immisceo release and giveaway

Immisceo Release

The first book in the Immisceo series is finally out! I absolutely loved bringing Luciana and Nate to life and I’m so excited to be able to share this story with you. The World of Immisceo has been a joy to create and I hope you’ll enjoy living in it for a while. You can also explore the map of Nosiras or meet the characters before you dive into their story.

 

Since my opinion is understandably biased, here’s what one of my early readers have said about Immisceo: Taken:

 

‘If you like stories that involve a heroine’s quest for a just cause, a heroine with magical powers, and a lot of mild toned suspense, this book is definitely for you. The writing in Immisceo Taken is crisp and lean. It flows from one episode to another like in a good movie.’

 

immisceo taken - immisceo 1 - fantasy romance - fantasy series

In the land of Nosiras, the Duciti’s word is law and their reign is absolute.

Luciana is a powerful witch: independent and wilful as she is strong. But when she is chosen by the Duciti to conceive an Immisceo witch to use as a weapon against Amara and her Outcasts, she has but two choices: obey with her freedom or without. When her Immisceo son is kidnapped, she will stop at nothing to get him back.

Nathaniel was born to the streets, then raised in an environment one rung down from captivity. Guarded by his older brother, he seeks freedom and adventure from his restrained life. Meeting Luciana will grant him one of these and will set him on a path which will test his ties of blood and love.

Caught between two enemies, Luciana and her unwitting companion are against the odds in their quest to save her son from a war that shouldn’t have been his to fight. In the hands of his kidnapper, Eli is as much a weapon as he would be in the Duciti’s—a weapon Luciana created. His life has been predetermined by those who would harm him, and Luciana must now right the wrongs she has dealt her son and save him from his fate—but at what cost?

Get the paperback or ebook on Amazon now or read the first three chapters here before you buy.

BUY  

 

Amazon UK Amazon US

Giveaway

There’s still time to enter to win a free copy of Immisceo: Taken. If you’re on Goodreads, enter the giveaway before it ends on May 30th. Good luck!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Immisceo Taken by Shona Moyce

Immisceo Taken

by Shona Moyce

Giveaway ends May 30, 2017.

See the giveaway details
at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

The second book in this fantasy series is underway. Stay tuned for upcoming snippets. 

Happy reading!

immisceo quote - fantasy series

Immerse yourself in magic and adventure… 

in a new fantasy romance series

Power has many forms.

Magic is but one.

In the land of Nosiras, the Duciti’s word is law and their reign is absolute.

Luciana is a powerful witch: independent and wilful as she is strong. But when she is chosen by the Duciti to conceive an Immisceo witch to use as a weapon against Amara and her Outcasts, she has but two choices: obey with her freedom or without. When her Immisceo son is kidnapped, she will stop at nothing to get him back.

Nathaniel was born to the streets, then raised in an environment one rung down from captivity. Guarded by his older brother, he seeks freedom and adventure from his restrained life. Meeting Luciana will grant him one of these and will set him on a path which will test his ties of blood and love.

Caught between two enemies, Luciana and her unwitting companion are against the odds in their quest to save her son from a war that shouldn’t have been his to fight. In the hands of his kidnapper, Eli is as much a weapon as he would be in the Duciti’s—a weapon Luciana created. His life has been predetermined by those who would harm him, and Luciana must now right the wrongs she has dealt her son and save him from his fate—but at what cost?

For a taste of Immisceo: Taken, keep reading…

Fire curled in the old woman’s hand, bright and hungry as though it could already taste its next victim. Amara screamed at the sight of it.

‘Hush, girl,’ said the younger woman next to her. Her grip on Amara’s shoulder tightened like hooks in the girl’s flesh.

‘Please! Please let them go.’

The woman shushed her again and shook her. ‘Enough. Don’t make it worse for yourself,’ she scolded. She wrestled the girl to a standstill and glanced across the circle at the older woman.

‘It’s time,’ Rosamund said, flame held high. ‘You may say your brief goodbyes.’

The girl shoved against her captor, wrenching free. She lunged toward the circle’s centre, toward the waist-high pile of logs and kindling—toward her parents, bound against the pyre’s towering stake. Tumbling onto the wood-pile, the girl stretched out her arms in a futile attempt to embrace her weeping mother. A fist clamped in her hair and jerked her to a halt.

‘Don’t hurt her,’ the girl’s mother cried. ‘Please! She’s innocent.’

‘Innocent?’ Rosamund’s eyes widened in the dusky light and the flame in her hand flickered. ‘Her very existence is a crime onto itself.’

Amara’s mother shook her head. ‘No. Please, no. She’s just a child. It’s not her crime. It’s mine—’

‘And she will pay for it with her life.’

The mother wailed—a sharp, gut-wrenching howl that echoed in the wood-clearing and sent birds flapping skyward.

‘Enough!’ Rosamund barked. ‘If you’ve nothing to say save for your protest, let us be done with it.’

Amara shivered, wrapping her free arm across her chest and biting her lip to keep from crying. She studied the face of her father. His dark eyes bore into hers with intent. They flicked back and forth between hers and the face of the witch with the relentless grip on Amara’s shoulder. Amara frowned at him, wishing she had the power to read his mind.

‘Saba. Hand the girl over to Coen,’ Rosamund instructed.

Saba shuffled Amara along to the other side of the circle where a man stood waiting. The girl caught her father’s eye one last time, and words formed on his lips.

‘Touch her,’ he mouthed.

Amara blinked, comprehension lost on her as her father’s face disappeared from view. She stumbled, and Saba yanked her to her feet.

‘Look where you’re going, girl.’

She ignored the warning, glancing back at her father. His face was no longer visible, but his fists clenched repeatedly at his back. Not to escape his restraints, Amara realised, but as a message.

Almost too late, she laid both hands on her captor, clenching her small fists around the witch’s wrist, imitating her father. She flinched, startled by the new and compelling portal in her mind’s eye. Bright colours of energy swarmed under Saba’s skin. Hairs rose on the girl’s neck even as Saba wrestled against her, beginning to squirm easily out of the child’s grasp. But then Amara found it—the swirls of energy—dancing, translucent—and she clawed at them with her mind. She drew them into her, into her own hands, and Saba was locked in her grip. The girl pulled the swirling energy inside of her until she could feel the heat of it on her skin. Her eyes flew open as she pushed the magic from her tiny outstretched palm, gasping as the flame ripped through the air toward an unsuspecting Rosamund.

The old witch flared orange and fell to her knees, the single flame in her hand engulfed in the raging fire of the rest of her. Her skin and flesh blackened and shrivelled, and as quick as the fire began, it was gone, a spiral of smoke curling from the pile of ash where Rosamund had stood mere seconds before.

Amara looked from the ash to the palm of her hand, her eyes wide. Saba shrieked, and the male witch behind them, Coen, rushed forward. Amara pulled at Saba for more magic, but the swirls were nothing more now than threads. She flung the witch’s wrist from her clutches and ran toward the pyre.

Heat cracked alongside her, missing her by inches, not flames but lightning. She yelped, covering her head on instinct. She scrambled toward the stake, propelling her small body over the wood, ignoring the ache in her knees as she fell against the logs again and again.

‘Go! Amara—RUN!’

She shook her head at her father through tears. ‘I won’t leave you.’ She reached her mother first, flinging herself against her body, whilst fighting the knotted rope at her mother’s back. Beneath her, smoke began to rise, and the union of wood and flame crackled in her ears. ‘No… No!’ She swerved behind her parents, plucking at the knot with shaky too-small fingers.

‘Amara! Run, dammit, run!’

‘I can’t untie them. I can’t do it,’ she cried, throwing her fists against the ropes.

‘Leave us!’

She shook her head again, stepping around her mother. Then she thrust herself between her parents, throwing her skinny arms across their waists. They wept as the smoke rose steadily, the encroaching heat driving Amara closer and closer between them.

A white crack of lightning snapped at her feet, and she screamed again. The spark caught, orange and yellow flames licking their way toward the stake. Amara made to stamp on them, but another whip of lightning struck, this time to her right, missing her elbow a fraction of an inch. She looked down into the stone faces of Coen and Saba: there’d be no point in pleading.

Her father howled beside her as Coen cracked another bolt of lightning, this time at her father’s side. A deep welt appeared on his arm, blooming with blood that dripped at an alarming rate onto the logs. ‘Please, Amara. Leave us. I beg you. Run,’ her father cried. A solitary tear streaked down his cheek, glistening in the light of the fire. ‘Go,’ he pleaded.

She cast long looks at both her parents. A tight ache blossomed in her chest as the fire began to roar in earnest behind her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. Then she slipped around her mother for the last time and ran. She hurtled to the base of the pyre, hidden in the curtain of smoke as she tumbled to the ground. Her breath came quick and heavy as she pelted toward the thicket of trees on the other side of the clearing. She didn’t dare look back.

Night fell swiftly upon her, the smoke disappearing with the light, the glow of the fire dimming. But the final cries of her parents echoed in Amara’s ears as she ran. And they would continue to echo for a long time to come.

Want to read more?

Immisceo: Taken releases May 16th, 2017.

Preorder your copy

 

Or read the first three chapters for FREE 

love quotes

 

I would have written you, myself, if I could put down in words everything I want to say to you. A sea of ink would not be enough.

— Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus

 

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

— Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

 

Soul meets soul on lovers’ lips.

— Percy Bysshe Shelley, Prometheus Unbound

 

If all else perished and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.

— Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

 

No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.

— F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

 

In all the world, there is no heart for me like yours. In all the world, there is no love for you like mine.

— Maya Angelou

 

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest.

— W H Auden, Stop All The Clocks

 

You don’t love someone because they’re perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they’re not.

— Jodi Picoult, My Sister’s Keeper

 

I want to know you moved and breathed in the same world with me.

— F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Short Stories of F. Scott Fitzgerald

 

This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no-one else can fit it.

Jeanette Winterson,  Written on the Body 

 

Even when this world is a forgotten whisper of dust between the stars, I will always love you.

— Sarah J. Maas, Empire of Storms

 

The way her body existed only where he touched her. The rest of her was smoke.

— Arundhati Roy, The God Of Small Things

 

If I were to live a thousand years, I would belong to you for all of them. If we were to live a thousand lives, I would want to make you mine in each one.

— Michelle Hodkin, The Evolution of Mara Dyer

 

Do I love you? My god, if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches.

— William Goldman, The Princess Bride

 

You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope… I have loved none but you.

— Jane Austen, Persuasion

 

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.

— William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream

 

The curves of your lips rewrite history.

— Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

 

To love or have loved, that is enough.

— Victor Hugo, Les Miserable

 

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

— Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights

 

No measure of time with you will be long enough. But let’s start with forever.

— Stephenie Meyer, Breaking Dawn

 

After all this time?
Always.

— J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

 

Click here to jump to the Q & A

The response to the upcoming release of Blood’s Veil has, so far, been nothing short of overwhelming. You know that dream where you realise you’re stark naked in front of a room full of laughing and pointing strangers? No? Well, work with me here, and imagine it anyway, then multiply that feeling by six gazillion, and that’s about as naked as I feel having my words out there. It’s like I took off my clothes, my skin, and all that other crap, right down to the bare bone, and now my naked-ass skeleton is walking around town, petrified of every reaction. But… as terrifying as it was to put that first chapter out there in the big, bad void that is the Interweb, the near-seizure has been so worth it. You guys have been great. 🙂 Thank you all so much! 

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A huge thank you to Damien O’Bey and all at SAMS for the Q&A article on Blood’s Veil last week. Here it is below. You can also read it online at The Sentinel website

Blood’s Veil

Q & A with Damien O’Bey, The Sentinel, St Helena

Can you give us a brief description of the book, different to the synopsis?

Blood’s Veil is a story about two adoptive sisters, Ella and Brooke. They return home after a tragic death in the family, hoping to find closure. Instead, Ella finds her father in prison, and Brooke finds herself faced with her dark past. Brooke struggles to keep her grip on who she has tried to become, but the secret she keeps is threatening to unravel her identity, and her bond with Ella.

What inspired the novel?

The inspiration for writing comes, ultimately, from a love of books. I’m a book nerd. If I had to narrow it down, I guess the idea for this book comes from my fascination with that grey area between right and wrong, between truth and lies. Blood’s Veil is a story about how easy it can be to see only what we want to see, particularly when it comes to family, and how difficult it is to separate the truth from what we feel or believe.

How long did it take, from start to finish?

It feels like I started it back in the Ice Age! The idea of it first came to me way back in my teens, but life got in the way more times than I can count. In hindsight, this was a good thing, since by the time I sat down and started working in earnest, I realised I had a completely different story to tell. That restructure took me over a year. Here’s hoping the next book won’t take as long.

What challenges did you face along the way, and how did you overcome them?

The biggest challenge has always been myself. Writing the first draft of a book can be easy, but that draft should never see the light of day. Rewriting, editing, and polishing it to within an inch of its life is what makes any book worth reading, and it has been both a joy and a nightmare. Working hard at it every day seems like an obvious thing, but I made the early mistake of ‘waiting for inspiration’, and more often than not inspiration just doesn’t show up. When I allowed myself to take it seriously, to view it not as a hobby, but an actual job, I got more done.

The first chapter is available to read for free online at your website. Have you had any feedback from readers?

The interest in it so far has been overwhelmingly positive. Thank you to everyone for your support.

Does St Helena feature?

St Helena does feature, yes. Ella and Brooke, and all main characters within the book are [fictional] islanders—Saints—and the story is set primarily on the island.

How can people on St Helena purchase the novel?

Blood’s Veil will be available in paperback and e-book from March 15th. I am also hosting a giveaway for a signed copyEntries for the giveaway close at midnight on March 16th.*

*Giveaway now closed.

blood's veil q&a sentinel 03.0316 p2

The countdown to the release of Blood’s Veil on March 15th has truly begun. 

It’s all go here at the Moyce residence, by which I mean, I’m a raving mass of nerves and excitement, alternating between coffee IVs and chain-smoking, and poring over the laptop, muttering curse words. Today, though, I’m mostly excited. I finally get to reveal the cover of Blood’s Veil, my debut romantic suspense novel about Brooke and Ella—two adoptive sisters who return to their home island after the death of their mother. Brooke, the eldest, has a dark past, and it is about to reveal itself, threatening her relationship with Ella, and testing every bond they’ve ever made.

Find out more about Blood’s Veil, or jump right in and read the entire first chapter of this romantic suspense novel right now. For free!

In celebration of my frazzled nerves (it’s been worth it), I am also hosting a giveaway for a signed copy (yay!) of my new book. Keep reading below to find out how to enter.

First things first, though… I’ve got a cover ready and waiting to strip off and show you the goods. So without further rambling, I give you: Blood’s Veil

romantic suspense - blood's veil

 


Giveaway 

So, about that free signed book… there’s a copy up for grabs! One lucky winner will receive a brand new signed copy of Blood’sVeil. The giveaway is live right now, and it is open to any country. Yup, worldwide! Entries close just before midnight on March 16th, so get yours in now!

Here’s how:

A message will appear (like the one below) confirming your entry, along with a series of options. Doing any of these will add bonus entries, increasing your odds of winning! Or you can go ahead and do them all! Woot!

The bonus entries are:

  • Sharing the link with your friends
  • Reading chapter one of Blood’s Veil
  • Tweeting about it on Twitter
  • Pinning it on Pinterest

Simply click each button on the popup message to get your bonus entries in.

The winner will be chosen at random on (or shortly after) the closing date on March 16th, and will be contacted via the email you enter when you sign up for the giveaway.

Good luck, and happy reading!

Enter the giveaway!

 

**Giveaway now closed

Read Chapter One of Blood's Veil

With just under a month to go before the release date of my debut romantic suspense novel, you can now read Chapter One of Blood’s Veil online, for free.  Here’s a preview with the link to the rest below. Hope you enjoy it. *cue sweating, panicking, and chain-smoking*  

Happy reading!

 

Read Chapter One of Blood's Veil

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue

Every night she waited. Silent, still. The limbs of her twelve-year-old body ached with the effort. Her heart hammered in the quiet of the room—drumming, chanting; a cruel, betraying boom that gave her away. Every night she wished for morning, for the light. It always came too late. Sometimes, she wished instead for darkness, wished herself part of it—wisp and smoke and shadow, able to sink into the night and escape. When she held her breath and shut her eyes real tight, she could imagine that escape—imagine she was somewhere else entirely. If she kept still long enough she could pretend this night would be different; that maybe, this night, he wouldn’t come for her—

But he always did.

 

Seventeen years later…

 

One

Ella was rooted to the spot. A scream carved an icy path inside her, from her head through every limb, with no release. Three seconds passed, three minutes—it could have been three hours—an immeasurable streak of sheer panic and hysteria. Then, it was suddenly still, as though a giant hand had reached out and smothered the world in shadow. Her breath caught in her throat, thick and heavy, like smoke. Her hand, foreign and white-knuckled with tension, kept a tight fist on the cordless black phone—the one thing that kept her tied to the centre of it all, to the cataclysmic news from the other side of the equator.

‘Ella?’ It broke Ella’s trance. ‘You still there? Hello?’

Aunt Mandy. Her mama’s sister… her dead mama’s sister.

Ella stared ahead, unseeing. ‘I have to go,’ she said, the words spluttering from her, coarse and splintered. She barely registered her own voice and swallowed repeatedly to soothe the scratchy burn at the back of her throat. ‘I…’

She stopped.

She didn’t know how to end that sentence. It was like everything she was certain of up until this point had disintegrated into dust. She had never felt more unsure or alone than she did right now.

‘That’s okay, my darlin’, I understand. You take care. And let me know about the arrangements… Call me anytime, y’hear?’ Her aunt paused for a long moment, waiting. Eventually, she hung up.

Ella didn’t move. The phone clicked dead then onto dial-tone as she stood there, unwilling, refusing, to process what she’d learnt. Her mind raced. Threads of thought
chased themselves like dead leaves on the wind. Slowly, a single question began to form. It was both simple and complicated at once.

Why?

She slumped against the living room wall. It just couldn’t be true. She couldn’t believe it. She wouldn’t. There had to be some kind of a mistake—someone, somewhere, had gotten things horribly wrong.

The phone started to wail, and she hit the end-call button fiercely, returning to the suffocating silence.

Mama… she’s dead…

The three words jarred her. She seemed to fumble around them for a while, feeling her way, searching for a weakness, a gap, a hole in the truth. But there was none, and when her mind wrapped itself around the finality of fact, something inside her broke. Her head filled with pictures and memories, and the crushing torment of knowing it was all she had left.

She shoved the phone back on its cradle with such force it wobbled and fell off, and she stared at it, not daring to touch it; it was contaminated with truth. It had snatched the world from under her feet, and all that remained was a heavy, sickening ache, and yet she felt that somehow, it was the last tie to everything that came before it. Blinking back tears, she slowly picked it up, clutched it like a small child to her chest, and cried.

*

Lying motionless in the cramped bunk of her cabin, Ella dug deep for the motivation to move. The vessel’s engine grumbled steadily somewhere beneath her, and morning was only just beginning to seep into the room. She eased herself off the top bunk, careful not to step on her sister, Brooke, snoring gently in the bed below.

She parted the heavy curtains. The dawn cast itself over the Atlantic, impossibly beautiful set against the recent tragedy of her mother’s passing; it seemed wrong somehow, that these two extremes could co-exist. She took a deep breath, forcing the raw grief back inside its box, trying not to lose her grip; losing herself instead to the pink-tinted sky tilting and realigning with each dip of the vessel. She’d forgotten how breathtaking it was to watch the day break over the ocean.

There was a lot she’d forgotten, and in just a few hours, stepping back on homeland, she was going to have to face the fact that her voluntary memory lapse was bringing her home just a little too late. She was determined never to forgive herself for that.

Travelling to an island which claimed to be one of the remotest places in the world took time, and there was only one way to reach Saint Helena—by sea, on an old Royal Mail ship. It had cost them two full weeks. Two weeks was a long time to have to sit around and grieve from afar, helpless and isolated. Still, a shorter time would have made no real difference. It was useless to blame an age-old journey plan for her own selfish mistake of not visiting when she’d had the chance. If she’d have kept her word, she would have seen her mama at least one more time. Instead, she’d put it off, time after time, always coming up with a feeble excuse; always accepting her mama’s gentle understanding on the other end of the phone-line, accepting it as approval.

And now… it was too late.

The guilt had always tugged and niggled, although up until now it had been small enough to shrug off; now, it was a life-sized weight around her neck that she couldn’t cast aside even if she’d wanted to.

She’d been on auto-pilot for the last fortnight, busying herself with anything she could, simply to avoid having to think; it was a little less painful to deal with in robot-mode, even if it was a coward’s way forward. Unfortunately, three days on the ocean gave her plenty of time to correct that; boredom was no friend to grief, or guilt.

Brooke seemed to be coping. Then again, Brooke had never been in the habit of adorning anything with her heart, let alone her sleeve, so Ella’s guess was as good as any. You never could be sure what was there under the surface with Brooke. She was more subdued than usual, and seemed to have agreed to the trip only so Ella wouldn’t have to make it alone, but maybe she knew Ella needed this, and needed her, even if neither of them realised how much. This would be the closest thing to closure either of them could manage, if there was any such simple thing.

Ella jumped as Brooke shifted suddenly in her sleep.

Stuffing her head under one of the pillows, Brooke let out an overly loud groan, more agitated than a premenstrual dragon.

‘Why are you up so early?’ she grumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow. ‘Close the curtains, will you?’

Ella smiled in spite of herself. Her sister made it easier to function; easier to fake normality. If there was anyone in the world that could keep her anchored and sane in all of this, it would be Brooke. Whilst everyone else tiptoed around Ella, magnifying what had happened, treating her like a delicate crystal ornament—she could trust Brooke to be herself. And whether or not Brooke knew this, it was exactly what Ella needed.

*

Brooke stood at the stern of the vessel and studied the surf trail as the ship slowly cut its path. The ocean was a piercing mid-day-blue mirror to the cloudless sky above, the heat bouncing off the water in a rippled dance. The wooden rails separating her from the inviting depths below were sun-warm and comforting against her bare arms. If she craned her neck at just the right angle, she was able to catch her first glimpse of ‘home’.

At this distance the island was little more than jagged shadow and rock, jutting up out of the water—misshapen teeth in the mouth of a sleeping dragon. Soon, she’d have no choice but to climb into that mouth. For now, it was still shrouded in haze, shimmering against the horizon like a mirage, and Brooke found herself wishing that were all it was; a mirage would have been easier than reality.

Too soon though, the ship pulled into the harbour, and the horn reverberated with finality. The short boat-ride to shore from the larger vessel was a whole lot more fun than Brooke remembered it to be, perhaps because an actual moment of joy had been so unexpected this close to landing. Sea spray and salty air aside, the uneasiness inside her grew. It had been stirring since leaving the airport in England.

She should have stayed. She should have kept herself away from all of this, not agree to come back; should have made her excuses and left it at that. But how could she have done?

She didn’t see the point herself, in coming home this long after Addie’s funeral, but she knew Ella wanted to, maybe needed to. She knew if there was ever a time she needed to step up and be there for someone else, it was now, for Ella.

Now though, as the boatman steered them all toward the harbour, her selfless act was looking really stupid. She wanted to leap overboard and swim all the way back to safety.

‘This is it,’ Ella said suddenly.

She looked smaller and more vulnerable than Brooke had ever seen her. Brooke aborted her wild ideas of escape, and reached for Ella’s hand, squeezing it.

‘We’ll be alright, El.’

Ella nodded, and smiled a weak but obviously grateful smile, and Brooke hoped the simple lifelong mantra of all families everywhere would be enough to console Ella somehow.

We’ll be alright.

It sure as hell didn’t have Brooke convinced.

One of the boatmen at the pier offered a hand as she stepped out onto the wet landing step. She looked around her, waiting for Ella to follow. The wharf was teeming with men in yellow hard-hats and overalls, not hard at work but just as she’d left them—filling the position of laid-back onlookers. A few of them she recognised. Some of them smiled, some ogled, and some weren’t bothered either way. They merely looked glad for a timeout and a smoke.

Ella reached her side and began unzipping the bulky life jacket, following the first boatload of twenty-odd passengers up the wide harbour steps in the direction of transportation to Customs. Brooke followed suit, her fingers fumbling and catching in the zip. They boarded the bus in silence, spoke only when spoken to during the clearance procedure in Customs, and then ventured towards the exit of the building.

Brooke cast a side glance at Ella; she was pale. Facing the crowd at the seaside during passenger arrivals was never easy on the passengers. The other side of seven years, they had been a part of the waiting crowd. Brooke had been, at least. Ella never had time for ‘that sort of rubbish’—watching people return home just so you could scrutinise them; judging how much they’d changed during their time away, by the clothes they wore, or the way they greeted someone—that was not Ella’s idea of leisure. It was a bit of an island tradition though, and true to form, when they left the cool, safe darkness of the building, and the sunlight hit them once more, so did the gaping assembly of people.

There were so many of them. Some were caught up in their own reunions, oblivious to two more passengers arriving. The rest, they were all eyes.

Brooke’s gaze automatically swooped to the spot where she’d sat as a teenager: a ‘front-row’ spot near a large, out-of-use storage building. She half-expected the same group of people to be perched there, stuck in a time loop of some sort. Instead, there were nameless faces, all along the building front and the half-walls, all the way up toward a flight of stone steps leading to one of the many hillside paths in the valley capital. To the right, yet more bystanders, spanning the width of the street. They had, as had always been the practice, formed a semi-circle around the gate of the Customs building, dotting themselves between parked vehicles, eagerly waiting like paparazzi for celebrities, or wild animals with barely-curbed appetites.

 

Want more?

Click here  Read Chapter One of Blood’s Veil

 

  Where Can I Buy Blood’s Veil?