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fvckyouimaprophet · 4 years

Note

Kurtbastian hogwarts!au where Sebastian starts a bet with Kurt and whoever loses it has to take amortentia ( a love potion) and it backfires on Seb when he loses? (Sorry if its too specific) :)

Don’t be sorry! I really love filling specific prompts. It’s really cool to see people’s fic ideas. Plus, I always melt for Hogwarts AUs. Hope you like it! :)

Sebastian prods at his eggs and frowns. “Oh come on, Bas, you had to have known that was likely to happen,” Kurt says and nudges his foot under the table.

Despite his best attempt at a sympathetic smile, something else gleams in Kurt’s eyes. He may be biting his cheek, but his expression exudes an air of I told you so. Neither of them are particular good at withholding attempts at gloating, but Sebastian can hardly stand it in moments like this. “You know, it’s also your House that lost points,” he snaps back.

“I’m not the one who tried to hook up in the Prefect’s bathroom in broad daylight,” Kurt says. He takes a sip of his coffee, and a small smirk finally spreads across his face. “You can’t blame me for being amused. Besides, at this point it’s practically just another Tuesday when you lose points. That’s hardly big news.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“You know it’s true. I’m surprised the other Seventh years haven’t tried to kill you for completely ruining our chances at the House cup.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes but slides down in his seat. As infuriating as he is, Kurt’s not wrong. “I don’t lose points that often,” he says instead.

“Cut me a break. I bet you couldn’t go two weeks without losing Slytherin at least fifteen points.”

Sebastian tightens his jaw, trying not to act on the knee-jerk reaction to push back. He squirms, and despite his best efforts gives in with a scoff. “What’s the bet?” Sebastian asks.

“Rachel bought me some Amortentia a while back. I think as a joke, though I’m not really sure with her,” Kurt says. He wets his lips as he leans in, both elbows propped on the table. “Loser has to drink it.”

Sebastian’s breath catches in his throat. It may be more than he bargained for, but he’s never been able to resist a challenge. He sticks out his hand. “Two weeks is nothing. Just you see.”

- - -

Thirteen days in, Sebastian feels the tension seeping out of his body. On the second day, he loses five points during Transfiguration class for speaking during class when he asks Jeff to borrow a quill, but he’s managed to be on his best behavior.

He can practically feel the frustration radiating off of Kurt with each passing day. With one day left, he’s certain victory if in his hands.

It’s regrettably preemptive.

Halfway through Muggle Studies, Professor Schuester catches him levitating a pornographic note, complete with moving drawings, to Thad. “Mr. Smythe, I really had hoped you’d learned your lesson,” he says. He shakes his head and clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he gives Sebastian a look straddling the line between disapproval and disappointment. “Fifteen points from Slytherin, and detention in my office this Thursday.”

Even without turning behind him to look at Kurt’s express, Sebastian can tell he looks triumphant.

- - -

They wait until Friday to fulfill the bet and make their way up to the Astronomy tower with the corked vial and a bottle of Firewhiskey. They sit there, curled up in the nook of a window for nearly an hour drinking and talking until Kurt pulls the vial from his pocket.

“Okay, you’ve stalled for long enough,” he says and presses it into the palm of Sebastian’s hand.

Sebastian’s fingers curl around the glass, and he swallows thickly. His head is foggy enough from the Firewhiskey three shots in, but he knows that the heaviness in his arm has more to with what’s in his hand than anything else. “Don’t let me do anything dumb,” Sebastian mutters.

“My dear Sebastian, isn’t that entirely the point?”

With one final glare, Sebastian uncorks it and drinks it down in two gulps. Kurt’s eyes dart down as Sebastian licks his lips, catching any last drops. They sit with bated breath for a moment.

Nothing.

“Well, this is a disappointment,” Sebastian says. “Are you sure Little Miss Diva didn’t give you a dud?” he asks. The bottle of Firewhiskey sits between them, but when Sebastian reaches for it, his hands slip against the glass, palms sweaty. A slow, steady heat creeps up the back of his neck, and he purses his lips as he sets it down again and reaches up, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt.

“Perhaps,” Kurt says, but his eyes watch Sebastian like a hawk, lingering on his fingers Sebastian fiddles with the third button. “Are you warm?” Kurts words feel oddly gentle and melodic, and Sebastian finds himself smiling as he rocks forward and grabs the bottle again.

“A bit. It’s always hot up here, though,” he says and motions around.

Kurt hums, and when the silence falls between them again, he notices the way Kurt begins to size him up. Kurt’s gaze is entirely unreadable, but Sebastian’s attention drifts before long as he catches the way Kurt’s fingers fiddle with the edge of his robes.

He’s almost certain he’s never noticed the freckle on the knuckle of Kurt’s pointer finger, but now he stares, transfixed, unsure if he’s ever seen anything quite like it. It stretches and nearly shrinks when Kurt flexes his hands, and Sebastian teeters forward to get a better look.

Kurt’s laugh jars him out of it, and Sebastian jerks his head up. He can’t see himself, but he’s certain his grin is goofy. His cheeks nearly hurt from the effort, but Kurt’s laugh pulls it out of him, and his attention shifts up Kurt’s long, soft neck, past the outline of his jaw, and up to his lips.

“Oh.” Sebastian reaches out on instinct, and drags the pad of his thumb gently across Kurt’s bottom lip. It’s soft—should be considering that Kurt regularly exfoliates his lips. It’s always seemed ridiculous and excessive, but now that he can feel it, it suddenly makes sense.

Kurt’s eyes shut, and when he leans into Sebastian’s touch, it feels electric. “Bas...” His name comes out of Kurt’s mouth as barely a whisper, and before Sebastian has the opportunity to lean in, Kurt pulls back.

When he opens his eyes again, a wall is there between them, and the air feels thick and heavy. “Come back. Let me kiss them,” Sebastian whines. Kurt’s expression hardens briefly, so fleeting that if Sebastian weren’t studying Kurt as intensely as he is, he’d be certain he made it up. “Please,” he adds for good measure.

“I never thought I’d see the day Sebastian Smythe came begging to me.”

Sebastian wonders why he hasn’t before. “If that’s what you want, I can do it.” It comes out as more of a purr than he intends, and Kurt swallows and clenches his jaw. Sebastian’s chest flutters as he moves forward again, but Kurt places a firm hand on his shoulders and pushes back.

“I think it’s safe to say that Rachel’s potion worked,” Kurt says, and although his laugh sounds sharp, Sebastian’s stomach clenches angrily.

“I don’t get what’s so funny,” he says. A angry thrill runs through him at the thought that Kurt presumes this any of this has to do with the potion. In fact, his head has never felt clearer. Kurt, as he is right now in front of him—guards pulled down from the Firewhiskey and not entirely put together—is beautiful.

“Nothing,” Kurt insists, and his voice is so soothing, and Sebastian can’t help but nod, appeased.

“Good,” Sebastian says, “because I could hardly stand it if you took it like that.”

“I didn’t.” Kurt grabs his hand and squeezes, and Sebastian’s heart jumps up to his throat. Warmth blossoms where Kurt touches him and spreads outward until his entire body feels as if it’s floating.

Kurt’s always been there. They’ve been inseparable since they sat beside each other post-Sorting first year. But now, in front of him, caught in the moonlight, Sebastian sees him like he never has before. Here, in this moment, Sebastian is certain that this is as close to happiness as he will ever get.

“What is it?” Kurt asks, and when his thumb drags across the back of Sebastian’s hand, Sebastian cannot control the shiver that runs up his back.

“It’s you,” Sebastian says. Kurt’s gaze wavers, momentarily sadder, and Sebastian wonders how it’s possible that what he said could possible have that effect. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, frustrated.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know—hurt? I don’t understand. I know you want me.” The words topple out of his mouth, and he isn’t entirely sure he knows where they’re coming from, but Kurt pulls his hand back, and Sebastian is certain that can feel the wall there again despite Kurt’s teasing smile.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Kurt says, and he reaches for Firewhiskey and takes a swig. Kurt winces and runs the sleeve of his robes over his mouth. “Now tell me everything you’re thinking.”

They talk for another two hours, and Kurt has to stop Sebastian from kissing him six times.

And soon enough, Sebastian feels the fog lifting from around his head—fog he wasn’t even aware was there. His body feels heavy, disoriented, and he takes a deep breath. Everything else starts to seem fuzzy and distant, but somehow Kurt never does. Even when the exhaustion hits, and everything starts to blur, Kurt stays in focus.

“I want to kiss you,” he says three hours after taking the potion, and Kurt’s brow furrows in frustration.

“Not tonight, Sebastian,” Kurt says, his voice oddly cold, and his eyes look just past Sebastian, not meeting him. “I know you don’t want to listen, but it’s the potion talking.”

Sebastian shakes his head. “It’s not. It was before, but it’s not now.” He can feel the sharp, pleading tone to his voice, and Kurt falters, finally meeting his gaze. Whatever attention he has left for the room slips away, and Sebastian breathes shallowly, afraid that anything too strong will make the moment shatter and pass.

Still, the silence lingers, and eventually, Sebastian can’t stand it anymore. He speaks quietly, barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t wrong with what I said earlier, was I?”

For a moment, he’s certain Kurt will deny it with a wry smile and a what question, but then Kurt shakes his head. “No, you weren’t.”

“I’m such an idiot,” he says. Kurt’s expression softens, and he smiles fondly.

“You are. Always have been.” They sit for another moment, careful not to disturb whatever precarious moment they’ve stumbled into.

“Then why won’t you let me kiss you?” Sebastian asks.

Kurt considers him a moment before speaking. “How about if you still feel the same way tomorrow, I’ll let you.”

“Deal.”

#kurtbastian #my kurtbastian #my fics #Anonymous #ask

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gulfportofficial · 3 years

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Anyway, here’s some more WIP GP (I think some of you may have seen bits of this before? I told you it was taking me forever).

I loved how he looked when he woke up. Cranky and rumpled and soft all at the same time, his black hair messy and his skin warm from the bedclothes. It seemed to take him a minute or two to hear me well enough to respond to me. How human he was, still, that even now with his impossible strength, he woke up groggy. I climbed onto the bed, and then onto him, and kissed him on the mouth.

He smiled against it. He put his arms around me. “Has the paper come?”

Typical, I thought of saying, but did not. I wasn’t really annoyed by it. That clever little occupation of his, that too, was part of his sweetness too. “Yes,” I said, “and I’ve got the Picayune.”

Louis shuffled up and arranged his pillows fussily, so he could lean back onto them. “You’re very good to me,” he said. “Was it a nice walk?”

“Entirely uneventful,” I said. “Kiss me again and I’ll let you read your papers.”

He did. “Will you tell me the shape of the evening so that I know how long I have to read them?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, did your mother mention what time she was arriving? Do we need to go out before she comes?” he asked. “I don’t mind doing that.”

It would be entirely wrong to say that I had forgotten she was coming. I had thought about nothing else since her call. I had thought about it in my sleep and upon waking and during my walk and while he was kissing me. But I thought about it so hard it didn’t seem to be present in my real life. I swallowed, and Louis looked at me strangely.

“I don’t know,” I said. “She might want to go out together.” “It’s a shame you just can’t call her to check,” Louis said.

I didn’t bother to answer that. Such a pointless dig. Was that the shape of the evening then, something structured by Louis’ painful and barbed asides catching at my flesh? I rolled off him and fished out my laptop computer. I took my notebook and glasses from the bedside table. He didn’t comment.

There wasn’t much for me to attend to on the internet. A few emails. Facebook nonsense. I had been tagged in some photographs and proceeded to vet them. I do like candid photographs, but there are limits.

Louis had picked up the Press-Register. “Why don’t we go out just in case,” he said. “If she wants to, we can go again.”

I don’t think he was thinking this through. As a general rule, we do not hunt so close to where we live, unless we can truly be sure it is a little drink only and nothing more. We didn’t have time to go far enough afield. At least I felt we didn’t have time. He was right that I couldn’t call to check.

“You go,” I said. “I’ll wait.”

“That’s alright. If you want to wait, we’ll wait. I’ll survive.”

“Won’t it drive you mad?” I said. I’d opened up my Notes document and begin to transcribe.

“You forget to whom it is you’re speaking,” Louis said, and I was about to tell him off, but he was right. Anyone who could live on rats for as long as he had could skip a night. Just one though, allowing for the precedent of the consequences of his doing that.

“How’s the Gulf?” I asked, deliberately.

Louis gave me a look, but it worked, as I knew it would. “Thad Allen’s leaving,” he said.

“I don’t know who that is.”

“The Coastguard National Incident Commander. He actually stepped down moths ago but…”

I sighed. “Unlike you, Louis, I have better things to do than read everything about the fucking oil spill, so obviously I don’t know what that is either. When you tell a story like this you must structure in a referent or two so I am able to orient myself.”

I regretted saying that. I regretted saying anything that could stop him from focusing on the spill instead of my mother. “It’s called glossing,” I said, hastily. “One should gloss.”

I wonder if he took pity on me then, because he went on with only the slightest air of annoyance. “Admiral Allen,” Louis said, “is a Coast Guard official and the man appointed by President Obama to oversee responses to the disaster. He has a most distinguished career, actually, and…”

“What did he do?”

“Many things, but…”

“No, I mean, why is he stepping down? What did he do? Did he get caught taking a bribe or something else scandalous?”

“I think he’s just retiring.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s dull.”

“He’s responsible for most of the online mapping.”

“The what?”

“I showed you,” Louis said. “The computer map of the spill and how it was spreading. On the internet. That was his idea, to make that map public.”

“Oh yes, I remember,” I said. I didn’t. I was bored with the internet now anyway. I hopped out of bed, and started to flick through my wardrobe. I’d shower and dress, I felt better equipped to face the evening showered and dressed. I felt the need to cement things with a lot of ritual. Prayer. I thought I might do something to my face and slipped into the bathroom.

“What’s that on your face?” Louis asked when I slipped out. “Supernatural late stage leprosy?”

“Shut up,” I said, then I read off the jar for him, “it’s a Green Clay Masque with Rice Enzyme.”

Louis opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. I supposed I knew what it was – you don’t need that, it will have absolutely no effect on you – but I wondered why he decided not to lecture me. Perhaps he couldn’t be bothered.

He could think what he liked anyway. I felt the stuff drying on my face and I liked the sensation of it, it felt redeeming in some manner. I set the jar down and sat back on the bed and pulled out my laptop again. Nothing on Facebook had changed and it was all still boring. I trawled through it anyway. One feels obligated, or else compulsion. That,too, is like a naturalized little prayer against disaster.

Louis ran a gentle, distracted-seeming hand up and down on my back as I did. “My mother…” he said. I looked up.

I wasn’t sure if he’d trailed off out of discomfort, or simply because he didn’t intend to keep speaking. “What, Louis?”

“When my brother died…” Louis said, and that was surprising enough that I had to actually turn around to look at him. He never spoke about this. Never. And it didn’t precisely seem buried, not on his face now, nor in the fact that he’d stuttered himself out of speaking. Once turned around I held perfectly still.

He began again. “When my brother died,” Louis said, “well, you probably remember my telling you this, but we’d argued. Almost immediately before. Moments before. And my mother blamed me.”

“That’s not kind,” I said. “And it’s not true. Brothers exchange harsh words sometimes.”

“No, you’ve misunderstood,” Louis said. “I mean that she believed I’d committed the act. She asked the police to question me.”

Oh, Louis, I wanted to say. How horrible. How cruel. “Is that why you can’t understand a mother caring for you, or being your friend or being intimate?”

“Perhaps it is,” Louis said. “My mother and I were never particularly at odds before then, but we weren’t close either. I don’t know. I don’t know what she thought.”

“Why didn’t you ask her?”

“You’re correct that we didn’t have that sort of intimacy. I don’t recall ever asking her much of anything.”

How quickly I regretted this Green Clay Masque with Rice Enzyme. It had already started to itch and I wanted it off me, but I could not move to interrupt what Louis was saying. My heart wouldn’t let me do that.

“I don’t think my family in general liked me very much,” Louis said, his solemn white face still and his eyes far away. “Furthermore, I’m not sure I deserved being liked, since I don’t recall I was very kind to them. My father died and I focused on management, and I don’t wonder if that’s all I did. My sister said as much, after… well, after you and I… after I sent her to the city.”

“Did she really just announce that to you,” I said. “That she didn’t like you? That’s an awfully rude thing to say to the person funding your lifestyle.”

Louis raised an eyebrow at me. I took the point. However, there was strangely little malice in his expression considering how much room in it for malice there was. That was curious and I waited for him to continue.

“Yes she did,” he said. “She and I did become close then. When I visited her, we did talk, and with a great deal of frankness and intimacy, and she said very directly that I had become kinder and that she had begun to understand and to like me. So perhaps my mother simply knew an unkind person.”

But the real you must have shone through, I wanted to say. It seemed impossible to me that anyone could have met Louis and not instantly fallen as fatally in love as I, even, if not especially, his mother. Someone so beautiful, so passionate, so gentle and particular and odd, you’d need a heart of stone not to love him. But perhaps all of his reservations with me had come from this. Perhaps like all of us, Louis had been irreparably shaped by the first person ever to hold his vulnerable mortal body as it came into this world, forever formed by whatever definition of love was taught to him.

“Your mother was crazed with grief, chéri,” I said. “That’s all it was. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Well,” he said. He opened the paper again. His face was flat now. He’d finished. Any grief of his own that lingered, he wouldn’t show me.

I tried, subtly, to scratch my face, but I stopped before he looked at me. If he noticed he’d say something pointedly right about the masque and I didn’t want him to do that. “Whatever happened to that man your sister married,” I said. “She married that… I forget, but there was something about him…”

It was desperate. But I hoped it at least sounded conversational.

“There was nothing about him,” Louis said. “Unless you mean the fact that he was profoundly inbred, which yes, I suppose, is notable from a certain point of view.”

I snorted. “You’re a snob, chaton.”

“I’m nothing of the sort. It’s your kind who inbreed. The middle classes marry out.”

“You are…” I said, but I didn’t know what he was. Terrible, at least, I wanted to say. Absolutely appalling. I felt myself smiling, preparing to tease.

“Listen, Monsieur,” Louis said, and I stopped. He said it firmly, a stately little command, and it worked on me instantly. I listened, I waited.

“Listen, Monsieur,” he said, again. “I intend to be an asset to you in this, not a obstacle.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“That’s all,” he said. “Go on. Go on about your strange ablutions. I’m going to finish these papers.”

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fire-fira · 7 years

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Jar of Hearts

It’s a day late, but here’s my fic for day 1 of Scarlet Inertia Week. I hope you enjoy it.

Warning: casual mention of murdering people. (It’s Scarlet Scarab and Inertia. What do you expect, honestly?)

[Jar of Hearts (Ao3 version)]

Day 1: Destruction/O R G A N C O L L E C T I O N

“I’d call that… 10 points,” Thad smirked as a car erupted in flames.

“10 points? 10 points?” Red scoffed, “It’s on fire! That’s at least 15!” Khaji Ad gave an audible agreeing chirp.

“Yeah 10. It’d be worth 15 if it blew up.”

At that Red and Khaji Ad shaped a plasma cannon from one arm and shot the burning car, causing it to explode and rocket into the air a story or two. “It was fucking 15.”

Thad couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “Well now it is.”

Red gave a huff as his arm returned to normal. “You can be so fucking hard to please sometimes.”

“I don’t know about that. I think the Bedbug would say otherwise.”

“Oh don’t even-” Before Red could even complete his sentence Khaji Ad took over just enough to interrupt.

“-He’s right though.”

Thad deliberately stepped closer and said in a tone full of mischief and glee, “See? He agrees with me.”

“…Traitors. Both of you. Should’ve never met your gringo ass so you and the pendejo in my spine wouldn’t gang up on me.”

<Oh, quit whining. We know you enjoy it.>

“And you’re still an asshole. Can we get back to it? Por favor? So that I don’t have the two of you ganging up on me again?”

Thad snickered before zipping off. A few moments later he was back, spattered with a little blood, just as a building collapsed and set off at least five car alarms.

“…What did you do, shove someone through a wall?”

“Maaaaybe.”

Khaji Ad slid forward again to bluntly state, “That’s fucking sick.”

“Hey, it’s not like I vibrated him into it. I just sort of… gave him a ‘nudge’.”

Red immediately started cackling. “That’s not a ‘nudge’! In no damn world would that ever be a nudge! Not even in mine! You don’t ‘nudge’ someone through a fucking wall!”

“Body-check then. It still worked. Besides, it was that asshole who tried to shoot you the other day.”

Red and Khaji Ad’s wings vibrated for a moment before the scarab could repress the impulse. “Have I mentioned I love you recently?”

“Last night Bedbug,” Thad grinned. “So… 20 points? 30? 35? 50? I’m open to negotiating.”

Red crossed his arms. “There’s no way that was 50.”

The blond speedster mockingly batted his eyelashes while holding his hands close to his chest. “Then what, pray tell, would be 50 points?”

Red considered, but Khaji Ad beat him to it. “Heart in a jar.”

“What.” Thad’s tone was flat, disbelieving.

Red’s eyes lit up as he grinned. “Heart in a jar. Just a little something Khaji Ad and I did back in our home reality.”

Thad rolled his eyes. “There’s no goddamn way-”

“Oh, but we did. Killed one of the ‘heroes,’ cut out their heart, and shoved it in a jar-”

“-and kept it in the closet. Ironic, having a closeted hero heart, but at least it wasn’t ours. We were never closeted about anything,” Khaji Ad smirked. “Most of the time.”

Thad was silent for a moment, staring at them in pure disbelief before a laugh bubbled out of him. “That’s sick.”

“But you think it’s hilarious.” Red couldn’t contain his mirth.

“No, I think that’s fucking sick,” Thad protested through poorly stifled laughter. “You’re both sick. Sick and fucking deranged. What the fuck is wrong with you two? Where would you even get that idea?”

Red adopted an entirely too innocent expression and asked, “Have you heard of that song ‘Jar of Hearts’?”

“Oh my god. You’re sick.” Thad paced back and forth for a moment before blurting out, “Ad, you let him make that pun?”

Their eyes went half-lidded as a devious expression slid onto their face, the body language shifting subtly as the scarab finally slid fully into control. “I was the one who started ‘singing’ it.”

“Oh my fucking GOD. You’re sick. You’re both fucking sick. Jesus!” Despite himself Thad was cackling.

The grin they gave was vicious before they spoke in tandem. “At least it wasn’t in a lunchbox.”

Thad snorted— legitimately snorted with laughter. “The fact that you put a heart in a jar over a damn pun is sick enough. Don’t go making jokes about eating it.”

“Mmm… lunch.” Red deliberately licked his lips.

Thad completely lost it and curled in on himself, his laughter shaking his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around his stomach. “Stop saying words!”

“…The building still wasn’t 50 points.”

“Oh, fuck you both.” Despite his words, Thad wasn’t going to argue. He was laughing too hard.

#scarlet-inertia-week2017 #Scarlet Scarab #Thad Thawne #Scarlet Inertia #Khaji Ad #all three of them have a sick sense of humor #morbid puns #my fiction

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krystisyaandwine · 7 years

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I’m so thrilled to be hosting C.J. Redwine today on the blog tour for her newest novel in the Ravenspire series, The Wish Granter! I don’t know about you guys, but I’ve been counting the days until this book comes out. Luckily, I’ve got a sneak peak that I get to share with all of you today! Enjoy!

About The Wish Granter

Title: THE WISH GRANTER

Author: C.J. Readwine

Pub. Date: February 14, 2017

Publisher: Balzer + Bray

Pages: 432

Formats: Hardcover, eBook, audiobook

Find it: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, iBooks, Audible, Goodreads

An epic fantasy inspired by the Rumpelstiltskin fairy tale, about a bastard princess who must take on an evil fae to save her brother’s soul, from the New York Times bestselling author of The Shadow Queen.

The world has turned upside down for Thad and Ari Glavan, the bastard twins of Súndraille’s king. Their mother was murdered. The royal family died mysteriously. And now Thad sits on the throne of a kingdom whose streets are suddenly overrun with violence that he can’t stop.

Growing up ignored by the nobility, Ari never wanted to be a proper princess. And when Thad suddenly starts training Ari to take his place, she realizes that her brother’s ascension to the throne wasn’t fate. It was the work of a Wish Granter named Alistair Teague, who tricked Thad into wishing away both the safety of his people and his soul in exchange for the crown.

So Ari recruits the help of Thad’s enigmatic new weapons master, Sebastian Vaughn, to teach her how to fight Teague. With secret ties to Teague’s criminal empire, Sebastian might just hold the key to discovering Alistair’s weaknesses, saving Ari’s brother—and herself.

But Teague is ruthless and more than ready to destroy anyone who dares stand in his way—and now he has his sights set on the princess. And if Ari can’t outwit him, she’ll lose Sebastian, her brother…and her soul.

Exclusive The Wish Granter Excerpt!

“Your Highness!” A man rushed from his spice shop to bow deeply as the girls came abreast of his doorway.

“Edwin, how nice to see you.” Ari beamed at the merchant.

His gaze darted along the street before returning to her. “What are you doing in the market today? Where is Mama Eleni?”

“It’s just us, but we—”

“Come in! No lingering in the streets today.” Edwin all but pulled the girls in the shop. The guards took up their post outside the entrance as Edwin flipped the wooden sign that hung above his display window to Closed and faced the princess.

“What’s wrong?” Ari asked as Cleo made a show of rubbing her wrist as if Edwin’s grasp had hurt her.

“Forgive me, Your Highness.” He glanced at the street again. “But it’s Thursday.”

“That’s what generally happens after you have a Wednesday,” Cleo muttered.

“We’ll only be a minute,” Ari said, despite the chill that was spreading over her skin at the strange way Edwin was acting. She’d gotten away with lying to Mama Eleni and sneaking out to the market once. The chances of that happening again any time in the next decade were slim to none. And she needed the bloodflower poison. She especially needed it without having to explain why to Cleo’s mother who would undoubtedly try to take on Teague herself for daring to upset her prince and princess.

The inside of the spice shop was cozy and warm. The dark red floor and pale yellow walls glowed in the light of small candelabras spaced throughout, and racks of jars were filled with colorful ground spices and herbs.

“We should do this quickly. What would you like, Your Highness?” Edwin asked, his tone urgent.

Ari frowned. “Why is everyone in such a rush today?”

Edwin shook his head sharply. “Now is not the time to discuss it. Please, Your Highness, tell me what you need.”

Ari met his gaze. “Bloodflower poison.”

He frowned. “If you have rats in your stable, may I suggest monkshood or elderberry?”

“We don’t have rats.”

“But then why . . . whatever animal you need poisoned can be killed with monkshood or—”

“I need bloodflower.” She looked him in the eye. “Nothing else will do.”

He glanced at the window behind her and then motioned sharply for her to come farther into the shop. Cleo and Ari followed as Edwin led them to a small, dusty cabinet in the back. Fishing a key out of his pocket, he fit it into the lock with hands that shook.

“What’s wrong?” Ari asked quietly as the cabinet door swung open with a creak.

“We aren’t supposed to carry bloodflower,” Edwin whispered as he reached into the cabin and pulled out a small red jar sealed with wax . “If anyone finds out I gave this to you . . . Please don’t tell anyone, Your Highness.”

Ari took the jar and slid it into the little satchel hanging from her wrist before pressing a generous amount of coin into Edwin’s hands. “I don’t know who told you that, but bloodflower isn’t against the law. You won’t get in any trouble.”

His smile was a wretched parody of itself. “It isn’t the law I’m worried about.”

The handle on the shop’s front door rattled, and a man called out, “Time to pay your fee, Edwin. Open up.”

“What fee?” Ari looked from the door to Edwin’s stricken face.

The merchant sprang into action. Wrapping a hand around each girl’s arm, he pulled them toward the back exit.

“Your Highness, it isn’t safe on the streets today. You must take your guards and get back to the dock quickly.” He reached for the door. “And, please, don’t tell anyone you were here.”

A dull thud hit the back door, and it flew open with a bang. Edwin stumbled backward, dragging the girls with him, as two of the young men Ari had noticed earlier strode into the shop.

“Why don’t you want anyone to know these pretty little coin purses were here, Edwin?” the taller one asked, his dark eyes boring into the shopkeeper’s face.

The shorter one grinned at Ari, putting what was left of his yellowed teeth on full display. “Looks like nobility to me. Bet someone would pay handsomely to rescue you from where you’re going.”

“No!” Edwin lunged forward as the man reached for Ari, and suddenly there was a wicked-looking knife in the tall one’s hands.

“Step outside, ladies, or I’ll gut Edwin where he stands.” His voice was hard.

The fear that had been slithering over Ari’s skin became a wild rush of panic that shook her knees and turned her fingers cold.

“Please.” Edwin raised his hands in supplication. “Just take my weekly fee. I have it ready for you. Take it and go. These girls mean nothing to you.”

The shorter one sidled up to Cleo and ran his hand up her arm. She flinched and pulled away. Faster than a blink, he whipped his hand into the air and slapped her.

Anger blazed through Ari’s fear, leaving her with nothing but a terrible need to hurt the one who’d laid his hands on her friend. Without a second thought, she balled up her fist and plowed it straight into the middle of his face.

Blood spurted from his nose, and he reached for her, but she’d already grabbed Cleo’s hand and started moving. Together they ran out of the shop and straight into the chest of a thick barrel of a man with graying black hair and close-set eyes.

He grunted and shoved them back into the hands of the two men who’d exited the shop on their heels. “They look like someone would pay their ransom. Teague will be pleased with this catch. Tie them up, put them in the wagon, and then finish collecting the protection fees. We don’t have all day, boys.”

“Teague?” The name left the bitter residue of fear on Ari’s tongue as the young man who held her dragged her away from the spice shop.

“You’re in it now, miss.” The shorter one spat blood on the ground and dug his nails into her arms.

No, she wasn’t. She was the princess and somewhere at the front of the shop, she had a pair of trained guards waiting for her. She just had to make them hear her.

Dragging in a deep breath, she screamed, “Guards!”

Cleo joined her efforts, but the men laughed. The shorter one leaned close enough that Ari choked on the fetid stench of his breath and said, “Haven’t you heard? The city guard has to stand down where Teague’s business is concerned. King’s orders. No one is coming to rescue you, miss.”

She hadn’t been screaming for the city guard, but it didn’t matter. Her guards were too far away to hear her. She’d been a fool to make them stand outside the shop so that they wouldn’t overhear her conversation.

Ari met Cleo’s wild gaze and tried to come up with a plan, but panic clawed at her.

No one was coming to save them.

They were on their own.

About The Shadow Queen

In case you haven’t read the first book in the Ravenspire series, The Shadow Queen, here’s the description and some information, so you can add it to your TBR lists and preorder now!

Title: THE SHADOW QUEEN

Author: C.J. Redwine

Pub. Date: February 16, 2016

Publisher: Balzer + Bray

Format: Hardcover, eBook

Find it: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | iBooks | Goodreads

Lorelai Diederich, crown princess and fugitive at large, has one mission: kill the wicked queen who took both the Ravenspire throne and the life of her father. To do that, Lorelai needs to use the one weapon she and Queen Irina have in common—magic. She’ll have to be stronger, faster, and more powerful than Irina, the most dangerous sorceress Ravenspire has ever seen. In the neighboring kingdom of Eldr, when Prince Kol’s father and older brother are killed by an invading army of magic-wielding ogres, the second-born prince is suddenly given the responsibility of saving his kingdom. To do that, Kol needs magic—and the only way to get it is to make a deal with the queen of Ravenspire, promise to become her personal huntsman…and bring her Lorelai’s heart. But Lorelai is nothing like Kol expected—beautiful, fierce, and unstoppable—and despite dark magic, Lorelai is drawn in by the passionate and troubled king. Fighting to stay one step ahead of the dragon huntsman—who she likes far more than she should—Lorelai does everything in her power to ruin the wicked queen. But Irina isn’t going down without a fight, and her final move may cost the princess the one thing she still has left to lose.

About C.J. Redwine

C.J. Redwine loves fairy tales, Harry Potter, and Sherlock. She is the author of the Defiance trilogy, a post-apocalyptic fantasy from Balzer + Bray. C.J. lives in Nashville with her husband and children. If the novel writing gig ever falls through, she’ll join the Avengers and wear a cape to work every day. To learn more about C.J., visit her website at www.cjredwine.com Where you can find C.J.:

Giveaway Details

1 winner will receive a signed paperback of THE SHADOW QUEEN and a signed Hardback of THE WISH GRANTER, US Only.

Click this link to enter a Rafflecopter giveaway for an opportunity to win!

Follow the Blog Tour:

Tour Schedule:

Week One:

2/6/2017- Zach’s YA Reviews– Guest Post

2/7/2017- Fiktshun– Review

2/8/2017- Novel Novice– Guest Post

2/9/2017- BookCrushin– Review

2/10/2017- Ya and Wine– Guest Post

Week Two:

2/13/2017- A Backwards Story– Review

2/14/2017- YA Books Central– Guest Post

2/15/2017- Mundie Moms– Review

2/16/2017- Two Chicks on Books- Guest Post

2/17/2017- The Best Books Ever – Review

Excerpt from #TheWishGranter by @cjredwine and #giveaway I'm so thrilled to be hosting C.J. Redwine today on the blog tour for her newest novel in the

#author blog tour #blog tour #Book #Book Blog #book blog tour #Book Blogger #Books #c.j. redwine #Read #ready ya #the ravenspire series #the shadow queen #the wish granter #ya book blogger #YA Books #YA For Life #ya forever

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