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A Special Sneak Peek at the Next Pyte/Sentinel Novel for Mother’s Day……
An R.L. Mathewson Chronicle
He wasn’t exactly surprised to find Cloe hunched down in the closet trying to make a stake from what appeared to be a broken chair leg, but he was surprised to discover that she’d already managed to wrap a ripped piece of lavender sheet around her hand, make a large cross by tying two broken chair legs together with what looked like a shoelace from her sneakers in the short time since she’d fled the living room. What he couldn’t figure out was what the bathroom trash can and several glasses filled with water was for. Besides getting him soaked, he rectified a minute later when Cloe spotted him, squealed and grabbed the trash can and sent the cold water flying across the short distance to hit his crotch and legs.
“Shit! Holy water doesn’t work!” she muttered with alarm, anxiously grabbing her makeshift cross and holding it up like a shield as she got to her feet. “Stay back!” she ordered, giving the cross in her hand a little shake for emphasis that had him biting back a smile that she probably wouldn’t appreciate at the moment.
“What are you doing?” he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose, struggling not to laugh and surprised that he had the urge to after everything that had happened.
“I’m making my escape,” she said firmly, shifting her attention to the closed bedroom door as she moved ever so slightly in that direction, homemade cross still firmly raised in his direction as she held the stake with the splintered end in the other hand, probably thinking that it would be enough.
“I see,” he murmured, reaching out and placing his hand against the cross.
Her eyes widened in surprise before narrowing with disgust as she tossed the useless item aside and held up the stake. “I don’t want to have to hurt you, Christofer, but if you don’t let me go I’ll-”
“Give me a splinter?” he teased, finishing for her as he absently reached up and scratched the back of his neck, nearly cringing when he realized that except for washing up quickly in the sink, he hadn’t washed up or shaved in days.
“I don’t want to have to hurt you, Christofer!” she repeated, licking her lips nervously as she gave the stake a little jab in his direction, not even coming close to his chest and letting him know that she truly didn’t want to hurt him, which surprised him.
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