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Passion and Peril: Scenes of Passion\Scenes of Peril [NOOK Book]

Overview


Acclaimed authors Suzanne Brockmann and Jill Sorenson bring you two tales of sizzling attraction…where danger is never far behind 

Scenes of Passion 

Safe and steady pretty much sums up Maggie Stanton's life. But a chance encounter stirs long-buried desires and urges her to do the unimaginable—take a risk. Shockingly, the man who convinces her to forsake predictability for passion is the full-grown version of her childhood best ...

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Passion and Peril: Scenes of Passion\Scenes of Peril

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Overview


Acclaimed authors Suzanne Brockmann and Jill Sorenson bring you two tales of sizzling attraction…where danger is never far behind 

Scenes of Passion 

Safe and steady pretty much sums up Maggie Stanton's life. But a chance encounter stirs long-buried desires and urges her to do the unimaginable—take a risk. Shockingly, the man who convinces her to forsake predictability for passion is the full-grown version of her childhood best friend. Only, this Matthew Stone wants more and Maggie almost believes that their whirlwind romance is meant to be. Then she learns that Matthew is keeping a secret…and the consequences could change everything…. 

Scenes of Peril 

The snowstorm forecast says it's a big one, but wildlife photographer Paige Dawson is prepared. Until a terrible car accident brings a sexy stranger to her remote mountain cabin and the bad weather strands them together…for days. The heat between them is like nothing she's ever known—incendiary, undeniable. And just as she begins to hope for something real with Colin Reid, after the snow melts, he remembers what caused his accident…and it may be too late for them both.


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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"Zingy dialogue, a great sense of drama, and a pair of lovers who generate enough steam heat to power a whole city."
-RT Book Reviews on Hero Under Cover

"Readers will be on the edge of their seats." -Library Journal on Breaking Point

"Another excellently paced, action-filled read. Brockmann delivers yet again!" -RT Book Reviews on Into the Storm

"Funny, sexy, suspenseful, and superb." -Booklist on Hot Target

"Sorenson fuels this fast-paced romantic thriller with nonstop adrenaline....This twisty roller-coaster ride keeps the pages turning." -Publishers Weekly, starred review, on Aftershock

"This goes down as one of the best I've ever read. Bar none."
-New York Times bestselling author Maya Banks on Dangerous to Touch

"One of the best books of the year...nonstop, heart-pounding excitement." -RT Book Reviews on Stranded with Her Ex, Top Pick! 4.5 stars

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781460322536
  • Publisher: Harlequin
  • Publication date: 11/26/2013
  • Sold by: HARLEQUIN
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition description: Original
  • Pages: 384
  • Sales rank: 59,331
  • File size: 700 KB

Meet the Author

Suzanne Brockmann

Suzanne Brockmann is an award-winning author of more than fifty books and is widely recognized as one of the leading voices in romantic suspense. Her work has earned her repeated appearances on the New York Times bestseller list, as well as numerous awards, including Romance Writers of America’s #1 Favorite Book of the Year and two RITA awards. Suzanne divides her time between Siesta Key and Boston. Visit her at www.SuzanneBrockmann.com.




Jill Sorenson writes sexy action/adventure romance for HQN. Her latest release, Aftershock, was given a starred review by Publishers Weekly.



Jill lives in the San Diego area with her husband and two daughters. She draws inspiration from the diverse neighborhoods and spectacular scenery of Southern California. You can find her on Twitter much too often. Her other hobbies include reading, hiking, and going to the beach.


Biography

Although Suzanne Brockmann can't remember a time when she wasn't scribbling something (one of her earliest masterpieces was an action-packed radio play called "Mice on Mars"), she didn't begin to write seriously until she was married with young children. She spent several years trying to break into the super-competitive field of screenwriting before deciding to try her hand at genre fiction; and, it was only after months of intensive research that she finally homed in on Romance. In June of 1992, she sat down to write her first book. By year's end, she had completed ten manuscripts, and in August of 1993, she sold her first book, the contemporary romance Future Perfect.

Brockmann's first novels were stand-alones. But as her career progressed, she noticed that romance mini-series, with their opportunities for character development and intersecting story lines, had become extremely popular. Seeking to increase her readership, she decided to write a mini-series of her own. She found her "hook" in a magazine article on Navy SEALs and, in 1996, she released Prince Joe, the first novel in her Tall, Dark and Dangerous series. The alpha males of Brockmann's fictional SEAL Team 10 proved to be the perfect romantic heroes, and the series was an immediate hit with readers. Four years later, she launched a second series of military/romantic thrillers centered on the friendships, romances, and working relationships among a team of Navy SEALS and members of an elite security agency called Troubleshooters, Inc. Starting with The Unsung Hero in 2000, the Troubleshooters books have catapulted the author to the top of the charts.

Brockmann is known in the industry as a risk-taker, having written stories around such sensitive topics as interracial romance and homosexuality, In 2004, she garnered attention for her eighth Troubleshooters novel, Hot Target, which involved one of her most popular recurring characters, openly gay FBI agent Jules Cassidy, in a romantic subplot. Brockman, who dedicated the book to her gay son Jason, was not sure how readers would respond. To her surprise, the reaction from gay and straight alike proved positive. She stated on her website: "I love the fact that the world I've created in my books -- a diverse American world filled with the same variety of people who live in my urban American neighborhood -- has been so enthusiastically embraced by readers."

Brockmann's distinctive literary blend has come in for its fair share of praise. Writing in the Chicago Tribune, veteran Booklist reviewer John Charles stated: "Brockmann strikes the perfect balance between white-knuckle suspense and richly emotional romance." And USA Today has called her "[t]he reigning queen of militaray suspense." As further proof of her mainstream appeal, she remains one of a handful of Romance novelists to have made the leap from mass market paperback to hardcover.

Good To Know

In an interview with the online magazine All About Romance, Brockmann says: "I started reading when I was three (my first 'real' book was Beverly Cleary's Here Comes the Bus -- I remember this because no one believed that I was really reading it and I got really upset when my older sister took it back to the school library before I'd finished it!)."

A serious history buff from her youth, Brockmann has read widely on WWII and has been known to incorporate stories from that era into the books of her Troubleshooters series.

Brockmann loves music. She attended Boston University as a film major with a minor in creative writing but dropped out to perform with a rock and roll band. She also sang with and served as music director for a Boston-based a cappella group called "Serious Fun" and produced its first and only CD in 1998.

Brockman is married to novelist Ed Gaffney.

The mother of an openly gay son , Brockmann is a proud member of PFLAG (Parents, Families & Friends of Lesbians & Gays).

In her writing, Brockmann employs a device she calls Deep Point of View. She explains it in an interview with the online writers' journal Writers Write: "In my books, I use subjective point of view, but I'm not satisfied with merely showing the reader what that camera sees from its perch atop a character's head. I bring the camera down, inside of that character's head, so we see the world through that character's eyes. We hear things through his ears. We smell what he smells, feel what he feels, think what he think. With deep POV, I write using words that that character would use. I tell the story with that character's voice."

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Read an Excerpt

Traffic on Route 95 was in a snarl again.

Maggie Stanton sat in her car, too tired even to flip through radio stations to find a song that annoyed her less than the one that was playing. She was too tired to do much of anything besides breathe.

Or maybe tired wasn't the right word. Maybe discouraged was more accurate. Or downtrodden.

No, downtrodden implied a certain resistance to being trod upon.

Maggie was just plain pathetic. She was a doormat. A wimp without a life of her own.

She was twenty-nine years old and she was living at home. Yes, she'd moved back in with her parents because of the fire in her apartment.

But that was three years ago.

First her mother had asked her to stay to help with Vanessa's wedding.

When 9/11 happened, her father had asked her to keep living at home a little longer, and somehow another year had passed.

Then right after Maggie had found a terrific new place in the city, her grandmother had died, and she couldn't leave while her mother was feeling so blue.

It was now way past time to leave—a quarter past ridiculous—and her mother was making noise about how silly it would be for Maggie to get a place of her own when she was on the verge of getting married.

Uh, Mom? Don't get the invitations engraved just yet. The bride kind of needs to be in love with the groom before that happens, doesn't she?

Although, like most of the major decisions in Maggie's life, it was possible that this one would be made by her parents, too. And she would just stand there, the way she always did, and nod and smile.

God, she was such a loser.

Maggie's cell phone rang, saving her from the additional tedium of self-loathing. "Hello?"

"Hey, pumpkin."

Someone kill her now. She was dating a man who called her pumpkin. No, she wasn't just dating him; she was—as her mother called it—preengaged.

Yes, Brock "Hey, Pumpkin" Donovan had actually asked her to marry him. Maggie had managed to stall for the past few weeks—which turned out to be an enormous mistake. She should have said no immediately, right before she ran screaming from the room. Instead, because she was a wimp and rarely screamed about anything, she'd put it off. Her wimp thinking was that she'd find the right time and place to let him down without hurting his feelings. Instead, he'd gone and told Maggie's older sister Vanessa, who was married to Brock's former college roommate, that he'd popped the question. And Van had told their parents, and…

Segue to Mom buying Bride magazine and starting negotiations with the Hammonassett Inn.

Maggie's parents had been so excited, they'd wanted to throw a preengagement party, for crying out loud. Fortunately, the only date Mom had had available was this Saturday—the day that Eastfield Community Theater was holding auditions for their summer show.

And they knew not to schedule something on that day.

Maggie's involvement in theater was the only thing she had ever put her foot down about. Her parents had wanted her to go to Yale, so she'd gone to Yale instead of Emerson's performing-arts school. Yale had a terrific drama department, but her parents had made so much noise about starving artists needing a career to fall back on, she'd majored instead in business. After college, the noise had continued, so she'd gone to law school instead of moving to New York City and auditioning for a part on a soap opera. Her father had wanted her to work for his lawyer buddies at Andersen and Brenden here in New Haven, and here she was.

Stuck in traffic after putting in a twenty-seven-hour day at A&B. Preengaged, heaven help her, to a man who called her pumpkin.

Living her life vicariously through the roles she played onstage at ECT.

Because God forbid she ever say no and disappoint anyone.

Wimp.

"I'm still at work," Brock told her now, over the phone. "It's crazy here. I'm going to have to cancel, sweetheart. You don't mind, do you?"

Maggie had actually taken her gym bag with her to work despite the fact that she and Brock were supposed to have dinner. More often than not, Brock canceled or arrived at the restaurant very late.

Of course, tonight was the night she'd planned to let him down. Gently, with no screaming and relatively little pain.

And yes, that was relief flooding through her, chicken that she was. There was also annoyance, she realized. This man allegedly loved her. He said he wanted to marry her, for crying out loud.

And yet his idea of wooing her was to repeatedly break dinner dates at the last minute.

She could imagine their wedding day—Brock calling her as she sat dressed in her wedding gown in a sleek white limo being driven to the church.

"Pumpkin!" he'd boom over the cell phone's little speaker. "Something's come up. Compu-dime's systems have gone haywire! They need me in Dallas, pronto. We're going to have to reschedule—you don't mind, do you?"

And there it was—one of the reasons Brock wanted to marry her. She was so completely, idiotically compliant.

Of course she didn't mind. She never minded. She always did what was asked or expected of her, with a smile on her idiotic face.

She was such a loser.

"I'll call you tomorrow," Brock said now. "I've got to run."

And he was gone before she could say anything at all.

With his curly hair and Hollywood-star cleft in his chin, Brock was a good-looking man. And, as Maggie's mother kept pointing out, he got six weeks of vacation each year.

Yeah, there was a reason to get married—for a man's extensive vacation time.

Be careful, Angie had said the last time they'd talked on the phone. Maggie's best friend from high school was convinced that if Mags didn't stay alert, she'd wake up one morning married to the Brockster. Kind of the same way she'd woken up one morning with a law degree, a job at A&B and living at home again at age twenty-nine.

But Angie was Angie. Her goal in life was to make waves. She'd just gotten married herself to a man from England and was living now in London, working as a stage manager in the theater district. She had a dream job and a dream husband. Freddy Chambers, a seemingly straitlaced Brit, was the perfect match for Angie Caratelli's rather violently passionate nature.

Kind of for the same reasons quiet Maggie had gotten along so well with Angie.

It had been more than ten years, but Maggie still missed high school. She and Angie and Angie's boyfriend, Matt Stone—all part of the theater crowd—had been inseparable and life had been one endless, laughter-filled party. Well, except when Angie and Matt were fighting. Which was every other day, because Matt had been as volatile as Angie.

Life had been jammed with anticipation and excitement and possibilities. There was always a new show to put on, a new dance to learn, a new song to sing. The future hung before them, glowing and bright.

Matt would have been as horrified as Angie if he knew Maggie was a corporate lawyer now, and that her office didn't even have a window. But he'd disappeared over ten years ago, after graduation. His and Angie's friendship hadn't survived that one last devastating breakup, and when he'd left town, he hadn't come back.

Not even a few years ago, when his father had died.

No, Maggie was the only one of them still living here in town. Wimp that she was, she liked living in the town she'd lived in most of her life. She just wished she weren't living at home.

"Help," she said to the woman in the car in the next lane over who looked nearly as tired as Maggie felt. But with the windows up and the air-conditioning running, they might as well have been in different rockets in outer space.

Angie repeatedly suggested that Maggie quit her job, dump Brock and run off to live in a recreational vehicle with that really gorgeous, long-haired, muscular Tarzan lookalike Maggie had caught glimpses of while at the health club. The jungle man, she and Angie had taken to calling him since he first appeared a week or so ago. She'd first noticed him hanging from his knees from the chin-up bar, doing midair sit-ups.

He had long, straight, honey-brown hair, and as he effortlessly pulled himself up again and again, it came free from the rubber band and whipped in a shimmering curtain around him.

Maggie had never gotten a clear look at his face, but the glimpses she'd seen were filled with angles and cheekbones and a clean-shaven and very strong chin.

She could picture him now, walking toward her, across the tops of the cars that were practically parked on Route 95.

He would move in slow motion—men who looked like that always did, at least in the movies. Muscles rippling, T-shirt hugging his chest, blue jeans tight across his thighs, hair down around his shoulders, a small smile playing about his sensuous mouth, a dangerous light in his golden-green eyes.

Well, Maggie hadn't gotten close enough to him to see the color of his eyes, but she'd always had a special weakness for eyes that were that exotic, jungle cat color.

Oh, yeah.

He'd effortlessly swing himself down from the hood of her car and open the driver's-side door.

"I'll drive," he'd say in a smoky, husky, sexy half whisper.

Maggie would scramble over the parking brake. No. No scrambling allowed in this fantasy. She'd gracefully and somewhat magically find her way into the passenger's side as she surrendered the steering wheel to the jungle man.

"Where are we going?"

He'd shoot her another of those smiles. "Does it matter?"

She wouldn't hesitate. "No."

Heat and satisfaction would flare in his beautiful eyes, and she'd know he was going to take her someplace she'd never been before. "Good."

The car behind her hit its horn.

Whoopsie. The traffic was finally moving.

Maggie stepped on the gas, signaling to move right, heading for the exit that would take her to the health club.

Maybe, if she were really lucky, she'd get another glimpse of the jungle man and her evening wouldn't be a total waste.

God, she was such a loser.

* * *

Matt Stone needed help.

He'd been back in Eastfield—he wasn't quite ready to call it "home"—for less than two weeks, and he could no longer pretend that he was capable of pulling this off on his own.

His father had been determined to continue messing with Matt's head even after he was dead. He'd left Matt a fortune—and the fate of two hundred and twenty employees of the Yankee Potato Chip Company—provided he was willing to jump through all the right hoops.

As far as Matt was concerned, his father could take his money straight to hell with him.

But for two hundred and twenty good people to lose their jobs in this economy.?

For that, Matt would learn to jump.

Still, he needed a lawyer who was on his side. He needed someone with a head for business. And he needed that person to be someone he trusted.

He needed Maggie Stanton.

He'd seen her a time or two at the health club. But she was always in a hurry, rushing into the locker room. Rushing to an aerobic dance class. Rushing back home.

He'd seen her last night—checking him out. She was very subtle. Maggie would never leer or ogle, but she was definitely watching him in the mirrors as he did curls.

She didn't recognize him. Matt didn't know whether to be insulted or glad. God knows he had changed quite a bit.

She, however, looked exactly the same. Blue eyes, brown hair, sweet girl-next-door face with that slightly elfin pointy chin, freckles across her adorable nose…

It was a crime to humanity that she'd gotten a law degree instead of going to New York and working toward a career on Broadway. She had a voice that always blew him away, and an ability to act. And, oh, yeah, she could dance like a dream.

She'd won all the leads in the high school musicals starting when she was a freshman. She was Eliza Doo-little to his Henry Higgins when he was a junior and she was a sophomore.

The following year, they were Tony and Maria in West Side Story. It was the spring of Matt's senior year, and the beginning of the end of his friendship with both Angie and Maggie.

Because Angie knew.

As Tony and Maria, he and Maggie had had to kiss onstage. It was different from the polite buss they'd shared as Eliza and Henry the year before. These were soul-sucking, heart-stopping, full-power, no-holds-barred passionate kisses. The first time they went over the first of them, Matt had followed the director's blocking with his usual easy confidence, pulling Maggie into his arms and kissing her with all of his character's pent-up frustration and desire.

Maggie had become Maria, kissing him back so hotly, pressing herself against him and.

And Matt had to stop pretending to himself that he hadn't fallen for his girlfriend's best friend.

And of course, Angie knew. The only person who didn't know was Maggie.

It was entirely possible she never knew.

Or maybe she did know, and she had been as angry with him as Angie.

In which case she probably wouldn't return his phone call.

Which meant that he'd just have to keep calling. Because he needed Maggie Stanton, and this time he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

Laden with files, Maggie staggered back into her office at five o'clock the next afternoon after a six-hour meeting with a client.

She pulled the wad of phone messages off her spiked message holder with a sigh, taking them with her into the former closet that was her office. She closed the door, dumped the files in the only other chair in the room, and, sitting at her desk, spread the message slips on the desk in front of her.

Brock had already called twice. Seven of the messages were from clients she knew, three were names she didn't recognize.

There was a brand-new pile of files on her desk, with a casually scrawled note atop saying, "Deal with these before tomorrow, will you?"

Oh, yeah, sure. No problem—if she stayed here at the office until midnight.

Maggie let her head fall forward onto the desk. "I hate this job," she whispered, wishing she were brave enough to say it loudly enough for either Andersen or Brenden to hear.

There was a knock on her office door.

Maggie lifted her head. This was where he'd make the scene. Her jungle man. She'd say, "Come in," and the door would open and he'd be standing there, just looking at her with those golden-green eyes.

He'd step inside and close the door behind him and say, "Ready to go?"

And she wouldn't hesitate. She'd say, "Yes."

And he'd smile and hold out his hand and she'd stand up and slip her fingers into his and.

The door opened a crack and Janice Greene, the firm's receptionist, peeked in. "You are still here."

"Oh, yeah," Maggie said. "I'm still here."

"You missed one," Janice told her, handing her the phone-message slip.

"Thanks," Maggie said as Janice went back out the door. She glanced down at the slip and… "Whoa, wait a minute, please— Didn't he leave a number?"

Matthew Stone, read the slip in Janice's neat handwriting.

"He said you would know it," Janice said. "I'm sorry, I should have—"

"No," Maggie said. "It's all right." The only number she knew for Matt was the one for the big old house he'd once shared with his father, down by the water.

As Janice shut her door, she picked up her phone and started to dial.

But then hung it back up.

She'd always felt a little funny about the fact that she'd taken Angie's side during her and Matt's last big fight—the one that had broken them up for good and even managed to disrupt Maggie's own friendship with him.

Angie had never gone into detail about what it was that Matt had supposedly done.

All Maggie knew was that Matt and Angie had had the mother of all fights shortly after rehearsals for West Side Story had started. And that was saying something because theirs was a very stormy relationship, filled with conflict.

Angie had come running to Maggie's house for comfort. And soon after, Matt had shown up, too.

Maggie could tell he'd been drinking from the aroma of alcohol that surrounded him. It had been whiskey she could smell, which alarmed her. Usually he only drank beer.

"Are you okay?" she'd asked him, coming out onto the front stoop.

He sat down heavily on the steps, and she knew as she sat next to him that something was really wrong. In addition to having too much to drink, he looked anxious and ill at ease.

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Customer Reviews

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Sort by: Showing all of 4 Customer Reviews
  • Posted December 10, 2013

    These are two really fun stories. Suzanne has been one of my fa

    These are two really fun stories. Suzanne has been one of my favorite authors for many years, and this book is no exception, even though I read it several years ago. She always manages to get emotions exactly right, allowing you to sympathize with the person in question. This particular story (the passion part of the title) had me laughing on page one. Even though there were moments of sadness, the book remained fun to read. It was a really sweet love story. Now on to the Peril portion – there were several near death experiences. Couple that with a crazy stalker, what you end up with is an interesting love story. I wish the story would have been longer.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted February 2, 2014

    Passion and Peril is comprised of an old Suzanne Brockmann t





    Passion and Peril is comprised of an old Suzanne Brockmann title and a new Jill Sorenson title.  The Brockmann story is one of her early category titles.  It is not romantic suspense, so it represents the passion in the title.  The story is well-written and moves forward quickly.  Maggie, the heroine, is not as strong as many of her later heroines.  In the end she does stand up for what she wants.




    Sorenson’s title represents the peril.  Paige and Colin, the hero and heroine, are believable and fully developed characters.  The peril is not overwhelming, but enough to move the story forward.  




    Both are fun, easy reads that will go nicely with a winter snowstorm.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 26, 2013

    Silverpaw and co.

    Awesom!!! Read my story about Brableclaw at 'stary' res one.

    0 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted December 26, 2013

    Swiftstar's Journey--Part I

    PROLOGUE<br>
    <p>"Half-Clan!" Thunderstar hissed in Owlstar's face. Owlstar cringed. He had never seen Thunderstar this angry before.<br>
    "They are innocent kits!" Owlstar growled. He respcted Thunderstar, but wouldn't let him walk all over him like this.<br>
    "You should have done something! It is against the code!" Thunderstar hissed, not willing to budge an inch to Owlstar.<br>
    "The kits will be loved as if both their parents were ThunderClan! It is not their fault that Sparrowsong and Riverstream were morons!"<br>
    "Wait--wait, Owlstar. I am sorry. One of these kits-will be your successor, making ThunderClan great. It is Swiftkit, cautious Swiftkit. He has all the qualities. He is cautious, a natural leader, charismatic, and, above all, loyal-but he isn't a coward. Yes, him. Now go, Owlstar. Apprentice the kits. Make Swiftkit yours. As for Thornkit and Birdkit--I suggest Talonclaw or Eagleflame, or maybe Treefall."<br>
    "Wait, Thunderstar... don't go! Tere is so much I still wanted to ask you..."<br>
    <p>CHAPTER 1
    Swiftkit awoke as thunder split the night sky. He looked at the hole in the top of the den, where rain filtered in. 'Lazy warriors,' he thought. He shook off the droplets and walked outside. Light rain splattered his fur. He looed over and saw Shadegorse on watch duty. He looked awfully cold. He walked to the fresh-kill pile, dug for a warm and fresh piece of prey, found one, and trotted over to Shadegorse.<br>
    "Shadegorse. Shadegorse!" He whispered.<br>
    "Hmm... what? I must've dozed off. Who is it? Swiftkit? Hy are you awake?" Shadegorse asked, as if it wasn't obvious.<br>
    "Thunder. Lightning. Here, I brought you a mouse." He pushes the now-damp mouse in front of Shadegorse. "You kust be hungry."<br>
    "Swiftkit... you should be asleep. But, as long as you're up... you can stay here and guard with me." Shadegorse ravishingly gulped the mouse. Swifkit threw the bones in a hole, and buried them. He trotted over back to where Shadegose was, and sat down next to him.<br>
    "So... what's a warrior like?" Swiftkit asked, anxious to know. But right now, it doesen't look like much fun.<br>
    "Well, it's... interesting. We hunt, patrol, fight... the usual. I have only been a warrior for a moon now. The older apprentices sometimes tease me of how they can still smell my scent in the Apprentice's den. So, when will you be appreticed?" Shadegorse asks.<br>
    "Ummm... about a moon or so from now. Maybe Owlstar will make you my mentor!" He laughs. "It's just..."<br>
    "It's just what?" Shadegorse prompts.<br>
    "It's that I'm half-Clan. Few cats like me, outside of Sparrowsong, my littermates, and you, he says. Even Owlsar isn't fond of me." He says forlornly.<br>
    "Oh... well, I'm not half-Clan, so I don't exactly know what it feels like," Shadegose says.<br>
    Switkit looks over his shoulder. He sees four cats rising from the Warrior's den.<br>
    "Oh--the dawn patrol. You had better go, Swiftkit. I'll see you soon." Swiftkit runs to the nursery, feeling better. Maybe his life wouldn't tuen out ad bad as he had thought.<br>
    <p>END OF PART ONE! Soon Part II will come out in next res! Check back soon! -Writer

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