To celebrate the upcoming release of The Fall of Arcadia novella, I'm running a promo for The Prophecy of Arcadia, the first book in the Arcadian Wars series.
To get your copy, click the link: http://amzn.to/19p86vb
Here is a sneak peek:
“Knock, knock,” I said before opening Sam’s bedroom door. No point in waiting for permission I wouldn’t get. I closed the door behind me.
“What do you want?” she asked without looking in my direction. She was lying on her bed pretending to read a book.
Her white hair was fanned out on the pillow, and wherever the light touched it, it shone like silver. Her entire room was all white with black accents here and there. She looked like she was part of the décor lying like that, white hair against black pillow.
“I just came here to let you know that I’ll be picking Alexia up at the airport with you.” I casually leaned against the closed door and put my hands in my pockets.
“Whatever. I don’t care.” She didn’t even glance in my direction. It pained me to see her so distant. It also infuriated me.
I hadn’t been lying when I’d told Alexia that I missed having Sam as my friend. Every time I looked at her, I felt a pang in my heart. But I could not explain my behavior after her ‘accident’ in Arcadia, because I didn’t know why I felt the way that I did. None of us had any recollection of the events of that week. I just wasn’t able to look at her after that without feeling deep anguish. I had known then that if I let Sam get close to me, she would see it written all over my face. So I had avoided her instead. With time the anguish feeling had passed, but by then it had been too late. She wouldn’t talk to me anymore.
“Stop pretending I’m invisible, Sam!” I exclaimed as I propelled forward, forgetting my casual stance.
The conversation with Alexia had made me edgy. I walked toward the middle of the room, getting closer to Sam so I could have a clear look at her face. Even though I could tell she was trying to be stoic, I wanted to see if there was any sign that she still cared.
She closed the book she was pretending to read and sat up on her bed, looking at me like I was a nuisance. “You know I don’t want to talk to you. Why do you insist?”
She stood up suddenly, throwing her book on the bed with such force that it bounced and landed on the floor. My gaze followed the book’s trajectory and stayed on it for a few seconds as I tried to control my rampant emotions. Sam’s question hurt, and it subdued my anger a little. I took a deep breath and found her face again.
“Do you even have to ask? How many times do I have to say I’m sorry for what I did to you seven years ago?” My voice came out strained. I was sure she had noticed, but her angry posture didn’t change.
“Just tell me what really happened then. Just tell me, Matt.” She used my nickname — something she only did when she forgot she was supposed to be mad at me. Her voice had a pleading tone to it now, and it gave me hope. I looked into her eyes and saw all the hurt there. I wanted to tell her, I truly did, but I just didn’t know what to tell her.