In this scene from Wulf, book 1 in the Tales of the Chosen series, Wulf and Luc have just arrived on the planet Kelthia. After reaching Luc's home and meeting Luc's teenaged son, Senthys, Wulf is hanging out while father and son talk. The teen had been tossed out of the Academy, and Luc had been required to hop between planets to deal with it. Meanwhile, Wulf has discovered a place to chill and watch a game.
Excerpt ~ Wulf
Wulf seated himself on the sofa and put his feet up. So, this was the Harbinger's home? It was like his own house had been, growing up. Nothing fancy. Plain slip-covered furniture. Not even a big screen to watch. Couldn't be more than 50 or 60 inches, tradestandard.
He aimed the remote and went googly-eyed at the porn that came on the screen. Something about a female copbot strip-searching two female criminals. He snickered. "Something tells me our Senthys has been a very naughty boy lately."
He surfed around a bit until he found his favorite sports channel, and then settled in to watch a live rematch between the Tarthian Fists and the Kelthian Killers.
The game was already past half-time but he didn't bother restarting it. The Fist offense had set up O'Brady Tyrell with the ruckball and he was running for the end zone. Killer Ensak Ssarg came out of nowhere and tackled him. They rolled out of bounds then back in as they fought for the ball.
Wulf swung his legs over the side and turned up the volume. "Tyrell! Don't you let that asshole get the ball!"
The wrestling aspect went on for almost two minutes, with neither side gaining an advantage. Finally, Ssarg threw himself over the ball. Tyrell grabbed the edge of his helmet and yanked him up and off it, kicked the ball over the end zone and threw both hands in the air at the same time as the referee.
Wulf jumped up. "Touchdown!" The holocam focused on Ssarg and Tyrell, who had gone back to wrestling in the grass. "Hot damn. I love a good fight." He perched on the edge of the couch to watch.
A boom of thunder rattled the vase on a table. Wulf turned down the sound and listened but heard no other sounds of a storm. He turned the volume back up and followed the game as referees pulled Ssarg and Tyrell apart.
Both players were penalized for fighting after touchdown--ten seconds time taken off both their record times for the season. "Damn. That much could cost 'em contract money." He popped up and went hunting for a snack while the local announcers argued over who should have lost more time.
He found the kitchen, pulled a soda out of the cupboard, and popped the top. It chilled instantly in his hand. He grabbed a bag of chips from the counter and did a double take at the type.
"Sweet potato chips? Prolly organic on top of it." He tossed them back on the counter and headed back to watch some more.
Tyrell was back in the game, running all out for a touchdown when here came Ssarg again.
"Oh, shit. I don't believe it. Those two always play like they're the only ones on the field." Tyrell was twenty tradestandard yards from a touchdown when Ssarg tackled him around the legs. They both went down hard, totally out of bounds this time.
Ssarg slammed both fists into Tyrell's chest. Wulf felt the ground shake as if he were there. "Ouch! That had to hurt."
Referees stood by, watching to ensure the fight stayed within rules. Ssarg had been known to draw blood on more than one occasion. Some idiots in the bleachers were chanting, "Ssarg, Ssarg, Ssarg." How stupid could they get? That game was on Fist home territory. Likely be blood in the stands before it was over.
The deep rattle Wulf had felt before shook the house again. He muted the game and stood up. "What the hell is that?" He started toward the window, recalled Luc's warning, and stood stock still in the middle of the room.
What if it was one of the hit men, trying to get in?
At that moment, the chandelier above rattled and swayed.
What the hell was going on? He wouldn't hit Senthys, would he?
Wulf pounded up the stairs and listened at the top. It sounded like a game of ruckball was going on up here, with voices raised as something heavy hit the wall on his left. He ran down that hallway, yanking open doors. A thud jarred the next one.
Wulf jerked it open in time to see a boxing glove headed right for his face.
This week, I’m sharing giveaways that I developed with my son Jamin, who’s a graphic designer. Do you like to color? You are in luck.
