Thank you, Roseanne, for inviting me to spend some time with you on your blog. I'm so excited to be here. When you asked me to do a guest post I panicked. My mind went blank, and I couldn't think of a thing to write about—odd for an author. So I hope you don't mind that I brought along Les. She's just getting over her traumatic experience with the Cruor Imbibo, but she's graciously agreed to talk a little about her ordeal.
Hey, Les, how are you today?
I'm good, thanks. Nothing has tried to kill me, so it's a good day.
Speaking of things trying to kill you…
The Imbibo, right. I'm really not supposed to talk about their existence. It's a closely guarded secret. One that's been kept for thousands of years.
How have they been able to stay under the radar that long?
(Arches an eyebrow) By eliminating anyone who stumbles across them. If they think you know anything about them you are enemy number one. And once you've made their hit list there's generally only one way off—through the obituaries.
Hmm, maybe we should change the subject then. Tell us about the team that was assigned to protect you. How was it living with six guys?
There was more drama in that house than daytime television. Men like to say women are drama queens, but we aren't anything compared to a bunch of guys. And messy, you wouldn't believe how bad six guys can smell up a house!
I'll take your word for it. Of the six guys, there is one you're particularly fond of.
Hmm, yes, Miller. What an idiot he can be.
Wow, that doesn't sound like love at first sight!
Oh, it was love at first sight. Then he opened his mouth and ruined it. Talk about attitude. That guy has one the size of Montana.
Do you think there's any way we could convince Miller to join us?
I doubt it. He's working.
Another mission for the Concilium?
I suppose so. I really wouldn't know.
Oh? A sore subject?
Well, like the Imbibo, I'm not supposed to talk about Miller or his team. The Concilium was very explicit on that.
The Concilium? Why do they care?
It's not just the secret of the Imbibo they are protecting, but of their organization, as well. I know too much. I've already said more than I should have as it is. (Squirms in her seat)
What happens if the Concilium finds out you've been talking about them?
The Imbibo will be back. And this time, well, I won't walk away. I have to go. Thank you, Roseanne, for having me. I wish I could tell you more about the Imbibo, people should be warned.
Well, I guess we'll have to read about the Imbibo to get more information. Concilium, Les's story, was released by MuseItUp Publishing on July 27th. It details her struggles with the Imbibo and her rollercoaster relationship with the unbelievably gorgeous, but nearly intolerable, Miller.
Of course, after her warnings, I guess we read the story at our own risk. We definitely don't want the Imbibo or the Concilium finding out!
Saturday morning I woke up screaming from the gruesome nightmares. Sweating and shaking, I stumbled into the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and brushed my teeth before pulling on my favorite U of M sweatshirt and heading into the kitchen for some cereal.
“There’s nothing like the taste of Cocoa Puffs after brushing your teeth,” I said absently, wandering outside to eat.
I looked around…and dropped my bowl. It shattered into a hundred shards of glass at my feet.
Pools of dark blood were splashed throughout the deck and back yard. Blood was splayed across the trees and wildflowers, turning my beautiful yard into something out of a horror movie, something out of my nightmare.
I screamed at the sound of my name; I hadn’t seen him when I walked outside. I stumbled over to the chair next to where Miller stood with his hip leaning casually against the deck railing, arms crossed over his chest.
“What happened?” I whispered.
“You cut your foot,” he commented. “Come on, you need to get that cleaned. Where are your bandages?”
I looked down at my foot bleeding on the wood planks. My blood swirled on top of the blood dried there.
“Come on, Leslee.” He pulled me from the chair and pushed me gently toward the door, carefully avoiding the shattered bowl and Cocoa Puffs scattered across the deck.
“Hey, Les, where’s your garden hose?” Brooks called from the yard. “I’ll clean up a little,” he said, like it was something he did every day. Maybe it was.
“The garage,” I mumbled as Miller guided me through the back door and into the kitchen.
“In the bathroom,” I answered. Looking down, I saw blood pooling around my foot on the kitchen floor. “Sorry, I’m making a mess.”
“It’s not my floor.” He picked me up and walked down the hall looking for the bathroom, drops of blood falling on my carpet as we went. “Which door?”
“Second on the left,” I managed to answer.
I was flung over his shoulder as he strode calmly through my house like he belonged there. It wasn’t like the romantic scenes in sappy movies where a man carefully carries a woman while gazing lovingly into her eyes. No. It was more like a caveman movie when the hairy, stinky caveman flops the woman over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. That’s what I was—the sack of potatoes. But Miller wasn’t a hairy, stinky caveman. Far from it.
Concilium is available from: MuseItUp Publishing
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