The Alpha Showdown is happening. I know this because fifty million people emailed us about it, including our agent. 🙂 Several years ago Darynda’s street team gamed the system by voting multiple times, and BDH took exception to that. We have refrained from promoting Alpha Showdown ever since. But enough time has passed, so let’s try this again.
I am supposed to post this. Behold! By Crom and Demon Dogs, I shall slay this marketing!
We are working on Diamond Fire and since we posted a small snippet on Twitter, we will post one here, too.
My phone chimed. A text from Rogan. “You’re missing the show.”
I really wanted to run upstairs to my old room and lock the door. I couldn’t do that for two reasons. One, I was an adult, and two, Catalina moved into my room, so it wasn’t technically mine anymore.
It was absurd. I was a trained private investigator with almost ten years of experience. Baylor Investigative Agency existed today because I took it over when Dad got sick and made it successful against all odds. Not only that, but I was a Prime, the highest level of magic user one could reach. My paternal grandmother had the same talent, and people cringed when they heard her name. I had stood up to her and to a dozen of other Primes. In the past year I’ve been shot at, hit with a car, burned, teleported, and frozen nearly to death. I had a bus almost dropped on me, I faced a psionic who nearly destroyed my mind, and I told Connor Rogan, the Scourge of Mexico, no repeatedly and stood my ground. I should be able to meet my fiancé’s mother.
I could do this.
I got up, put my plate into the sink, hugged my mom, and went to the door.
A gunmetal grey Range Rover waited in front of our warehouse. Rogan leaned against it. I’ve seen him in twenty-thousand-dollar suit and in dirt-stained jeans and a T-shirt. No matter what he wore, Rogan always had a kind of rugged masculinity about him. You got a sense that nothing would knock him off his stride. Whatever came up, he would handle it and he wouldn’t panic. The fact that he was huge, over six feet tall and built like he fought people for a living, only added to it. Today he wore a pair of jeans and an olive T-shirt.
“What?” he asked.
“We match,” I ground out.
“I’m going to go change.”
He caught my hand and drew me to him. His dark blue eyes laughed at me. He leaned down and kissed me. He tasted of mint and coffee and the touch of his lips anchored me. You know what, it would be fine.
“You look great. Also, if you leave, you’ll miss the best part.”
He nodded to my left. I glanced in that direction.
A sapphire-blue Maserati GranCabrio was parked at the curb. Next to it, directly under my – no, my sister’s – window stood Alessandro Sagredo.