This is a collection of bonus scenes I've written over the years. Some are part of later books in the series. Some short stories are simply 'What If' scenarios. Some moments are scenes that happen off-the-page if you will.
I thought that I'd share...
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Kenton drove through the gateway and onto our estate. The car window was down and I leaned my elbow on it, half-gripping the roofline where I tapped my fingers to the beat flowing through the car from Six60's Vibes.
I stretched the kinks out of my back muscles, rolled my shoulders, and cracked my neck. I was tired, but I was also keyed up and a little anxious as to what going to greet me. Was Nelle going to be pissed at me or furiously pissed at me? There were degrees to her moods, but mostly these days in regards to me she was simply pissed.
Kenton drove with one hand on the steering wheel. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up and revealed the line of ink woven down his muscular forearms to the wrist. He ran his free hand through his shortly cropped hair, sighed, and leaned his head back against the headrest. Dressed in his typical uniform of bespoke suits, he'd discarded his jacket for the long drive home. We'd been gone for three days hunting down the Bratvas and bringing an end to their mutiny, reminding them—well, reminding the ones we left standing—that they worked for The Horned Gods.
Kenton guided his sports-car along the winding driveway, and we broke free from the thick copse of trees separating the estates gates and our home. The Keep came into view. It was a formidable fortress built from pure adamere. Our home was the most fortified home within the world of Houses. Towers and turrets peaked above the ramparts—a sombre contrast to the autumn night-sky with its scattering of stars. I'd expected a quiet homecoming, but as I blinked rapidly, straightened my spine, and stared through narrowed eyes, I wondered just what the hells I was looking at.
This wasn't what I had expected to be greeted with at all.
Kenton and I shared a perplexed look.
He guided his Maserati to a halt partway down the driveway, because the circular driveway was blocked with cars and a few ... buses?
We got out of his car and stared upward in confusion and growing concern.
"What. The. Actual. Fuck. Is. Going on?" I boomed to Kenton—who leaned a hand on the roof of the car separating us—not because I had to compete with the thunderous bass-beat pounding from the Keep, but because this was fucking crazy.
The rooftop of the Keep was lit up like a fucking nightclub!
Music rolled across the sky, and strobe lights moved back and forth in streaks of white and violet. The sound of whizzing—fireworks scored upward and exploded into a great starburst, showering the sky in sparks of neon blue, red, and silver.
I took in the vehicles, turning around, the friction from the cobblestones grating beneath my boots.
There was a bus, three in fact. One of them was a party-bus and had streamers and lacy garter-belts hanging off the rear; another had a New Zealand Flag spray-painted along its side, and an oversized stuffed-toy, a kiwi, taped upon the roof; and the last looked like a musician's tour-bus. In addition to the buses there were a few limousines, Bentleys and Porsches, and other sports cars. Houses. Houses were here. Rarely, very rarely, we invited them in. As my gaze lingered on those expensive cars, I wondered who they belonged to.
