A Swithin Spin 3: A Princely Passion releases this week!
News, Writing|It’s an exciting week for Swithin fans. The third spin releases this week and it’s an all new standalone m/m read!
There’s a tease of an excerpt for you and you can read more right here on the site and at GLBT Bookshelf or Manic Readers.
“Kilan!”
In response to his name, Kilan jumped, and spun, almost dropping the water container as he did. Fortunately, he’d just finished recapping the water skin. He’d run until the wind whistling down his throat had reminded him of his relentless thirst. He’d stopped to catch his breath and then taken a moment to savour the cool water, not thinking that Antal could possibly catch up with him in so short a time. He’d looked so unsteady. Antal wasn’t unsteady now as he eased from a run into what looked too much like stalking.
He was still naked.
Kilan couldn’t help himself. He took the time to cast his gaze down and then back up. If Antal noticed his open interest, he decided not to respond.
“I’m sorry!” Kilan managed to say, although somehow the words emerged sounding more like a complaint than an apology. “I’m sorry,” Kilan repeated more softly, trying not to compound the error.
“You will be.”
Kilan had heard that tone before. He’d heard it at the academy, from his father, and to a lesser extent Ryanac and Markis managed to convey the same warning. They’d never hurt him though, not physically. This time he wasn’t at all sure whether, despite their being of similar size and Antal being a few years older, he faced a good hiding.
Grabbing his pack, Kilan back-pedalled, straining to maintain distance between them. Fallen trees, deep puddles of mud, and precarious slopes all served to hinder him. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“What kind of fucking excuse is that?”
Uh-oh. Antal seemed truly mad. He seldom swore. Kilan opened his mouth to say he knew not what, just hoping some sort of sensible-sounding apology would emerge, when to his surprise, Antal veered to one side. He reappeared a moment later, closer than before. He’d somehow managed to avoid an obstacle rather than go over it. It didn’t matter. A medium-sized fallen tree lay between them, and by the time Antal had scrambled over it, Kilan would be on the run again.
Kilan blinked as Antal leapt. Damn but he was fit. So much for his imagining Antal scrambling over the obstruction. Poised on top of the tree, Antal paused. His braid had partly unravelled, and his hair fanned his face and body, lifted by the wind, the natural auburn catching the late rays of the sun. Fire flashed deep in his eyes and his hair.
“You look amazing,” Kilan whispered without intending to say so aloud. Whether Antal heard him was irrelevant. Kilan’s eyes widened, and he turned on his heel as Antal bounded after him. He dodged Antal’s grasp and might have got away, for he was a good runner, had not the ground fallen out from under his feet.
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© Sharon Maria Bidwell, all rights reserved.
You can read more here on the SWITHIN CHRONICLES.
