Excerpts

Excerpt from Every Last Kiss by Courtney Cole

Prologue

“Charmian! Is there any sign of her?”    

I hurriedly rushed back from the outer room of the mausoleum, looking nervously over my shoulder as my bare feet padded lightly on the cool stone floor.

            “No, my queen.  Only the guards.”

Queen Cleopatra nodded solemnly, her golden armbands glistening in the lamplight. She rose from her perch on a jeweled chaise lounge and gazed sadly at the golden sarcophagus that glittered mutely in front of her.  Ornate and beautiful, it held the remains of her husband.  Lovingly, she slid her hands along the golden shell that would protect him for eternity. 

From the open windows of the outer chambers, the tangy sea breeze blew softly into the inner rooms and I found myself wishing that it could carry me away, somewhere far from here.  I fingered the birthmark on my wrist.  It was not throbbing, not even an ache, and I knew that I would not be leaving this crypt.

A sudden, soft knock on the doors echoed in the quiet room, causing both of us to whip around.  Tension immediately formed in my neck.  This was it.  It had to be.  Cleopatra squared her shoulders, then bent to brush a soft kiss on the golden mask covering Marc Antony’s face.

“Forgive me, my love,” she murmured.

There was another low knock and I felt my shoulders ripple with the stress that they carried as Cleopatra reached out to grasp my hand.

“Iras, love… could you answer that?” Cleopatra whispered.  She squeezed my hand tightly, but I barely noticed.  

Cleopatra’s other handmaiden nodded obediently and slipped silently from the room to answer the door.  She returned a scant moment later with a tiny shriveled woman who looked not a day younger than 200 years old.  The glinting eyes that stared from under her brown hood were ageless, full of wisdom and I felt my heart begin to race.  It was time.  There was no doubt.

            Cleopatra squared her shoulders, her face a perfect regal mask as she walked purposely toward the old woman. 

            “Do you have it?”

            “Yes, your highness,” the old woman rasped throatily. 

She held out a woven reed basket.  I wouldn’t have thought it was big enough to conceal anything and apparently the Roman guards hadn’t either.  Nowadays, they checked everything that came in for the queen. 

            I rushed to Cleopatra’s side and we peered into the interior of the basket together.  It was full of plump figs and I inhaled their sweet, heavy scent.  My eyes raised questioningly to the old healer. 

            She nodded at my unspoken question.  “It is hidden under the figs.”

            “How long will it take?” Cleopatra whispered, her voice not reflecting even a bit of the fear that raced through my veins.

            “Only a few moments. No longer.”  The healer’s faded eyes searched Cleopatra’s bright ones.  “You must be certain, your highness.  Once the poison enters your body, there can be no turning back.”

            Cleopatra nodded.  “No, there is no turning back, old woman.”

            The healer nodded gravely and held out the basket as if it were an offering.  Cleopatra took it and sank back into her chaise lounge, staring absently at the opulence surrounding her as she reached into the basket, withdrawing a fig.  Slipping it into her mouth, she chewed it delicately, then smiled.

            “Delicious,” she announced, swallowing calmly. 

She eyed the basket again pensively.  I sucked in my breath.  It was time.  I felt it coming, the air crackled with it.  Death was an unseen presence in the room, waiting for our last breaths. 

            Reaching into the basket once again, Cleopatra withdrew a long, thin black snake.  It draped itself along her arm and she stared into its black slitted eyes. 

            “You will take me to the afterlife,” she instructed it firmly. “And do it quickly.”

            Leaning back into the silk cushions, she shook the snake lightly.  It hissed, its large mouth yawning open ominously, revealing glistening fangs.  As it stared at her, one drop of deadly venom dripped from its mouth.  Nothing more.  Impatient, Cleopatra shook it again.  It struck her so quickly that I barely had time to register the movement before I heard her gasp. 

            “It is done then,” she murmured, dropping the snake once again into the basket.  I flew to her side, my arms around her slender shoulders.  Two drops of blood dripped from her breast.

            “Cleopatra…” My voice broke as pain flooded through me.   

            “Charmian, do not fear.  We have done what we must.  All is well.” 

Her obsidian eyes met mine and I saw peace in them. My breath caught in my throat just as she drew her last.  Her lips quivered and then she was still, her dark eyes staring sightlessly at me.  My heart shattered silently. 

            “All is well,” I whispered as I reached out and gently closed her eyes.  “Is it?  Is it well where you are now, my queen?” 

Her face was peaceful and even in death, she was beautiful.  I swallowed hard as I looked up at Iras.  She was shaking her head in grief as she rocked back on her heels.  The old woman watched me silently, waiting to see what I would do, waiting to see if I would follow our queen. 

            Shakily, I picked up the basket and reached inside.  The snake’s body was surprisingly dry, not scaly in the slightest.  It writhed beneath my hand, agitated already.  My fingers closed around it determinedly, pulling it back out into the light.

            Staring into its flat black eyes, I implored it softly. 

            “Please be quick.”

            And it was.

Excerpt from Princess by Courtney Cole

Sydney looked around her as best she could and couldn’t see any other signs of life.  They were in the country somewhere.  But she couldn’t imagine where.  There were only in the van for an hour at the most.  An hour would have gotten them to Gary, but she didn’t smell the sulfurous smell that surrounded that town.  She had no clue where they were. And she guessed that was probably the intention.

He dragged both of them with him into the house which smelled like wet, old carpet.  She could tell that it hadn’t been opened in a while. The air was so stale that it lingered in her nose like moldy cheese.  She briefly wondered if this little house was actually a holding cell for their kidnapper’s victims.  She was certain by now that he did this fairly often. He had the mark of a professional.

He pushed them through the door of a small bedroom.  She knew it was a bedroom only because of the small bed in the middle of the farthest wall.  The room was utterly devoid of anything else and the one window was boarded off and nailed shut. 

The man shoved both of them roughly to their knees as he stood behind them.  Sydney squeezed her eyes tightly together.  This was it.  He was going to shoot them both.  She could feel it.  She wished there was something that she could do, but there was nothing.  She couldn’t even fight for her own life.  Having her hands restrained was completely debilitating. 

Suddenly he yanked the tape off of her mouth, resulting in pain a thousand times worse than yanking off a bandaid.  A good-sized chunk of her hair came out with the tape and her cheek was left stinging sharply.  She spun around so that she could look at him again, just in time to see him raise his arm in the air above his head. 

The blow to her head was shocking in its intensity, but it happened so quickly that she didn’t even feel it.  She simply fell limply forward onto the floor, lying in a crumpled little heap. 

The man didn’t waste a second, quickly cold-cocking the little boy, as well, and leaving both of them unconscious on the floor as he closed and locked the door behind him.

Excerpt from Guardian by Courtney Cole 

“Who are you?” I asked curiously, unable to take my eyes from him.

I wasn’t scared. I probably should be, but I only felt expectant, like I should already know the answer but just didn’t remember it. Like when you forget something but it lingers on the tip of your tongue, so close but just out of recall. He didn’t seem threatening, so I took a step toward him.  

“I know you.” I still felt the strange magnetic pull to him but resisted it, standing with my feet planted instead, while I waited for him to answer me. It was odd how hard it was to resist it.

“How do I know you?”

He looked at me with brilliant aquamarine eyes, as clear and beautiful as a tropical ocean in the sunlight. I’ve never seen eyes that color before, and I realized with a start that they were the exact shade of the Mediterranean that sparkled in the picture that I loved of my parents.

His brown hair curled against the nape of his neck and his bangs swept easily across his forehead.   His slender arms hosted lean muscle, nothing flashy, nothing showy. He shifted forward again, and as he moved, I got the same feeling again in the pit of my stomach, stronger this time…like Déjà Ju.  At the same time, I knew for certain that I had never actually seen him before because I would remember that. But I knew him.

         “I’m confused,” I heard myself whisper softly, but I didn’t mean to make a sound. The uncertain words had spilled out without my permission.

My common sense finally kicked in and I backed up- away from this curiosity. Away from him- because I knew in my heart that something wasn’t normal here. He advanced as I retreated; his eyes shimmering oddly in the sun, rippling like someone had dropped a rock in a pool of water. My breath froze in my throat.  

“What are you?”

“Don’t be afraid, Whitney. I won’t hurt you.” His voice was soothingly deep and masculine – maybe a little too much so for his boyish body- and he held up his hands. His fingers were long and I could see unexpected strength there.

He knew my name and I knew his voice. It touched something deep within me and I stopped moving. He smiled and it was like the sun and the moon and the stars and all other possible sources of natural light were radiating from him at that moment. His teeth were white and brilliant and his face brightened the entire beach around us. There was no denying that he was beautiful, but it was more than that. Being next to him touched something inside of me, like a guitarist strumming a chord.  He was familiar, like home.