Excerpt and existential angst

My newest book, Faery,  is about to be launched--a steamy tale of Maeve and Harold of Wolfmoon fame. In this book they get into a lot of trouble messing about with the Fae. Here's a tiny taste:

I had taken a different route through a hardwood forest when I heard a flute or a person singing. I brought Pooka to a stop to listen.

“Are you looking for me?”

I jumped in the saddle, nearly tumbling off the horse. When I looked down a man was standing by Pooka’s head, his hand on the bridle.  A mist lay around him, his golden eyes nearly the same color as Pooka’s eyes. Shiny black hair hung straight to his shoulders. His intense stare gave me a shiver. “Are you Gan Ceanach?” I asked, fearing the worst.

He smiled and inclined his head. “At your service.”

He held my gaze, and when I tried to speak I couldn’t utter a word. Finally he grabbed my hand and helped me off the horse. He was shorter than I, his head barely reaching my chin, and yet he held a power that I couldn’t deny.  His features were even and perfect, his smile beguiling as only a faery’s smile could be.

“You need a rest and the baby needs to eat,” he said, pulling Airy out of her papoose and handing her to me.

I’d never been shy about feeding her in public, but for some reason I didn’t want to bare my breasts in front of this man. “She’s fine right now,” I told him, reaching into my bag with one hand to grab a hunk of cheese. But of course as soon as those words were out of my mouth she began to howl, her face scrunching up as though someone was pinching her. I turned my back to him and fumbled around with my clothing. When she was settled I covered her with a blanket and lowered myself to the ground.

He sat next to me. “I hoped to catch up with you—did you see me at the dolmen? I have a proposition.”

“What proposition? I’ve been told to stay away from you.”

He laughed, his golden eyes twinkling in the dusky light of the forest. “I need you to align with me.”

“Align myself for what?”

“To go against the ravens.”

“The ravens.” I thought of my experience at the canyon. “I thought something might be going on with them.” When I turned, he caught my gaze with his own. I felt the sexual energy he exuded just as I had at the dolmen.

“Yes,” he said, answering my unasked question. “I saw you there. I followed you.”

“What’s going on with the ravens?” I asked, noticing that they were perched in several of the trees.

 “Morrighan has imbued the ravens with her evil intents and I have resolved to stop her—with your help of course.” He smiled.

 “But why would Morrighan do this? She was happy to be finished with the war and with Brandubh. At the end she cursed him.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You do know that Morrighan is the goddess of war? She has an agenda that I have not yet discovered; possibly she’s bored.”

When the baby’s head lolled to one side he lifted her out of my arms and placed her gently on the moss. He leaned toward me and took my face in his hands. What had MacCuill warned--something about not letting him…but it was too late, his mouth was on mine and I melted against him as the kiss grew deeper. He tasted like summer rain. When one of his hands moved to my exposed breast, his touch sizzled against my skin, creating little waves of desire. I told myself to stop him, to say no, but I felt like a starving animal that had just been given food. When he removed my clothes I didn’t feel the chill air, nor did the momentary thought of Harold remain in my mind. I was wholly Gan Ceanach’s to do with as he pleased. 

The next thing I knew I was lying naked on a bower of some soft material that hadn’t been there before, his hands roaming across my body. At some point he’d removed his clothes and now I viewed his strong chest, the narrow hips. His body was compact compared to Harold’s, narrower and more angular, but the part of him that I focused on was not in keeping with the rest of him. When I gasped he let out a delighted laugh.

As his fingers and lips played across my over-heated skin I drifted into a world I’d never been before, my body weightless and clinging to his as though he was the only thing keeping me from floating away. He was corporeal and at the same time ethereal, like an angel who had only lately discovered gravity. He was inventive and very thorough, and when it was over I lay panting, barely able to catch my breath.  I gazed up at his handsome features, caught again by his golden eyes. “I thought I dreamed you.”

He smiled, one finger tracing lightly along my collarbone. “You did dream me the other night, but having you here like this is a much better experience for both of us.”

“I’m pledged to another. Harold and I have a baby.”

His eyes flashed dark. “All that is superfluous—silly conventions that mean nothing in the real scheme of things. You will remain with Harold but your heart is mine now.”

Steamy enough? Now to the existential angst: "Existential Angst is the relation to one being aware of the possibility that life lacks meaning, causing an extreme form of anxiety, and a feeling of despair or hopelessness." urban dictionary.
The only reason I am not feeling this is because of writing. Writing provides a way to dig into the psyche and to bring up the subjects and the emotions that plague us, run our lives, and drive us crazy. What about you? Are you feeling the angst or taking it to your fingertips and typing it out? 

KEEP ON WRITING!

and thanks for reading....

if you want to look at my website it is: www.nikkibroadwell.com