I decided I might share a little of one of the novels I’m working on. It’s called Dark Star. This is only the first two pages of the first chapter. It really doesn’t have anything to do with kink or BDSM.... although my little muse is the first Dungeons and Dragons character I ever created. This is her story.
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Fathomless, colorful eyes surveyed the patch of dandelions at her fingertips; like tiny golden balls of velvet. The soft yellow tufts waved in response to her breath as she lowered her face close. The scent of a heavy summer sun on a fresh rain filled her nose as her lips curled into an impish grin. The late afternoon carried a lulling song of crickets and cicadas, chirping and chirring in a hypnotic rhythm that matched her breathing. A muse never needed to sleep, although Storm found herself sighing and stretching her arms and her delicate wasp-like wings. Reclining onto the damp grass, she closed her eyes and her whole world buzzed and hummed. Absently laying there, allowing her long wild white locks to tangle in the weeds, her skin tingled as the warm air danced over her like a protective blanket.
A crunch of the grass behind her suddenly interrupted her reverie and her eyes shot open. Drawing a quick breath, she sat up and looked behind her.
“Who’s there?”
The deep chuckle caused her pale flesh to prickle slightly, along with the hairs on the back of her neck. She swiveled around on the ground to face the visitor. Holding herself up on her arms and hands, her gaze travelled from a pair of sturdy brown boots that were unusually clean, to a pair of finely tailored silk black trousers and matching tunic. The man was built, if for nothing else, just for Storm to stare at openly and admire the well-defined muscles and expanse of chest beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. Meeting his dark blue gaze, heat burned at her cheeks and he must have noticed because he grinned, brushing a strand of his jet black hair from his face. He extended a hand.
“Alastor, M’Lady. I did not mean to startle you.”
Storm continued to gawk, briefly looking at Alastor’s hand she quirked a brow. Leaning forward she sniffed his fingertips and when she was satisfied she greeted the man’s hand gesture by nuzzling her face in his palm.
“I am called Storm.” She murmured.
He smelled like burning amber, and before the scent had time to delight her senses completely, Alastor gave a start and pulled his hand away. Storm exhaled with a pout; a warm tingling like steam lingered on her cheek where his hand had been. He squatted down next to her. Wafts of that heady amber smell drifted into Storm’s nose and she smiled, lowering her eyelids lustily. Alastor blinked.
“Well, Storm,” He cleared his throat pausing and drew his gaze over her body, “I have been watching you and I could not help but notice you have certain gifts.”
Storm nodded her whole being suddenly filled with a rush of air and a grin spread on her face.
“I am so glad you noticed!” She plucked one of the Dandelions and gently placed it on his knee. “Her name was Niam. She said she wanted to sacrifice herself for the cause of great friendship.”
Storm sat back on her heels and captured Alastor with her swirling eyes. Holding onto her knees, the energy around her rocked her back and forth as she waited, licking her lips.
Alastor looked at the plucked flower and then at Storm. She saw his brow furrow, like he didn’t know what to do. Humans never knew how to handle these things. Pressing her lips together she hopped closer to him and reached for “Niam.” He stooped there perfectly still, watching her like a cat would a mouse.
“Here. I’ll fix it for you, Sir.” She took the flower and stood, tucking the yellow puff carefully behind his ear.
Her knuckles gently grazed his cheek, which felt like sandstone and radiating heat. His chuckle was like a trickle of warm water running down her spine and she shuddered, her wings vibrating for a brief moment. She was only a head taller until Alastor stood, straightening his powerful legs. The top of Storm’s tangled mess of hair was lucky enough to dust the man’s collar bone. She beamed brightly as her eyes surveyed her handiwork. He flourished a bow keeping his gaze locked on hers.
