Here is the first page of my story that is currently in the final eight of the American Title final. Voting on this second round ends tomorrow, Sunday 25th.
Chapter One
Roughly translated, the slogan on Niall O’Connor’s family crest read: “We need all the help the gods can give us.”
Not that he wanted help from anyone, gods or otherwise. He’d learned early on to look out for himself. Unfortunately, every now and then he had no choice.
So here he was—cap in hand metaphorically speaking—on his way to ask for a favor from druid, Tristan Jago. Which unfortunately entailed getting past Tristan’s sidekick, a vampiric nightstalker with attitude problems called Nightshade.
Niall rode his motorcycle up the narrow drive to Tristan’s rambling granite manor house, stopped on the circle of gravel outside the front door, and cut the engine.
Trevelion Manor sat alone on top of the rocky Cornish cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. In the distance, purple storm clouds billowed across gunmetal-gray sea. A portent of trouble if ever he’d seen one. It looked like the gods definitely weren’t smiling on him today.
As he kicked down his bike stand, the front door opened. Nightshade stepped out of the shadowy interior, folded his arms over his glistening oiled pecs, and spread his wings to block entry. Quashing a sigh, Niall pulled off his helmet and rested it on the bike’s seat.
Niall flexed his hands to check the position of the two crystal knives strapped to his wrists. If he could avoid fighting Nightshade, he would. Not that he thought he’d lose. Quite the contrary, he was sure he’d win. But he’d fought enough hand-to-hand to last a lifetime. Now peace and quiet was all he desired.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Irish!” Nightshade hooked his thumbs in the loops of his jeans and grinned, his teeth white against ebony skin. “I’ve a hankering for a taste of Tuatha Dé Danaan with a seasoning of leprechaun.”
“In your dreams, boyo.” Niall halted a safe distance away and patted the pocket of his flight jacket containing the check. “You going to let me in? I’ve a wee present here for your lord and master.”
Nightshade sneered exposing the glistening points of his fangs. “I’m no one’s servant. Taunt me again, Irish, and you’ll live to regret it.”
Roughly translated, the slogan on Niall O’Connor’s family crest read: “We need all the help the gods can give us.”
Not that he wanted help from anyone, gods or otherwise. He’d learned early on to look out for himself. Unfortunately, every now and then he had no choice.
So here he was—cap in hand metaphorically speaking—on his way to ask for a favor from druid, Tristan Jago. Which unfortunately entailed getting past Tristan’s sidekick, a vampiric nightstalker with attitude problems called Nightshade.
Niall rode his motorcycle up the narrow drive to Tristan’s rambling granite manor house, stopped on the circle of gravel outside the front door, and cut the engine.
Trevelion Manor sat alone on top of the rocky Cornish cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. In the distance, purple storm clouds billowed across gunmetal-gray sea. A portent of trouble if ever he’d seen one. It looked like the gods definitely weren’t smiling on him today.
As he kicked down his bike stand, the front door opened. Nightshade stepped out of the shadowy interior, folded his arms over his glistening oiled pecs, and spread his wings to block entry. Quashing a sigh, Niall pulled off his helmet and rested it on the bike’s seat.
Niall flexed his hands to check the position of the two crystal knives strapped to his wrists. If he could avoid fighting Nightshade, he would. Not that he thought he’d lose. Quite the contrary, he was sure he’d win. But he’d fought enough hand-to-hand to last a lifetime. Now peace and quiet was all he desired.
“It’s a pleasure to see you, Irish!” Nightshade hooked his thumbs in the loops of his jeans and grinned, his teeth white against ebony skin. “I’ve a hankering for a taste of Tuatha Dé Danaan with a seasoning of leprechaun.”
“In your dreams, boyo.” Niall halted a safe distance away and patted the pocket of his flight jacket containing the check. “You going to let me in? I’ve a wee present here for your lord and master.”
Nightshade sneered exposing the glistening points of his fangs. “I’m no one’s servant. Taunt me again, Irish, and you’ll live to regret it.”
If you would like to vote for Magic Knot in the American Title contest, follow this link through to the voting page:
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Strong visuals! Good job and good luck.
Mary
Hey, I saw you made the next round!! Congrats!!