Skip to main content

Excerpt: To Love the Moon



Arin and September



Excerpt: To Love the Moon
by Faith Luna
All rights reserved, copyright 2014

A group of men on horses lined the the top of the hill. One of them held up a ball of fire in his hand and was dressed in robes with authentic looking red ink tribal tattoos across his face. The horses didn’t look like the nice friendly ones the cops rode on either. These were all black, shiny and sleek, blacker than the sky, and each of them moved with personality and intelligence, not even the slightest bit of boredom about them.  The riders were the same, predator skin-to-bone with the kind of eager smiles that demon cats might wear.

The one in the center dismounted, moving easily, even though the armor he wore caught the light like metal and the horse’s shoulder was higher than his head. He pulled his helmet off, revealing hair redder and shinier than any hair she’d ever seen on a living being. Red markings swirled over his face as well, moving as he glared at her.  For the first moment in a very long time she wondered if she really was sane. Maybe being alone had really eaten away all the reason she’d ever found. Reason or not, he was so fucking pretty.

He spoke, holding his hand out to her, speaking in that same rough language, though in his mouth it wasn’t rough so much as much more like Chaucer, melodic and charming.

Having a nervous breakdown was the obvious answer to this situation. She’d been walking home and seen a baby in the water and gone in after it and then... well... somehow she was just confabulating like crazy.  “I don’t suppose you have a cell phone do you? My phone got wet when I went into the water and I seem to be having a bit of a psychotic break. Not that this is like being the worst outcome and you look fantastic, but uh, do you have a phone I could make a call with?”

He said something that sounded like he was talking to a spooked horse as he made his way down the slippery hill of mud. There wasn’t anyone like him at the call center. Boots to his knees, leather pants on his thighs that were worn to a soft competence, and he wore a belt around his hips, heavy with a blackened sword in its sheath. By the time her eyes had gone up his whole body, over powerful grace under battle scarred leather, he was well into her personal space. Mouth dry again, she looked up at him, gray eyes wide, and if he were an hallucination, she had to admit that her hallucinations had gotten much, much better.

A fine misty flame swirled in his breath, rolled over soft lips, like one’s breath might fog in the chill, but this smelled of cinnamon and held her attention so intensely that she didn’t even see his hand reach behind her head, though she felt those fingers slide into wet brown hair. Her own breath was heavy, misted, though it burned away as his mouth pressed to hers. He held her gently, but without question and his kiss breathed into her like fiery spirits, scotch, but cinnamon, and spread warmth through her, lifting her from the clinging mud, setting the strange night on fire and she didn’t care if he were an hallucination, as long as he never stopped kissing her.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Heart of Magic Chapters 1 & 2

Heart of Magic By Max All Rights Reserved Copyright 2017

“Are you lost,” he asked, voice amused, deep and as comfortable being in the shadow. Panting, the red silk of her gown moved against the curve of smooth breast, The same gown hugged her waist, slowed down behind her almost like a wedding train, but in the brightest red. Violet eyes stared up at him, trying to decide if he were a friend. The question was hard to answer. “I....” He leaned a little, his smile confident, engaged. Dark eyes seemed to swallow her whole as if she were a sugar cube melting in his champagne. “Well, what is it, my pretty cardinal?” Almost as if compelled, as if tell him the truth were her most sweetest desire, she admitted, “I came in with the offering girls because I’m looking for my brother. I think the king is holding him because he’s a journalist and an activist for democracy.” Both her hands covered her mouth, those violet eyes wide with shock. “You think the king keeps political prisoners,” he said, on ha…

Fic: Not Quite Single 1/?

Not Quite Single by Max
Disclaimer: I own neither Gundam Wing nor Captain America
“You’re right. There is definitely something there,” Hilde said. On the bridge of their little salvage craft, she touched the data display, the 3d image of the ice shelf they were exploring.
They were, technically, getting paid to disperse oceanographic sensors for the University of Tokyo. Doing a little salvage on the side was just a perk.
“What’cha think it is?” Duo asked, pulling his wet suit up over his shoulders. His hair was growing out again and was down past his shoulders if it wasn’t in a ponytail. Silver touched his temples, metallic and shimmery. Anti-aging technology kept him in peak condition, looking early twenties, at oldest. Anticipating his swim, the gills on the side of his throat opened, tingling pleasantly.
“Early plane, like fuck,” Hilde said. While she had always had a couple years on him, it didn’t show at all. Her hair was flame red curls now. One eye was completely artificial, thoug…

fic: Blood on the Brain 2/?

Blood on the Brain 2/?
by Max
Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing

As a side note, my blog now has all 13 chapters of Dark Wolf in one post. http://www.faithinthemoon.com/2017/11/dark-wolf-1-13.html


The current ‘safe house’ had been a shipping container at some point in its life. Now buried under a landfill like a hobbit hole with door that used to be a refrigerator it had made a fine home for several months. Power came from solar collectors as well as thermal from sensors sunk deep into the raging pile of trash. The floor was a mosaic of broken glass grouted with some strange gunk that Quatre had mixed up, which made it smooth and pebbly.
The table had the top of a boxy car from way before any of them were born, cut off and mounted in the floor so that it looked like the had just sunk into the floor. Duo and Quatre had been drunk when the table got made. It still generated snickers.
They had a washing machine made out of a large spent artillery casing and an engine from something that had…