*Okay, I don’t know if this blog hop belongs to Katie, but she’s the one who hooked me up, so she gets the credit!
Hi everyone from Katie’s blog! I thought it might be nice to post a little something here for you, even though today technically isn’t a scheduled post day. LE GASP! Posting off-schedule? Am I sick?!
I thought I’d moosh in a little sample of the book of mine that Katie promoted on her blog: Vorator. After much consideration and gnashing of teeth, I decided on this bit. Enjoy! ^_^
After the fight was over, Connor washed up and dressed. They fought without shirts or shoes, and Connor’s were always set off to the side, away from the crowd. He didn’t have a ton of clothes, and he couldn’t afford to mess any of them up with bloodstains. He washed up in a sink meant for gutting fish, and once all the blood was gone, he pulled his shirt on. Connor slipped his shoes on and walked outside. It was too hot inside the warehouse; he needed some air.
Outside, Connor looked at the water. The barking of sea lions that were under the piers resounded around the wharf. The barking carried further in the fog, but it was a clear night. Connor pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, and slipped one between his lips. He searched for his matches, but couldn’t find them in his pockets.
“Shit,” he said to himself, and that’s when he noticed he was no longer alone.
A well-dressed man had joined Connor on the wharf. Connor was about to walk away when a match hissed to life in the shadows.
“Need a light?” the man asked.
Connor rolled the cigarette between his lips. Sure, take the light. What was the worst that could happen? “Yeah. Thanks.”
The man stepped out of the shadows. He had olive skin and black hair. His almond eyes were so dark they were almost black, and his face looked like it had been chiseled out of stone. He held the burning match out to Connor, and Connor cupped his hand over it when he puffed his cigarette to life. Connor backed away when the cigarette was lit.
“That was an impressive fight,” the man said.
Connor shrugged and took a drag. “Wasn’t much of a fight.”
“That’s hardly your fault, son,” the man said. He smiled, which exaggerated his already high cheekbones, and extended a hand. “My name is Max.”
Connor shook Max’s hand. He had what could have turned into a bone-crushing grip, and his skin felt like it was packed full of embers. “Connor.” He had never seen a Neolithic man before, but he had seen plenty of Native Americans. Connor assumed Max was the latter. Max seemed like a pretty weird Indian name. Connor indicated Max’s impeccable clothing. “You don’t exactly look like one of our regulars, Max.”
“I assure you, I am not,” Max said. His voice was crisp and colored by an accent Connor couldn’t place; Connor later learned the accent was an everywhere accent. “But I am always looking for men who are able to hold their own in a fight. I think I may have use of you, Connor, if you’re interested.”