days off when I don’t have to think about anything, do anything, and I can write, but all I want to do is pick up a book and read.

Which isn’t something I can do. I need, what, 2,000 words. Wrong. I’m not like that I can write whatever I want, but since I haven’t really put that much effort into the whole pen to paper (or fingers to keys) thing and I really need to get going. Mostly because school holidays is coming up and having the kids at home—well, actually, that could go either way, really.

Okay, it’s not much but fuck you.

I wrote 1,250 words, and it finished up the first three chapters of this book, though I’m into like the fourth and a good way in. this means that I’ll post the chapters for you. Remember though, that this is still only a first draft and when it becomes something more I’ll post repost.

Thur: okay, I can’t write book 2 yet. None of that’s in my mind and I’m going to stuff up his character, or that character I want to give him by writing it when I’m not ready to. But I did put in a 60 word effort (ha, to small paragraphs).

I just don’t feel like writing, I feel like reading, it’s the only thing I can think of, and it’s getting to a point where I think I should just get myself over it. But if I can’t actually like on a regular bases then maybe this isn’t something I should think about doing.

I really want to though; it would be great if I got published. It would be great to get paid for something I love doing.

Maybe all this is because I have so many different books that I have already gotten over all the great parts about it, the obsession and the figuring out, the start to finish feeling that comes with a book.

Yeah, when I actually finish writing them I feel great, I get the happy crappy feeling inside my chest and all that, and then, like a few weeks later I get the need to perfect. But at the moment....they are all kinda...blah. Like I know too much, but I don’t, not really.

Maybe I’m just in a funk? They happen too, like when you get in a reading one. I don’t know if it’s a matter of what’s in my mind, that there’s nothing in it.

Maybe I should...maybe I should just get over it, and hope next week will have me with words in my head that actually tremble into my fingers and lay themselves out on the paper in front of my eyes.

Okay, you know what does get me in the mood to write? When other people talk about their books, when they talk about what’s to come and all that. I want in that world. I don’t care, though, if no one likes me, it would suck balls, but that’s the way the wind blows.

I just want you to love my books as much as I like them.

Fri: Epiphany! Last night I had one and it was all about this book I’ve been unable to write, and for this to work I have to pretty much get rid of anything I have already put down. I’m going in a slower way, than the head strong way. I think it will be better for both halves that this comes along, more a lust that turns into love, mostly because the chick she is, wouldn’t fall in love, no knowingly. She was being tricked into it by her brain protecting her heart as it opened up.

Weekly cap: I wrote, then erased, and finally got too sick to be able to hold my head up and type. Yeah, what a week I’ve had. At least I know the way I want the two characters to go. That’s better than nothing. Right? I don’t know, I’m sick.

Ending paragraph: “Jemma,” Hue snapped his fingers in a way a light bulb would light upon someone’s head. “Of course, “ he muttered before looking Tabitha in the eyes and saying the one thing she never thought to hear him say, ever: “Mind if I tag along?”

      “Ah, no...”

Body of Darkness, book 1, page 14