I’m trying something new this week — the Midweek Tease blog hop, run by Angelica Dawson, in which writers post teasers about their newest release, or their work-in-progress, or their backlist.
In Newborn, a science fiction romance, my heroine is born fully grown, well-armed, and eager to assassinate her nation’s most wanted fugitive. Because she was designed to live for only the few hours needed to do the hit, her programming is, shall we say … incomplete?
In this teaser, she awakens after a fall with broken limbs and a concussion — and finds her prey’s bodyguard, Darby Lapierre, posted outside her room. Jo’s ignorance and naivete (among other things) are on full display.
Darby was evil, the enemy of my Destiny, so I leaned to within a handbreadth of his nose to annoy him. “You destroyed my clothes?”
“Out of my face, woman.” He gently pushed me back … and I lacked the strength to resist. “A nurse put your stuff in the hall closet so she wouldn’t wake you.” He pointed.
I stood carefully, determined to show no pain. If I moved slowly, dizziness merely growled instead of lunging at my throat.
Creases wrinkled the corners of Darby’ mouth. The creases were … dimples? Yes, dimples. How could an enemy have a face so appealing that my belly — though not my brain — felt warm and trusting?
I turned, slowly of course, toward where he’d pointed.
“Uh, Josette, your hospital gown is open at the back.”
That observation didn’t seem to require a response. I staggered five baby steps. Upon reaching the closet, I leaned against the wall as my head zoomed in wild circles, turning up into down and down into sideways.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
The deity’s name by itself imparted no information, and in any case it wasn’t as important as getting dressed so I’d be like everyone else. The closet door had a round, fist-sized thingy at waist height. My mind didn’t supply a name. When I grasped it, it wiggled, and when I turned it, the door opened. Doorknob, my mind belatedly explained.
My clothes hung inside, but my guns were gone. My packsack sat on the floor — minus, I already knew, my ten-thousand dollars.
Darby’s footsteps hurried toward me. “Wait, Josette,” he said in a rush. “I’ll help you to your room and bring the clothes to you.”
But I was already untying the bow at the back of my neck. As he reached me, my hospital gown fluttered to the floor.
Click here to view teasers from other great writers trying their hardest to tempt you.
She was born to kill. Not love.
Jo Beaverpaw is born fully grown, well-armed, and impatient to tackle her Destiny … killing her alien nation’s most wanted fugitive. Her life is pre-programmed and straightforward – until she meets the sexy bodyguard of her intended target.
What if Schwarzenegger’s robot assassin in the original Terminator had been a bad-assed (yet petite) female? To find out, read Newborn.