Page 24 of The Lawgiver's Firebrand
To Love a Sentry by Rose Wulf
Pack for a Lifetime by Maria Mercurio
Ruin by Raven Hush
EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
BONUS SAMPLE CHAPTER
THE FIREBRAND
The Blood Coven Series, 1
T.M. Smith
Copyright © 2023
Sample Chapter
Seattle, WA, Present Day
Braelyn James pretended to eye a yellow-flowered sundress in the window of a First Avenue storefront. But really, she was scoping out her surroundings in the reflection.
A steady stream of cars rolled by, tires whirring on the pavement. Businesswomen in suits hurried to work. Tourists in shorts checked Google Maps for Pike Place Market. Friends chatted with their heads angled toward each other. The homeless clutched their signs for passersby. Everyone behaved as expected.
Nonetheless, she fought the urge to scratch at an imagined six-legged beastie skittering up her spine.
If a shadow crept along her bedroom wall at night, no worry. If lights flickered during a thunderstorm, no problem. If the stairs creaked in her dark house at midnight, no stress. But she believed in gut feelings.
With her gaze still on the window, Braelyn listened. Surrounding voices merged into a streetside chorus. Shoes tap-tap-tapped a busy rhythm on the sidewalk. Nothing was unusual. No one was following her.
Once she chalked the creepy vibes up to a simple case of an overactive imagination, she walked into her favorite crowded coffee shop. When she reached the front of the line, she smiled and nodded at the barista, not bothering to glance at the menu board to order. “I’ll have a twenty-ounce Frozen Monkey Mocha. Oh, two shots of espresso. No, can you make that three?”
As the barista slid the drink toward her, Braelyn’s cellphone rang. She answered while picking the coffee up and taking a long pull on the mocha. She half listened, prepared for a lengthy speech.
With the coffee in one hand and her phone in the other, she walked toward the exit and stopped, propping the cellphone between her shoulder and ear while juggling her cup and purse. Just then, a man reached around her to open the door, his arm high above her head. She turned to thank him, but he didn’t make eye contact. Braelyn sighed.Must be the sweats and T-shirt.Not the hottest look. For a trip to the doctor’s office on her day off, however, she had aimed for comfort.Goal achieved.
The tall blond, broad-shouldered stranger was fashion-mag, runway perfect. Once Braelyn walked through the door, she glanced behind, smiling, trying to snag his attention. His gaze was somewhere else. What did she care? Right now, she focused on school and her lame job. And, as of today again, recovery. Life afforded no time for romance or men.
“What did you say, Chief? I was distracted.” Braelyn returned to her conversation while the stranger stepped out the door to head on his way.
“I’m sending you to cover a story. We’ve got another demon kidnapping. That makes five in two months. And for God’s sake, stop calling me Chief.”
“Okay. Dad. Is that better? First, you promised me a vacation day. That means I don’t have to work. Second, I’m tired of demon kidnappings. My monsters all look the same. Red, horned, scaly. Can’t I get an alcoholic genie stuck in a gin bottle or a vampire with a blood phobia? How about a witch who’s allergic to broomsticks and has a sneezing fit every time she rides one?”
Braelyn’s mother had died in an auto accident when she was nine years old. Since then, father and daughter had struggled along, navigating the pitfalls of a relationship as best they could.
“Objections noted, Braelyn, but getting old. This story is important. The victim claims her demon has wings.”
“Wings! Stop the presses. I think you’re starting to buy this laughable crap yourself.” She lowered her voice when a gray-haired woman walking toward her on First Avenue frowned, obviously disturbed by Braelyn’s lack of cellphone etiquette.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t believe the hype. I just understand what sells papers.”
At twenty-five years old, Braelyn worked on and off for her father, owner of an online paranormal tabloid calledStrange but True,while she took journalism classes at the University of Washington—when her health allowed. Her progress toward a bachelor’s degree was slow.
Now her candle burned at both ends. Again.
