Looking up from the floor, I scan the room, fat drops rolling down my cheeks. As they land on each guy, it’s like some weird connection is made, and their eyes change from concerned to ‘what the fuck’ in a split second. Their growing horror is nothing compared to the tumultuous level of crazy inside my brain. Do they remember too?
Before I realize it, I’ve backed myself up against a desk. With nowhere else to go, panic sets in full force. I can’t tell the difference between my emotions and Fate’s from a hundred years ago. They’re all raging through me, twining around each other and creating one hell of a powerful concoction inside me.
My safe haven has been ripped away, and my soul that was finally whole and happy is keening from the loss all over again. As a combination of two lifetimes of grief converge into one, it seems worse now than all those years ago. I’m all alone, again, questioning who I can trust.
What the fuck did I do to deserve any of this? Did the guys know all along? Have they been praying I wouldn’t remember?
“Fate?” Macklin asks gently.
I ignore him. I need to get out of here. I need to go...somewhere. Anywhere. But where?
“Fate,” Cole whispers urgently, “you promised.”
My eyes dart to his, finding some level of calm. Which doesn’t make sense, right? He was the one almost swapping spit with my sister after all. But something in his gaze centers me. Grounds me. Helps clear the fog that is consuming my brain. It slowly erases the residual feeling from the memory and brings me back to myself. To who I am now.
Hastily running the backs of my hands over my damp cheeks, my gaze locks on my sister. Her long, straight hair is pure white, with braids that pull the hair back from her face, meeting at the back of her head in an intricately beautiful knot. I’ve envied that damn knot for hundreds of years since my own hair can’t seem to be tamed. She’s dressed in a flowing white gown that is damn near the same color as her super pale skin. She’s beautiful, her face radiating pure innocence.
How the fuck does she pull that shit off? I’d probably just look constipated.
That small niggle in the back of my mind has become a large battering ram against my subconscious. Looking back at the vision through what are basically a fresh set of eyes, I remember the odd shimmer in the air, the veil of power just outside the cavern, and something else. Something else that’s not quite right.
Walking up to Destiny on unsteady legs, I stand with only inches between us, our eyes locking onto one another. Hers are a pale blue and seem incredibly relieved to have found me yet concerned at my current state. The pounding in my head grows the longer I stare into her eyes. Her eyes. What is it about her eyes?
And then it hits me. Her eyes. The pale blue eyes I’m staring into aren’t the same bright green eyes that smirked back at me in the cavern.
“It wasn’t you,” I whisper.
And with that last revelation, the pounding in my head gives one last beat before my eyes roll back into my head, and I pass out. Again.
Fucking ghost girl problems.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Acknowledgments
I’ve got to admit, this is a bit surreal. I wrote a book. But don’t think I did this all by myself. No way, no how. This book was made possible by an incredible support team that cheered me on, answered questions, listened to my craziness, and lifted me up when I was down. This is going to be a little long, so grab a coffee, or glass of wine, or whatever tickles your pickle. No judgment here!
First of all, huge thanks to my husband and kids, and the rest of my family, for supporting me and putting up with my crazy writing stories, afternoon Zoom calls, and overall new author mood swings. You’ve helped me realize my dream. I love you all so damn much!
This book wouldn’t be what it is today without help from my AMAZING alpha reader Mel. Girl - you took a chance on me and I’m grateful every day you did. I might never have gotten to this point if you weren’t with me every step of the way. I can never thank you enough. You are the Amy to my Tina. Can’t wait to see what that friend of yours, Author Genie Martin, does in the future!
To my badass beta babes: Aly, Richelle, Miranda, Louise, Angela & Sarah. You ladies really rocked it. Thanks for taking a chance on me. I appreciate you all! And I have to give a special shout out to my beta Louise for jumping in with your PA services when I needed them most and creating many of the awesome graphics and forms and posts that were used for promos. Here’s to many future shenanigans that will live on in infamy, even if only in our own heads. Grey Sweatpants Challenge, anyone? Oh...and crocheted dicks. They’re soft and squishy...friendly little dicks. Ha!
To my awesome editor, Michelle. Thank you for agreeing to work with me and for being a friendly, patient source of support and encouragement. Some hyphens may have snuck into this acknowledgment without your watchful eye to catch them. Sorry, not sorry! #NoMoreAuras #HAA #TowardNoS
To all of my author friends who offered help and advice - with special shout outs to Amanda Cashure, J. Grace, and A.J. Macey - THANK YOU! I want to be like all of you when I grow up.
And a million thanks to Emma Rider with Moonstruck Cover Design & Photography for the FABULOUSLY awesome cover. You worked your magic and brought my vision to life.
Last, but certainly not least, a ginormous thank you to YOU, darling readers, for picking up this new author’s book and reading it - you brave, brave souls. Your support means more than you’ll ever know.
May life bring you: quiet time for reading, a good glass of wine, donuts, and a crocheted dick - because, why not? ;)
Sin <3
A Personal Note from Sinclair:
Thank you for giving this newbie author a chance. If you enjoyed this book, it would mean the world to me if you’d consider leaving a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Us indie authors love nothing more than to know our readers appreciate our work so much that they’re willing to take a couple minutes out of their busy day to leave a few nice words about our book babies. Your support will ensure new readers will get to enjoy the world you just stepped out of.
I’m always happy to answer questions...or maybe you just feel like chatting? Email me directly at [email protected].
You can also stalk me for all the latest news on releases, teasers, giveaways, and more:
Facebook Reader Group - House of Sin: A Sinclair Kelly Readers Group
Spotify Playlists here
About the Author
Sinclair Kelly is a paranormal & contemporary romance author who writes to give all of the feral characters in her head a voice. She’s fluent in sarcasm and dry humor. She lives in sunny Arizona with her loving husband, three adorably exhausting kids, and a cranky old chihuahua named Sam. She loves reading, writing, coffee, vodka, tattoos, wine, donuts, broody asshole book boyfriends, badass FMCs, wine, all of the friendships she’s made since she began beta reading for some totally incredible authors, and can’t forget wine!
Keep reading for a sneak peak from Sin’s next release: If The Broom Fits
If The Broom Fits - Chapter 1
The Witch
“An ogre, a troll, and a witch walk into a bar...sounds like the start of a really bad joke,” chuckles the bartender as he wipes off the mahogany bar top in front of us.
We take the three empty stools in front of him and sit wearily.
“Wish I could say you were wrong there, pal, but you’re not. Someone, somewhere is cackle-coughing over their hilarity but we’re over here confused as fuck.” I shake my head in defeat, resting my elbows on the bar. When I attempt to drop my head into my waiting hands, the edge of my new head adornment hits my fingertips. With its wide brim and tall cone, it’s the iconic black witches hat. It falls to the floor, but before it can touch the dingy tile, it magically reappears on my head.
Oh, and my broom? It’s floating beside me. That’s right. I said broom.
Fucking hell.
Looking over at Max - the ogre in this tragedy - I can tell he’s just as t
ired as I am. Even the permanent scowl he’s been sporting since the first time I laid eyes on him has drooped a little.
His large greenish frame barely fits on the stool, his shoulders slightly slumped as if his whole body is too tired to worry about good posture. I’m not sure how big the guy is in real life, but he’s gigantic - and grumpy - now. His forearms - that are easily the size of my thighs - rest on the gleaming wood. His fisted hands are roughly the size of small melons. I’m surprised the dark tartan leggings he’s wearing don’t burst down the seams - though, note to self, he does not appreciate the term leggings. His oversized linen tunic somehow manages to cover his large chest and belly. Barely. His sword is leaning up against his chair, easily accessible.
“Can you tell us where we are?” he asks, his voice rough and gritty from lack of use. Strange that I can recognize that when I literally just met the man less than twenty-four hours ago.
Between the three of us, he’s taken this the hardest. I mean, none of us are thrilled with the situation, but where I’ve tried to be practical and positive, Max has been surly and cynical. I get it. I do. It’s not every day you wake up in a creepy field, the land shrouded in fog and muted colors, with two strangers by your side. And not just any strangers either. I’m talking characters straight out of the movies...and not the lovable children’s ones either.
We share only one connection - the strange book that mysteriously appeared on our doorsteps. We had all been reading it when we apparently fell into some kind of magical sleep.
It’s a testament to my exhaustion that I can even think that last thought and keep a straight face.
The bartender's voice pulls me from my spiraling mind, “You’re in Legends, my boy.”
He says it with such casualness, like we should know exactly what he’s talking about.
“Where the fuck is Legends?” Max growls. His already thin patience at its limit.
“Hmm...I’d say about two hundred and fifty miles west of Fairytale City and about two hundred miles south of The Realm of Nightmares. We’re roughly four hundred miles southeast of the Reality Gateway. ”
Max looks at me, his big brown eyes begging me to explain what the hell this guy is talking about. I may be the rational one in our merry little band of misfits, but this is simply outside my level of expertise.
A deep, husky voice pipes in from my other side, “In other words...we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”
Max just growls at Liam’s amused troll face.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that even amused, his small trollish features are creepy as shit. With a prominent nose and squinty green eyes, his smile just gives off all sorts of eerie vibes. Where Max tops off at well over seven feet tall, Liam barely brushes three and a half. His short, squat body is on the hefty side, his belly round and protruding over the top of his ratted brown pants. In lieu of a shirt, he’s in a green vest that does little to cover the hair that seems to be...everywhere. His arms, chest, and of course - the mass of unruly greyish, black hair on his head that has only one style - sticking straight out in all directions.
But - if there’s one thing about the little troll that I can appreciate - it’s his constant sense of humor. Without him to lighten the mood during our long, tedious walk here, I may have murdered the grumpy ogre myself.
Double, double, toil and trouble...and all that.
“I take it you three didn’t wind up here intentionally?” the bartender questions. A serious look suddenly taking over his face.
“Um...no!” I snort. “Do people normally choose to come here?”
“Actually...yes. Adventurers of all types wind up on those stools in front of me. Telling me stories of their travels through our lands with a helluva lot more excitement than the three of you appear to have.”
“Listen, man,” Max snarls. “Can you just tell us how we get out of here? We just want to go home.”
“Of course. You just have to make it to the Reality Gateway and it will take you home.”
For the first time in over twelve hours, Max looks at me with a little bit of hope firing up in his eyes. It softens his features and for the first time I get a small glimpse at the man underneath the monster.
Something about the bartender's words rattles around my tired brain for a moment before I ask cautiously, “You said we ‘just have to make it to the Reality Gateway’. Feels like there’s something you’re not telling us. It sounds a little fucking ominous to be honest.”
The bartender puts his rag down and places his hands on the counter in front of him. He looks thoughtful for a moment, considering our tired faces.
“Look. I can see you kids have no idea what you’re up against here so I’m going to give you a little advice. In the hundreds of years that I’ve stood behind this counter, I’ve never once had customers that weren’t here willingly. You need to know that someone brought you here for a reason. What that reason is, I can’t say. Just know that your travel to the Gateway isn’t going to be easy. You’re going to encounter beings you’ve never seen before. Things you’ve only ever heard of in books and movies. Don’t let any of it fool you. Don’t trust anyone or anything. You can only trust each other.”
I don’t even flinch at the fact the guy is hundreds of years old. Somehow, my brain has accepted the fact that we’ve landed in a nightmare where anything and everything is possible. The only way to wake ourselves up is to get to this Gateway, and I make a promise to these guys here and now that I’ll get us all there if it’s the last thing I do.
The Ogre
I can see the gleam in Brenna’s eyes. The fierceness that I didn’t expect from someone so small. Of course, I’m fucking huge right now, so everyone seems tiny. But something about her slender frame and elegant poise makes her seem fragile. Breakable. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
In less than a day, she’s proven to be smart, resilient and trustworthy. She led us here. The first place we’ve found since we landed in that god forsaken field. Part of me is even starting to like the witchy woman.
And when I say witchy, I mean that in the most literal sense. From the black witches hat, down to the tight black dress and the broom that seems to just float beside her. With the classic green skin, and nose that seems impossibly long - wart included - she’s the stereotypical picture of the fabled character. Even with the less than attractive image, there’s something beneath the surface that keeps calling to me on some level I can’t explain. Maybe that’s another reason I’ve been so damn angry. I don’t want to want the witch. But I do.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Her voice draws me back to the current conversation, “Do you have a map of the route we need to take?”
The burly bartender eyes her for a second, his head tipped as if he’s trying to figure her out. Funny that. The troll does the same thing. What is it about tipping their head sideways that makes them think their brain will work better? I don’t fucking get it.
“You should have an inherent knowledge of the land - like an internal compass. You don’t have that either?” he ponders that for a moment. Before any of us can answer in the negative, he continues, “Well, this just gets more strange by the second.”
“Define strange,” I insist. “This whole damn thing is strange.”
“Those adventurers I mentioned - they all come here with everything they need. The knowledge tucked away just waiting for use. They understand their other forms and have full control over them.”
“Other forms?” the little troll demands - even he realizes this is serious and that’s saying something since the guy couldn’t be serious if his life depended on it.
“Seriously?” the bartender sputters. “You don’t even know about your other forms?”
I glance at Brenna and notice she’s paled slightly, her green skin looking even closer to that tint normal people get right before they toss their cookies.
“Explain!” I command - trying to get a grip on my increasing ire, but
struggling.
Something about my ogre makes me quick to lose my temper. The littlest things set me off. I may not be the most patient of men in my real life, but I definitely wasn’t this bad.
“Everyone who owns the book knows about their other form. The other side of themselves. The book is what allows them the opportunity to let that other side have the freedom it could never have in the surface world. They were born knowing and - from an early age - learn how to control it, use it, and protect it.”
“You mean...my other form is this...this...witch?” Brenna whispers, horrified.
“A witch, yes. That particular witch, probably not. Since you don’t know how to control it, your mind conjures the image that you associate with the form. In this case, because you’re in the land of Legends, it’s manipulated your form into the quintessential witch. In reality, it’s probably a lot closer to your human form.”
“That is so not helpful,” Brenna mutters.
“But look at the bright side, Babe. Witches have powers. Those will come in handy right?” Liam soothes, his disfigured hand coming to rest on her bright green one.
She eyes him like he’s a marble short of a full bag.
“Powers would be great, if I knew how the fuck to use them. I’m more likely to turn you into a toad than I am to give you a bigger dick.”
“Hey now,” his hands fly down to where his dick would be if his belly wasn’t in the way. “There’s nothing wrong with my dick. A solid nine inches is more than enough to please a woman.”
It’s my turn to snort.
“You got something to say, Ogre?” Liam gripes.
A Fate Unknown: A PNR, Why Choose Novel (The Ghost Girl Series Book 1) Page 25
