Page 13 of Autumn Ritual

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I woke up with a start.

The room was too quiet. The walls themselves seemed to hold their breath, waiting for my brain to catch up. There was a shift in the dark. Shadows rustled, but in here! Not outside. I gasped. Dreams molded with the night, and I could have sworn there had been someone sitting on the end of my bed.

Grabbing my glasses, I blinked into the dark.

The shape was gone.

I reached out and ran my fingers over the duvet. It might have been warm in one spot. Or maybe my mind was playing tricks on me.

I decided to go downstairs for water. And to have a look around.

The house was empty.

“You’re just being silly, little authoress,” I grunted to myself.

Furthermore, the chain was on the door. No one could have broken in, nor left. They couldn’t restring the chain after closing and locking the door from outside. I had to be the only one in here.

My body refused to listen. It thrummed in warning, convinced I hadn’t been alone.

“It’s just my book,” I whispered.

A shiver raced through me, and my ears strained to catch a ghostly breath in the dark. Since I was well and truly awake now, I decided to turn on the lamp and write another chapter even though it was midnight.

Chapter 7 – Cam

Iadjusted the bill of the Yankee’s cap. The light from the screen was at its lowest setting, but still, the grey-blue glow blasted through the dark room. Sara wrote another five chapters today, bringing her total to fifteen.

So many words….

I could barely write a text message. Where did she pull those from? Hell, where did this story come from? Granted, there were disjointed paragraphs, plus her notes in the margin telling herself to come back when she fixed this detail later in the story. But it was there! A whole fucking book, unfolding before my eyes.

The first night, I only meant to skim it. I wanted to know what drove her to hide out in this cabin. I wound up hanging off every word, mad that the first section ended. Last night I came back, and after checking on my girl, I nestled myself in the armchair with a glass of scotch to read.

Tonight, I’d skipped the drink, simply needing to know what happened next.

Lost in a world of magic, shapeshifters, and monstrous creatures, I nearly missed the flush of the toilet. The plumbing gurgled on its way to the septic tank, jolting me out of a trial by fire where the female main character had been badly burned.

I listened.

When I was fairly certain the angel had gone back to bed, I scrolled down the page. Air caught in my lungs, and I held my breath. The heroine was going to burn alive if she didn’t use her magic. But showing the high council that she had magic would be an instant death sentence!

Dio sacro, my girl was brilliant.

I imagined a future, one where we were together. I would make sure she drank water during marathon writing sprints. I would also urge her to take breaks and eat. I would tuck her into bed.

I’ll make it happen.

She was mine to take care of, and at the end of the day, I would read what she wrote. Maybe even try some of these kinkier scenes. Too bad I didn’t have shadow magic to pin her against the wall with and devour her sweet pussy.

I was only a man.

But I could improvise.

I smirked and kept reading, seeing myself as the shadow prince and Sara as the heroine. I moved the sticky note at the top of the screen. In bold, uppercase letters, Sara had written GO FOR IT—LIFE IS TOO SHORT! She was talking about the shift in genre. I was happy that she was pursuing her passion, writing something new and exciting. I could tell from the way the words flowed that this story was meant to be.

“Hey! Mother trucker!” a shout cracked through the night. “Get away from that laptop!”