Welcome to Weekend Writing Warrior and 8 Sentence Sunday time, the weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! Writers share an 8 to12 sentence snippet. Be sure to visit the other writers. You can find them here.
Sorry about missing last week. My blogsite was all messed up. My fault, although I didn’t figure out what I’d done until Monday.
We’re still in THE PILOT, first book in my Outer Rim series about strong women on the frontier of space. It's on sale for 99 cents through the end of October.
The day after Trevarr confiscates her ship and cargo, Celara is in a tavern where she gets a surprise.
Celara pushed her chair away from the table, climbed up on it, lifted her drink, and called out, “Listen your Rimmer scum, a toast--let’s hear it for the wonderful, fantabulous, Administrator Jovano, may he live long enough to enjoy good health.”
To her surprise, silence met her toast, no one raised their glasses or mugs, even in jest--everyone was looking past her and the only thing behind her was the door, booted footsteps rapped on the rough-hewn plank floor then stopped behind her.
“Thank you for the compliments and the good wishes for my longevity,” the baritone-and-chokiris voice said just over her shoulder.
If she ever needed a personal cloaking device, it was now—or a magic ring with which to disappear, because Sec Admin Trevarr Jovano stood behind her, waiting. Undaunted, she turned around, the room tipped, and she reached for the back of the chair. “Whoa, those mudslides sneak up on you.”
Missing the chair, she grabbed the closest thing, Trevarr Jovano’s broad, black-clad shoulders--beneath her fingers, the strong muscles contracted and he wasn’t smiling. “You should sit down before you fall down, or better yet, go home and sleep it off.”
A dark fury swept away the sweet tranquility of two tall Kruferian mudslides as she said, “I can’t go home, you snake, you stole my home.” She swung a round-house punch at him, missed her objective and would have fallen ignominiously off the chair had he not caught her. For several long secs, he held her tightly against his chest, her feet dangling off the floor a good twenty-five centimeters, but when his green eyes caught hers and darkened, the heat in the tavern rose ten degrees, her heart tripped, and the air leached out of her lungs. His eyes—she could drown in those green depths.
Life on the frontier of space is hard enough for a freighter pilot, so when pirates stole Celara d'Enfaden's cargo, she vowed not to be tricked again. Determined to make an example out of indie pilots who disobey orders, Coalition Administrator Trevarr Jovano impounds Celara’s starship and cargo. If he backs down, he’ll lose respect. If she can’t deliver her cargo, she’ll default on her loan and lose her only home—her ship. More important than her ship, though, is her brother. To rescue him from a galactic gangster, she’ll even work with Trevarr who’s bent on avenging his wife’s murder.