Turn, The Title of my W.I.P.

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted to my blog, but I’ve been busy! I’ve been busy creating a brand new world which will consist of its very own Trilogy!

Late last year, I got the idea for the story, and I haven’t come up for a breath since. The project is called The Humanity’s Edge Trilogy, and book one is so very close to being complete.

Turn has been through several rewrites already, as well as its first pass through editing. I am mid-way through its fourth rewrite, and as soon as that’s complete, it’ll be on its way back for content editing.

Book two of the trilogy (titled Detour) is mostly written and will follow the same process as Turn did in quick succession. Book three (titled Reversion) is outlined but is still a true work in progress.

Now, for some exciting news about the project: I’m going to be submitting it to Kindle Scout, just as I did with The Hunted Assassin last year. With any luck, the fine folks at Amazon will get behind the project, and it will see so many more eyes than I could provide for it on my own.

And until all that happens, here’s a snippet from the first book. Please enjoy Chapter One (unedited) of Turn, Book One of The Humanities Edge Trilogy.

Chapter 1

Darcy scrambled up the hayloft ladder, an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttering deep inside her. She could feel the scratchy straw beneath her fingers as she gripped each rung, but she didn’t mind. She was breathless, her knees quick to bend and snap back. Far below, she felt Caleb’s eyes watching her ass, gauging the darkness beneath her skirt where her legs met. The moment she reached the top, she whirled around, her dark hair skimming over her eyes. She blinked toward him.

“Are you coming up, or are you too scared?” she taunted, tilting an exposed shoulder toward him.

Caleb laughed, his broad, quarterback shoulders shaking slightly. A bit of 18-year-old five o clock shadow dusted his cheeks and upper lip. His eyes gleamed with lust for her.

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked her, raising a thick eyebrow high.

“Just come on, before my dad hears us,” Darcy sighed. She beckoned, allowing him to see an inch of cleavage before ripping herself back toward the hay bales in the loft, listening as he climbed.

The pair had left the football game only thirty minutes before, speeding out across the dirt roads and toward her father’s farm, ditching their friends and their typical pizza joint. This night was different. It sizzled with something special.

When Caleb finally appeared in the hayloft, his face glinted in the moonlight, a slight gash beneath his right eye; a memento from the game. Darcy reached toward him, touching it delicately with her thumb. “Caleb, I didn’t think they hit you so hard,” she whispered, breathless. The moment she touched him, the tension between them broke, and he turned toward her, catching her lips with his.

The moment they began kissing, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling the force of his upper arms and back muscles. She allowed herself to forget about her father, only twenty yards away, reading in the farmhouse. She was a young woman, brimming with endless sexuality. In a moment, she felt Caleb’s fingers attack her cardigan’s buttons, ripping the top ones apart.

She broke the kiss, looking at him with misty, doe eyes. “Oh, Caleb,” she whispered.

“What?” he asked her. His lips were red from the passion of their kisses.

“It’s just—it’s different this time. It feels like—like maybe—” she shook her head, the single word tickling along her tongue. “It feels like maybe I’m in love with you.”

Caleb didn’t move. He still held her tightly, looking at her with sure eyes. “I love you, too,” he said. His voice was deep, gruff. Almost like a hero’s in an old movie.

As Darcy leaned in closer to him, to catch him in a kiss once more, she noted that his eyes suddenly looked out behind her, toward the field and the pine-covered hills beyond. His jaw dropped, and his arms swept around Darcy, almost in a tackle.

“Holy shit, Darcy. Look!” He pointed toward the open bay door in the loft, inhaling sharply.

Darcy frowned slightly before turning toward Caleb’s extended arm. There, in the distance, was the most remarkable shooting star she’d ever seen. She slipped from Caleb’s embrace, feeling her breasts strain against her unbuttoned cardigan. She felt Caleb appear beside her as they crept toward the open window, watching as the shooting star seemed to burn light upon the dark, pine-covered hills. The field turned bright orange.

“It looks like it’s getting closer. But that’s impossible,” Darcy whispered, shaking her head. “It must be a million miles away.”

But Caleb took a step back, grasping Darcy’s hand. “Darcy. No. It’s coming right for us,” he said, his voice cracking.

Darcy stared into his eyes, the moment filled with tension and fear. She shot a fleeting glance back toward the shooting star, seeing that, sure enough, it was bearing toward them. It was now only about thirty feet above the trees that skirted around the field. It seemed like a bull’s eye. Like it knew they were there, waiting.

“WE HAVE TO RUN!” Caleb shouted, shooting his arm around Darcy’s small waist. “Come ON!”

But Darcy’s mind was too far away. She suddenly felt outside of herself, floating in the stars above. She thought she could even feel the heat from the streaming orb, shining against her cheeks. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her pupils drowning out her pale blue eyes. “And besides,” she said, as the star whizzed closer, “if we run away now, my dad will see us. He’ll know we were about to—”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER. NOT IF WE DIE.” Caleb thrust her toward the ladder they’d only just climbed, launching her over the edge and toward the mammoth haystack below. As Darcy fell, her hair swept back. She was flying, feeling the rush of the shooting star in her ears in the moments before she landed.

Immediately after Caleb threw Darcy from the loft, he turned briefly, curiosity running through him. Just as he spun, the meteorite made its final plunge toward the barn and crashed directly into the hayloft. It struck Caleb’s chest—dead center—blasting him through the air and to the ground, nearly fifteen feet below.

He died instantly.

Far below the wreckage in the hayloft, Darcy lay still. Smoke filtered from the barn. The sky was dark, without stars. And the meteorite steamed in the dirt.



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