Stevie Woods:author of gay romantic fiction

December 12, 2012

Twists & Turns 25% excerpt!

Today’s 25% excerpt is from my fantasy novella, TWISTS & TURNS, which is the sequel to the popular THE WRONG PATH, and continues the story about the romance between Crispin and Zeke.

TwistsTurnsCoverCrispin decided he and Zeke would need to have a talk later.  Right now they had more important things to do, beginning with immobilizing their prisoner as best they could.  Zeke may be strong enough to keep the man controlled but Crispin was in no position to trust that just yet.

“Get me some rope, Zeke.” Crispin dragged the struggling, snarling man towards the carriage.  Zeke brought him a coil of rope and the prisoner was swiftly and efficiently tied up.  The man’s gaze flicked from Crispin and Zeke and back to Crispin again.  It seemed he recognized that Crispin was the greatest threat.

“What’s your name?” Crispin asked the prisoner.

“It doesn’t matter,” the man said stubbornly.

“That isn’t for you to decide.”

The man stubbornly kept his mouth shut and Crispin decided to let that go for now.

“Who sent you after Van Zant, and why?”

This time he didn’t say anything, just shook his head.

“You’d better answer.  I’m at the end of my patience,” Crispin said.  He glanced at Zeke whose attention was wholly on the prisoner, probably ensuring whatever powers he had were tightly shielded.  “You have seen only a fraction of our power and already one of your men is dead.”

Zeke raised his eyes at that, frowning a little.

Crispin ignored him.  If Zeke didn’t know how far Crispin would go to protect him, then he was about to find out.

“You will answer my questions, or I will demonstrate how I can make you talk.”

“He’s trying… to fight… my control,” Zeke muttered.  Crispin glanced at him, but Zeke continued, “Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

More determined than ever, Crispin lifted his hand and slowly opened his closed fist.  Floating just above his palm was a tiny ball of fire.  His eyes gazing steadily on the captive, Crispin manipulated the fireball and it danced within the palm of his hand, spinning and flipping, all the time slowly growing in size.  He was aware of Zeke’s tension, all he’d seen Crispin do so far with flame was zap a fire and light a torch.  This was something different.

As the fireball reached the size of an apple, Crispin sent it zipping across to the other side of the road where it slammed into a tree, which promptly exploded in an impressive shower of sparks, flames licking at the trunk.  Lazily, Crispin flicked his wrist and a blast of cold air whipped up around the tree blowing out the flames.

The man watched, seemingly fascinated, yet not afraid.  Abruptly the captive looked into Crispin’s face and said, “You won’t use something like that on me or you won’t get any answers.”

Crispin opened his palm again and another small fireball appeared, but this time it didn’t increase in size.  “Depends what I decide to do with it,” Crispin said coldly, his eyes shifting over the man’s form as he half-sat, half-lay on the ground by the carriage wheel. “I need to know who wants to harm my friend and why.  You have a count of ten to answer.”

Crispin began to count down steadily.  The man stared at him belligerently, and Crispin recognized he doubted Crispin’s resolve.  He shouldn’t have.  As he reached zero, Crispin released the tiny fireball and it flew straight at the prisoner’s upper right arm, igniting his clothing.

A piercing scream rent the air.

Simultaneously, Zeke shouted, “Crispin!”

Crispin ignored his lover’s call, but instantly extinguished the fire.  “That could have been a lot worse; I was being reasonable,” Crispin calmly told the prisoner, who was crouched over gasping in pain.  He could do little else with his wrists tied behind his back.

“Give me a name, and I will ease the pain,” Crispin declared.

“Simonston, Willard Simonston hired us,” the man gasped.

“Simonston?” Zeke sounded shocked. “Why would…?” He stopped, shaking his head.

Zeke’s reaction to the name helped to convince Crispin that the man was telling the truth, and he manipulated the heat in the prisoner’s arm, cooling it down immediately.  It would suffice for the time being; proper healing would have to wait.  “Tell us everything,” Crispin ordered.

<end excerpt>

If you want to read the full story go here

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