First let me make my apologies. The last 3 months my oldest son has been severely ill, but the last two weeks have been the worst. Jman needed my time and attention more than MBB (go ahead and say it, “Duh, Kris.”) so WIP Wednesday and Snippet Saturday got put to the side. However, I am happy to say after a week stay in the hospital my son is almost 100% better. Now I can make up for making y’all wait. So today, tomorrow, Saturday and Sunday I will be posting the amazing books and authors I had lined up. So I hope you stay turned in. Without further ado, My Blissful Books brings you the talented Carly Spade.
Heph
Harpies.
Screeching. Meddling. Stinking bloody fucking harpies.
But the sound of an axe blade as it stops said screeching? Bliss.
Leaning against a nearby alleyway wall, I dangled a pair of enchanted shackles between two fingers. Funny thing about harpies was…they could fly. But with the right incentive, also known as, yanking their arses back to solid ground, you could easily kill ‘em. Not a lot of blokes could handle the job, and it’s why they came to me. Hephaistos. God of the Forge and blacksmithing extraordinaire. With every bounty I took, with every body I dragged in or pulverized, there was also the right weapon for the job.
The harpy screeched as it spotted me, flapping its bat-like brown wings.
I winced and chewed on the toothpick hanging off my lip. “Screech again. I double dog bloody dare you.”
“You killed my sisters.” The harpy bared her pointy teeth with a hiss, those bulging blood-red eyes widening.
Spitting the toothpick out, I pushed off the wall. “It’s nothing personal. But a piece of advice from me to you, stop being a fucking menace, and maybe…just maybe…people wouldn’t hate your ugly as sin green guts.”
Rule number one when dealing with harpies: Get them angry.
She let out a cry that’d put banshees to shame and nose-dived. I swiveled, my black duster jacket shifting with me, and hurled the shackles at her feet. At the last possible bloody moment, she dodged.
“Bollocks,” I mumbled, swinging the cuffs by their chain round-and-round.
Rule number two: Be faster.
The harpy’s curved claws sprung out from her gangly paws as she dove at me and swung her hand at my face.
I leaned back with a smirk. “Trying to make the other half of my face match, love?”
Would it ever kill anyone to aim for the side of my face that didn’t look like a mashed avocado?
Rule number three: Don’t let them get too close.
An adult romance writer who has been writing since she could pick up a pencil. After the insanity of obtaining a bachelor’s and master’s degree in cybersecurity, creating worlds to escape to still ate at her very soul. She started writing FanFiction (which can still be found if you scour the internet 😉 ), and soon felt the need to get her original ideas on paper. And so the adventure began.She lives in Colorado with her husband and two fur babies, and revels in an enemies to lovers trope with a slow burn.
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