Destined by Fate by Wild Rose Press

Author:Wild Rose Press [Authors, Wild Rose Press]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy Romance Sampler
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2019-05-19T00:00:00+00:00

Evil Speaks Softly

by

Maureen L. Bonatch

The Nightwalkers Series

Chapter One

“Who would you like me to write this out to?” I anchored the cover of my newest release with my wrist, holding my pen over the page. I’d settled into the mundane routine of signing book after book, periodically flexing my hand to alleviate the cramping. Recent sleep deprivation hampered the enjoyment I usually derived from a book signing. And my hope of sneaking a break anytime soon dwindled.

“You repulse me.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard you correctly, could you repeat the name?” I looked up, and my fatigue vanished. The hostility emanating from the woman made me drop my pen. Her eyes bored into me through narrowed slits. She clutched her midsection as if she’d eaten bad fish, or struggled to restrain from throttling me to death. From her scowl I guessed the latter.

“You think I’m going to buy one of your books, Sidney Stevens, to help you make a profit on other people’s pain and suffering?” The woman’s voice elevated. The people in line behind her quieted and moved back enough to maintain a safe distance, but not to miss the unexpected show. “I’ll tell you what you are; you’re sick.” She shook her finger close enough for me to note her chipped coral polish.

I found myself at a loss for words when faced with her unexpected rage. I scooted the wooden chair away from the table. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Winter’s Kiss?” The woman swept her arm across my stack of books, scattering them. My beloved hardbacks littered the floor. Their flaps hanging open and covers bent like discarded trash.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I jumped to my feet and teetered on my four-inch heels. I extended my hands to maintain my balance. I’d endure insults to my hairstyle, attire, drinking habits, and choice in men…but no one disparages my books. My roommate Pennie always insisted if I didn’t change my attitude, they were the closest I might ever get to my own babies.

My favorite pen from my eccentric collection labeled as “Grandma’s Gravesites” rolled across the floor, and the book bully stepped on my cherished writing utensil with her dirty clog. An unmistakable crunch confirmed my pen’s annihilation. I prepared to commence battle. I clenched my fists as my pulse skyrocketed. I’d made a special trip to get that pen. “Now listen—”

“You listen.” The woman gripped the table and squared off with me—like a bull preparing to charge. “How dare you title this vile rubbish a romance? You’re sensationalizing evil.” Spittle flew from her lips, raining on the table and me.

I wiped my face. Two overweight security guards, who normally stood at the bookstore entrance directing people for the signing, huffed over in a slow jog. Their bellies bounced and belts jingled. They reached the woman, flanked her on either side, and then glanced at each other—unsure of how to proceed. Most likely bookstore signing psychos weren’t something encountered by small town mall security.

The older of the two spoke.

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