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Logline
While on a rescue mission gone crazed, a holy warrior and a rogue fight bandits, demons, and the urge to rip each other's clothes off.
Blurb
The mission, rescuing a princess, could be going better.
Séa is an earnest paladin, honest and gullible. Tash is a rogue, tricky, greedy, and generally unable to hold down a steady job. Try as they might, they can't see eye to eye. And yet, they seem to understand one another.
Along with Ghomarck the wizard, they infiltrate a tower prison in hopes of spiriting away the heiress trapped within. But what if the princess doesn't want to go? What if the tower is a trap laid for them? What if an Abyssal Planelord has a personal interest in the matter?
And what if completing the mission starts to seem less interesting than ducking behind a battlement and snogging? One thing's for sure. Séa and Tash are very, very poor at risk management.
FF friends to lovers adventure-romance for adult readers. Occasionally sexy, some unfiltered language, some violent bits.
~Chapter One~
Letter
Séa
The sturdy young woman inhaled deeply. Among and around the scents of cow patties, pig dung, and chicken poo lurked hints of fresh air. Affectionately, she swatted a sleepy sow's rump. The huge mother pig blurted a basso protest but rolled off the low step. Once the way cleared, the human climbed up the nine steps that ascended the stone-and-mortar wall, lifting the hem of her rough spun monk robes to avoid tripping.
From the wall's top, the view expanded to include the horizon. Evening twilight outlined distant mountains and forested hills. The thin crescent of the messenger moon hung weightless in the west, over vague outlines of village rooftops. The young woman caught her breath as she drank in the scenic wonder. Light as a summer zephyr, a sigh of longing trickled from her parted lips.
She widened her stance and clasped hands behind her back. Her gaze drifted higher, and her gray eyes scanned for a glimpse of the first star.
From the odiferous yard behind her arose a baritone squawk. "Beshrew thee, monstrous pork!" The grumbling continued, at a quieter volume. "My knees can't take this any longer. Pigs underfoot all day, pigs underfoot all night." A plump shadow flapped its way toward the woman's observing station. It was Friar Obel, who should have been the last to complain about an overabundance of pigs. His appetite for pork sparked legends.
As he heaved his well-fed bulk up the short flight of steps, the woman spoke in placid tones. "Looking for me, Friar?"
"Yes, Séa. Yes, indeed."
"Why?" A moment later, her heart took a leap within her chest. An irrational sensation of weightlessness made the world fall away. She felt as if she stood on clouds. Her lips trembled on the impossible words. "The Crusade? They answered my letter?"
