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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780998405339 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Rawlings Book, LLC |
| Publication date: | 07/10/2017 |
| Series: | Trust: The Alex Conner Chronicles Book One , #4 |
| Pages: | 194 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.45(d) |
About the Author
Ms. Sinclair gives credit to the development of her imagination and passion for writing to multiple childhood destinations lacking indoor plumbing. It may sound odd, yet when your journey to adulthood consists of numerous backpacking, camping, and hiking trips to the most out-of-the-way and breathtakingly beautiful places in North America, the creation of games, worlds, and characters are the results. She would never trade the childhood her parents gave her, and she thanks them for raising her to have her own thoughts, dreams, and bountiful imagination. Oh and she wishes to thank them for teaching her that one should never leave their jeans on the floor of an everglades campground shower-lest they do the dance of the scorpions in the pants again!
While attending college, Ms. Sinclair studied biological sciences and psychology, specifically animal behavior, but her love has forever been to write. There are boxes in her house filled with notebooks, journals, and logs with poems, stories, lyrics, and personal rants scratched into them with pencil, marker, pen, whatever she could get her hands on. Words demanded to be thrown out of her mind and onto paper by any means necessary. Ms. Sinclair's studies have contributed greatly to the worlds, characters, and stories she creates, proving that no matter what path you take, it will all be part of where you end up-sometimes in spectacular ways!
Since 2007, Ms. Sinclair calls Coastal Virginia home where she writes full-time, is a member of RWA, a licensed educational counselor, and enjoys quality time with her children, husband, and fur babies.
Check out her website today www.ParkerSinclair.net,
blog www.parkersinclairbooks.wordpress.com
Parker Sinclair Books on Facebook, Instagram: Parker Sinclair Author, Twitter: Parker_Sinclair
Fans of Ms. Sinclair's books have also enjoyed The Princess Bride, Stardust, The Hollow's series by Kim Harrison, Jeaniene Frost, Kelley Armstrong, Terry Brooks, The Magician's, Patrick Rothfuss, Fifty Shades of Grey, Cecy Robson, His Dark Materials, Harry Potter, Fifty Shade of Grey, & Twilight.
Read an Excerpt
Only: The Alex Conner Chronicles Book Three
By Parker Sinclair
Rawlings Books, LLC
Copyright © 2017 Parker SinclairAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9984053-3-9
CHAPTER 1
Loss
The writhing twists of mortal things do sicken me. Small grey abominations, I shall teach you of salvation. And through my eyes and by my will be free. For fools and mules will kick and spit And then from their knees cry holy writ, And grasp at ghosts that cannot be. But who are you to me? I'll tell you girl and listen well, For the king has come a reckoning. And by my word you mustn't tell Or death will come a beckoning. ~S. A. Chamovitz, 2015
* * *
"You are the power; you belong to me," whispers through the winds in my mind, winds I've felt and loved before — winds from Avalon. Sweat drenches my chest as I toss and turn, tangled in sheets one moment and atop freshly dewed mossy ground the next.
"Do something!" Ryan's voice calls out in a rage and his ring becomes heavy, cold, and lifeless around my left ring finger.
"I'm working here, boy. Maybe you should get some air." I can barely make out Dana's voice, but I know she is closer than her distant echoes hitting my ears. Dana's power flows like warm, shallow ocean waves while something touches my lips before she encourages me to drink.
My body is wracked with seizures as the first drop travels down my throat. Valant is in a far corner of the room, grumbling and growling impatiently.
Where am I?
"You must let me try. This is in her mind, so let me near her, you fools!" Valant's footsteps echo back and forth along the floor while his ranting voice accentuates his agitation at not getting close enough. Ryan is his own kind of livid. Tense waves rolling off of him pulse and prickle against my skin even though I must be somewhere else, somewhere far from all of them.
"You've done enough, Demon. Maybe if you hadn't killed him he could help us, or at least be forced to."
What? Killed? Who died? Who is Ryan talking about? And then I am hit with unrelenting pain and a swift reminder ... Justin, my Lestan, and I weep, falling away into darkness again.
When I wake, my head is pounding and my clothes stick to me in various places. Sandra is asleep in a chair beside my bed. Her folded arms are filled with objects: Justin's shirt, his evening primroses crushed and wilted, along with various other items I am sure are his. How long have I been out and, more importantly, will it happen again?
I sit up and lightly touch her arm. Objects fly off her lap in all directions and she looks around wildly, obviously not thinking the zombie in the bed is finally awake. I smile and give her a little finger wave before croaking out my greeting.
"Hey, girlie, you know a Bloody Mary sounds mighty fine about now."
"Alex! Oh, thank god. Are you okay?"
"How long have I been out?" Please don't say long, please.
"Three days. Everyone's gone. Ryan's gone to the Council, Dana's trying to reach Vex and Terra, and Valant kept getting cock-blocked so he stormed off." Three days? Well, could be worse, but seventy-two hours have been wiped and I want answers.
"I've been trying to see what was happening to you, using some of Justin's things, but I can't see a thing — nothing. I tried before as well, I promise. When you went to Montana, I tried right away, and nothing came up. I'm so sorry. I should've known."
I grab her hand. "It's not your fault." The vision of Justin falling to the floor constricts my throat and my eyes sting with sadness.
"Do you think there's any hope that he's alive? I mean, I know what I saw, but ..." Sandra smiles sadly, then her face freezes just before her beautiful eyes completely white out. She looks freakily eerie, even more so when her mouth moves quickly as she starts to mutter in a gravelly voice. I can barely make out her words. Before I can tell her to speak up, she launches forward and starts whispering.
Fairy fingertips tickle my toes. Lights of the pale moonlight haunt my dreams. Where has the boy gone, the boy who is more then he seems? Only the King knows and he is after me.
Oh shit. I was afraid of this. The king of Avalon, Lestan's father, is coming for me, or, rather, I am being brought to him. Sandra's eyes clear. She gazes around, looking lost, until she sees me and sighs with relief.
"Oh god, I thought you were gone. I was so scared."
"Yeah, well, I'm pretty freaked out as well. We may not have much time so let's try and get some control of the situation. I can get Valant back the quickest so let's start there. Valant, help ..." A boom rings out, shaking the bed and shattering the windows, and we're flung into complete darkness. Screams run wild inside my head. Coldness creeps into my chest and up to my throat where it tightens. This is not Valant's doing. I know, deep down, that no one can help me, no one can reach me. I'm alone. Payment for the sin is due.
Ryan! Valant! AVALON! He's taking me to Avalon. Please help me. Please find me.
* * *
An icy shock pressing against my cheek forces my eyes open. Where in the hell am I? The chilled metal sensation is coming from the side of a metal slab on which I'm lying. It reminds me of the death drawers the coroners stuff corpses into at a morgue. Is that where I am? An Avalon death room where I will be forced to see what has become of Lestan? And if so, where's the person who brought me here? His father — the king.
When I try to sit up my head spins, the sudden movement causing my stomach to follow suit, and I nearly gag losing whatever remnants of food and drink linger within. Looking around in my shadowy confinement, I see where I've been sentenced to, the cell that is now my doom. A dirty stone floor meets my bare feet, and metal bars enclose my space within what can only be categorized as a dungeon. When I try to stand, I become woozy again and fall back down onto my new bed. A thin pad is all that lies between my body and the thick metal I'll be sleeping upon every night of my imprisonment.
Standing again, more slowly this time, I walk toward the bars and find the latch on the outside of the door. When I shoot my hand out through the bars to grab it, a fiery shock ignites on my wrist and flares up and down my arm. I bite my lip holding back the nearly intolerable pain, expecting my power to heal me quickly, but though I try to call it forth, it does not answer and it doesn't come to aid me. Looking down, I see the cause of the assault. A bracelet, nearly black with tones of green, rests on my wrist. Is it preventing me from using my powers as well as keeping my arms and legs inside my cage?
A maniacal laugh breaks through the dank, frigid prison. Unsure how I could have missed it before, I am suddenly hyperaware of someone else close by.
"Who's there?"
Do I really want an answer? Whoever's there is either responsible for me being here or making sure I stay put until they get what they want. The answer comes in the form of a male voice, one bearing the tones of a person who holds all the cards, the control, and the kingdom.
"Alex Conner — Eila as my foolish son so lovingly addressed you — how do you like your new home? I find it more than adequate for someone of your stature. There's only one reason you are not dead, and that is because I need something from you, Ms. Conner. Something I will get by any means necessary."
Staring out into the darkness I can barely make out the form speaking to me. I can't see any other cells, but I am sure they exist. The space appears unending outside my sight. Booted feet approach, and I see the king coming into view in green velvet robes and a metallic crown resembling branches on his head. As he moves closer, I can barely grasp the resemblance to the boy I knew as a child, yet there's no mistaking who he is. The only question is what he wants. Making me pay for what happened to his son is my first guess, but he's not attacking me, as I would expect him to, if that were what he wants.
"I'm sorry about Lestan, your son. I didn't mean for that to happen. I loved — I love him. Let me try to bring him back. We can work together. Is this all really necessary? I wasn't even the one who did it!"
My anger is coming purely from a place of grief and the fear of being entrapped in this place all alone. More laughter echoes around me as the king's head falls backward and his insanity becomes horrifyingly apparent. He strides forward and hovers just outside the bars where any move I make toward him will be greeted with the same fiery pain as before. Not wanting to show the king that he, or my circumstances, scare me in anyway I approach the bars so we are face-to-face with only mere inches separating us.
"My son chose his fate when he failed me over and over again. And allowing himself to die at the hands of a lower being is what he deserved!" The king, Lestan's poor excuse for a father, screams his final words laced in his own spit and venom into my face, yet I refuse to take even one step back. If I'm not here to pay for what happened to Lestan or to bring him back. Then why in the hell did he bring me here?
Reaching underneath my eye to wipe away his spittle from my face, I step closer to the bars of my shitty cell and stare into the king's face. Enraged to a point of blurring the lines between sanity and mania, my teeth course across each other in a painful jarring sound. Unlatching my jaw, I spit my words right back at him. "Then what does the king of Avalon, of the Fae, want from me, huh? What can I possibly have that you need?"
He stares at me, and for a second I see him searching for something. Is it my face? My eyes? As he stares, I see a flicker of recognition followed by something that could constitute pain; yet in an instant it's gone. It means something, but the silence in our shared space, a silence that isn't completely quiet because I can still hear the blood rushing and pounding my ears, is an eerie quiet, one on the precipice of a vicious storm, a tragic, world-ending hurricane.
"All in due time, my dear. All I need from you I will find soon. So soon. If you think your life was full of misery before, you're in for quite a shock, because the things I can and will do to you far exceed anything you've experienced before. That I promise you, just as I promised my son the same if he didn't do as I asked. And I assure you, he fought me for a long time, and look what he became. A jealous man-child worth killing. Now what do you think will become of you, Alex? I know I'm dying to find out."
CHAPTER 2Memories
Blinds drift back than forth as the wind shapes their destiny. Flicker across my face — unending beams of sunlight. Rainbows are seen upon damp eyelashes, kaleidoscopes surrounding. Clarity of pastel colors, bright sparkles, slight heat. Smoke rises, dancing, then disappears as it rides waves of wind and light. Serenity fills this room. I am happy falling asleep ... inviting in the night.
* * *
"I have to sing again? Where are we getting these girls? Are you slumming it outside the rehab clinics?" Nic's laughing hysterically of course, which for him is a closed-mouthed, barely contained giggle that shakes his entire body and makes his brown eyes water.
"Don't smudge your man-liner with those pretty boy tears at my expense." That oughta shut him down for a few. Of course, now he produces the perfect pout before pushing me out of the way to hog the mirror so he can carefully dab at his eyes. He went for the royal blue liner tonight and, man, how it reflects magically off his warm skin tone. Maybe that means his relationship is improving; his smoky-eyed Goth phase was starting to concern me. At least he hasn't held off on the glitter that peeks in and out of his perfectly styled spikey black hair.
"Well, you should be psyched that you are on with those boys tonight! Now stop complaining and start thanking me and those unreliable dolls of ours. Shots on Four is at the top of the dance charts with this song, so buck up and don't let the crowd down. You can mimic Mayana's voice better than anyone. Now go get 'em, my little tigress." His smack on my ass wouldn't have stung so bad if he hadn't had on a thousand rings, or maybe I just need to be donning a bit more fabric. Backseam black hose under barely-there sequin shorts has to be all he had in his goody bag tonight — yeah, right. I smell a set-up.
Yanking down on the blood-red crop top that isn't going any lower even if I pop some seams, I clearly hear Shane's voice announcing the act over Rapture's insane sound system. Someone owes me for this, but I'm not sure who that would be since Shane and I own this place. Ah, the things I do for our club-goers' enjoyment. We couldn't just play Mayana's voice over the set, no, we had to promise live singers. The same sister singers who called not thirty minutes ago claiming their granny was ill and they were on their way to the hospital — food poisoning — thinking we couldn't hear the rambunctious chaos of party rocking carrying on in the background; priorities are spectacularly lost on those girls. Of course, I'm not one to claim perfection. Far from it.
The beginning tones of Stay are rattling the mirror encasing in the private bathroom. I glance at my hair in the mirror; the intricate braided up-do needs a little oomph. Digging into my bag, I produce a dark feather that I weave into the braid. It shimmers like magic when I touch it. Magic. There's no such thing as magic. Zipping up my heels, I give myself one last lookover before taking the hallway to backstage.
Nic catches up to me, hand outstretched. "You need this, you sexy minx you, unless you just plan on shimmying around instead of actually doing what you need to be doing out there." Snatching the cordless mic from him, I spin on my heels, and head for one section of the posh guest lounge behind the booth. My fingers open and close on the microphone while a shuddering intake of breath releases in a warmth that tickles a loose tendril of my hair down my chest. Composed, I slither along the wall, lightly touching the soft, pale-grey leather couches and chairs. This side is thankfully empty. The peeps from Shots of Four, whose clinking glasses and whoops of delight and ecstasy can be heard even over the sound system, are in the other section. Torance shifts to the left-side turntables, moving his right headphone off his ear and pushing his body down before shifting the volume to the front to send a hard-hitting beat shooting around the club. Major is quieter and deeply engrossed in the other set of tables, shifting incredible sounds of high and low into the rifts. I meet his eyes as he slowly turns; his only indication of my timing is a slight nod.
Mic up, I stride out between the tables and hit the high note Mayana made famous enough to top the chart week after week. The song is one I've known by heart since the sad beauty of it latched into the depths of my brain.
I can't stay, not here, not for another dance in the moonlight. But can't you come, come for me, and not let me down tonight?
Come for meeeee, You can come for meeee. Don't let me down, you won't let me down. You know I can't stay. I can't stay here alone. Please don't let me down. I want to come home. Home to you now.
Yes, at times the lyrics are agonizing to sing, but the beauty of them also reminds me of how much I still have. My friends, work I adore, even when I'm not always prepared for the slip-ups that occur every so often. Besides, I'm having fun, aren't I?
The last lyrics tear out of my heart and soul, leaving me to just dance freely, smiling at the amazing musicians on either side of me, at the crowd in a trancelike state below, and at Nic who is spinning around like a wild man in the VIP area. I swear he's taking up more space in there with his moves than the rest of the party on the opposite side.
My friends and I have an undying love for dancing. Why wouldn't we? Dance is known in many cultures to induce trance where we can escape the pressures of life, share positive vibes, and accept individuality. The diversity in the crowd fills me with pride; all are accepted and respected here. All dance on common, positive ground within the walls of Rapture.
There's a sudden flash of luminous silver light at the left side of the dance floor. A small set of stairs holds only one person, a man, blending into the darkness except for the brilliant glow coming off his hand. Can't anyone else see this? He stares at me, ignoring the beautiful mass of writhing bodies dancing around him. The dark clothing wrapped tightly around his magnificent body displays muscles one would love to touch. Is he new? Security? Why wasn't I notified? I'll have to find out who he is, for professional reasons, of course.
I try to get Nic's attention by staring at him and then back at the enigmatic man, but the music has that man-child entranced, and it looks like he brought an entire bottle of vodka up here. When I turn back around the mysterious man is gone. I stare harder, thinking that for sure he must still be there, blended into the darkness somehow with his dark hair, eyes, and skin. Sexy as hell in that tight shirt and equally fitting pants package, and now, where in the world did he go.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Only: The Alex Conner Chronicles Book Three by Parker Sinclair. Copyright © 2017 Parker Sinclair. Excerpted by permission of Rawlings Books, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Title Page,Other Books By The Author,
Title 2,
Copyright,
Dedication,
Loss,
Memories,
Sandra,
You Are Not Alone,
Ryan,
Dreams,
Sandra,
Another,
Jax's Plan,
Paradise Lost,
The Fixers,
Running Out Of Time,
The Just Prince,
Dreaming You,
Names,
Trust,
Daddy Dearest,
Home,
Thank you for reading,
About the Author,