This is WIPItUp, the blog hop where authors share excerpts from their works in progress. And please feel free to comment – we authors love feedback.
This week I’m sharing a snippet from my latest story. No title, cover or blurb yet, but it’s likely to come out in October. This is a contemporary erotic suspense story featuring time-traveling Vikings and a sexy 21st century police officer who’s determined to find out how these Nordic invaders come to be causing mayhem on his usually quiet patch in the Outer Hebrides.
Here’s the snippet.
Finn hadn’t managed to survive the Taliban in Afghanistan, then Daesh in Iraq, only to meet a bloody end on a winding road in the Outer Hebrides. He reined in the speed and entered the next bend at a sedate forty miles per hour.
If he hadn’t he might not have missed her.
The figure appeared in front of him, out of nowhere. Finn veered to the left to avoid mowing her down. He managed to lay the bike on its side in the ditch, causing considerable damage to the stubby foliage which bordered the road but mercifully none to himself and he hoped not the bike either. The Kawasaki was his pride and joy, he’d only had the machine for three months.
He scrambled to his feet and scanned back along the road.
Where the fuck is she? I managed to avoid her, surely…
Finn started to walk back the way he had come, glancing from right to left, searching for any sign of an injured pedestrian.
What the hell is she doing out here, in the middle of fucking nowhere, on her own anyway? How did she get here? Where has she come from?
All good questions. He would be sure to ask them, when he found her.
It was the movement to his right that alerted him. That and the brief glimmer of moonlight as the glowering clouds parted for a few moments. It was enough. He spotted her, silhouetted against the icy skyline as she attempted to flee across the moors. Finn set off after her at a sprint.
The race was an unequal one, despite his recent close encounter with the asphalt. He caught up with the diminutive figure in less than half a minute. She might have done better if she wasn’t hampered by an ankle-length skirt and some sort of flowing cloak that persisted in wrapping itself around her legs.
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