The Heirs of Sorcery and bloodlust
(Working Title)
Note: * This is directly from my draft folder, any astricks or other indicators for personal notes to self including underlines will be included. I decided to keep some of these so you can see that I'm aware of some of the ways that I need to improve. I'm sorry if this is distracting, but I would rather submit a work in progress than nothing at all. Otherwise I'd never submit anything at all. We can see how well THATS done me!
Prologue
The pickup truck, despite appearing to be more rust than aged metal raced down a narrow road somewhere between Maryland and California. The thing didn’t look like it should be functional. One headlight out, bulging tires, and both mirrors missing. It didn’t stop the trees from reaching after the physics defying vehicle. Finger-like branches grasping at the metal for fractions of seconds like wooden whips. Dark clouds seem to target the golden streak peaking between slackened treetops. The wipers lash back and forth in vain. From the inside, the windshield was all movement.
The young woman in the driver’s seat leaned as far forward as she could, trying to keep her eyes on the road. Damp hospital clothes cling to every inch of her body, mud hardening on the exposed skin of her forearms. Her left knee bounces, her hair dripping sporadically onto the seats. She squints through the distortion and tips her head back to finish the last few drops of her energy drink, tossing it to the floor where it makes a crashing noise with the others. She wipes her mouth on her shoulder, using the movement as an excuse to let her gaze flicker to the passenger seat. She eases her bare foot harder on the gas. She finds herself now wishing more than ever that she would have prepared better.
The small occupant didn’t look like she would be able to function half as well as the truck was. She barely looked like she could be alive with her sunken cheeks ashen complexion. She shouldn’t be alive. Neither of them should be. Her mother knew that much. She shouldn’t have been able to recover from what they did to her frail little body, The girl shook uncontrollably in her mound of blankets, eyes not just closed, but squeezed shut, oblivious of her mother’s panic.
‘If only you could be more like Malichai.’ She winces at the voice. She hadn’t heard her father’s voice in months... It was right, of course. Malachi would have never let any of this happen. Malachi could have made sure nobody was after him. He would have been better prepared, he would have thought things through. But she wasn’t Malachi. She was never as smart as him, or as strong. She never had been, and she’d never fooled herself to think she was. She never had to.
The young woman’s lips whisper her hopes to the empty road.
“You’re going to be okay.” She lies
‘You were selfish as a child and you’re selfish now.’ A shiver runs down her spine.
He’d never stopped being cruel. Even when she’d taken an oath to never speak to him again he continued to speak to her. She was sure of it. Her decisions were commented on by his high, stoic voice in her head as if it belonged there. Still, The voice in her head was a welcome guest compared to the handful of times she’d heard her father’s spoken voice.
‘Your brother would never kill his own child like this’
Her brother was just like her father in power and presence, but she was never scared of him. Over the years, she’s attributed that to his voice. While her father’s would sludge around like ice cold slime between her thoughts, Malachi’s would only ever be outside of her head; And it was always warm, and soft, and comforting. Any time it would turn searing and powerful, it was never directed at her. It was used to defend her.
And ice melts under heat if it gets too close
If anybody could fix her mistakes, It was her savior. She just had to get back to him.
Her eyes blink tears away and she looks at her child, shivering so violently that someone who didn’t know better would assume it was a seizure. The young woman knew better, of course.
Malachi didn’t have to hold her hand through this part. *Add more, clarify that there was nobody around to teach her to be a mom. Not even her own mother*This is the part of her that only she had. She stretches an arm back, and touches the too-plush-pillows.
“” and the cushions seem to quadruple in size, cocooning the unconscious child in warmth forged from her mother’s heart.
“Please hang on, baby. We’re almost there.” She lies. Licks her lips. Lies again. Her child would never hear her pleads. She would never know the wooden fingers grasping for her, or of the rain that followed the old car. She would never know how the trees ached for her. The child would know that they got lost in a sea of *color of plush pillows* warmth. *This scene needs more use of the senses.*
“Please be able to fix her.” Her mother says to no one. She allows her voice to disappear into the void. Maybe if the words left, they’d come back for her when she needed them more. She looks at her daughter again. She brushes the soft skin of her cheek with the back of her hand. The child stills, and the young woman now slumps. The lids of her eyes try to fall, but she uses the same hand to shake out her damp hair. It was already sloped to the side of her head in large, drippy clumps. When she shakes her head, droplets fly and splash unto her face. It’s the closest she can get to washing her face right now. Rolling down the window was too much of a risk when her child.
No, the water from her hair would have to be enough.
Below the sounds of the trees, the rain… the shivers and the whispers... Sirens. Alarms, warnings. The methodic beat of helicopters searching in the wrong parts of the city.
About this book:
In the early 2000's, lycanthropes, werwolves stepped into the world and proclaimed their existence. In the 20 years since they have been all but eradicated in one way or another; humans having drained them of anything they could use with brute force and manipulation. 19 year old Aria Sinclair fell in love with 22 year old would-be Alpha of the would-be Shadow keepers pack, Ryder Solare and she never looked back. That is until she finds the body of her best friend beaten and bloodied on Shadow Keeper property. Despite Ryder having lost his abilitied as a punishment when he was a child he is instantly the top suspect.
As the investigation into her best friend's death takes place, Aria begins to learn about the secrets kept from her and things begin to untangle in a way that she could have never seen coming.
How I want to improve it:
The flow is off, I feel like I need the father thing to be less obvious and I kind of want to lengthen it a little but don't want to give away too much, it's a prologue of course. also i know the quality of the writing in general needs work... but that's why I'm here!
Why this book?:
I think this book is a good fit because it's moldable. Not every part of my book is written the way I want it to be written. If anything, most of it is written in a way that I'm almost ashamed of. I think this book is a good fit because I'm desperate to learn. The story isn't what I want it to be yet but I believe in it. I think I need help to get this story to the next level. I'm willing to do what it takes, change what I need to do, work as tirelessly as I have to to turn this project that I'm so passionate about into something I can be proud of. It just needs that extra nudge. I just need that extra nudge, I need to learn by DOING and unbiased eyes on my work. My word count is abysmal. but I think with some direction I can make something woderful. I just need the chance.