Exclusive Excerpt from Imperial Twist
by Jessamyn Kingley
Damian slapped his towel over the bar and walked into his bedroom. Once he got to the closet, he selected a pair of jeans and a T-shirt since he would be relaxing at a ball game. It was a far cry from the tuxedo he’d worn the night before at a networking dinner for Draconis Enterprises. He wasn’t sure if it was necessary for the Emperors to be attending, as they’d long ago handed the company over to executives, but they would do whatever they could for the dragons.
Once his hair was combed, he left the dark decor of his private space to walk into the bright white, teal, black, and green medley that served as the palette for the shared areas of the condo. It made him smile to see the combination of colors that symbolized all of them, even Findlay with his ebony hair and mossy eyes. He jogged down the stairs and found a group of men frowning in the kitchen.
“What are we going to do?” Ellery asked forlornly as he stared at the counter.
“Does it really matter?” Tiri responded, his voice laden with confusion.
Ellery’s black-and-white hair with its gilt beads slapped his cheek as he whipped his head quickly to his best friend. “Of course it matters.”
“What’s going on?” Damian demanded. He tugged his earpiece out of his pocket and slipped it in, sure that something dire was happening, though as the man who ruled security, he should’ve been the first to be told.
“Ask your twin,” Ellery demanded as he aimed a dark look at the man he loved.
Damian was surprised to see so much anger directed at Chrysander; he knew how Ellery adored him. “What happened?”
“I was trying to make you a cup of coffee,” Chrysander told the unimpressed elf-dragon hybrid.
“We need to hurry, or we’re going to be late. Costas and Niko are already on their way,” Tiri complained.
“Well, we sure as heck aren’t going to let Chrys make the coffee. He sucks at it,” Damian grumbled as he strode past the frowning men to the coffeemaker.
“He does not just suck at it; he has broken it,” Ellery snapped.
Damian turned on one heel to face his Emperors. “What do you mean, ‘broken it’? How are we going to live without caffeine?”
“All I did was add the coffee and the water, and the damn thing busted,” Chrysander nearly roared. “Sorry, Tiri, I owe you a dollar.”
“I told everyone you don’t have to pay me for your potty mouths any longer,” Tiri reminded him. He’d arrived at their household from the exceedingly poor Sprite Grove and in order to save his pride at accepting Zane’s money, Ellery had suggested that they each give Tiri a dollar for each curse word they used. All the dukes in their court had readily agreed to pitch in, eager to help the friendly sprite. Unfortunately, Zane had decided to reimburse everyone behind Tiri’s back. When his mate found out, Tiri had demanded Zane stop the program entirely since he now made plenty through his company. No one, however, was willing to end the payments as nothing had changed Tiri’s aversion to foul language.
Zane snorted. “Good luck telling His Majesty not to give you money.”
“I’m not going to argue with you,” Tiri countered as he slapped his hands on his hips. “You guys are going to have to deal with life without your coffee. We need to go. Praxis is going to be mad if we miss his game.”
“I need coffee,” Ellery said dejectedly.
“Come on gang, we’ll find a coffee shop on the way to the field,” Damian decided.
J. Warren (Jack) Kerrigan
Bill Hart was a former Shakespearean stage actor who transitioned to films at the age of 49 and became a star of early film westerns—he’d actually been a friend of Wyatt Earp and Bat Masterson and owned Billy the Kid’s six-shooters. His films were grittier and more authentic than the flashier stars like Tom Mix who later supplanted him, and his popularity waned. He retired in 1925 following the lackluster performance of his self-financed film, Tumbleweeds. His damaging public statements about Roscoe Arbuckle’s presumed guilt prompted Buster Keaton (Arbuckle’s best friend) to produce, direct, and star in The Frozen North, a parody of Hart (the premise written by Arbuckle) that presents him as a thief and a bully. Hart didn’t speak to Keaton again for years.
Thomas Ince, the “Father of the Western,” was associated with over 800 silent westerns in his career—some of them starring Bill Hart. Ince was the first producer to build his own self-contained studio on nearly 19,000 acres in Santa Ynez Canyon between Santa Monica and Malibu. Its official name was the Miller 101 Bison Ranch Studio, but it was generally referred to by its nickname: Inceville. Not only did Inceville contain shooting stages, outdoor sets (and not just for westerns), dressing rooms, production offices, printing labs, and a huge commissary—it was also home to its own stock performing company. Ince leased the entire 101 Ranch and Wild West Show from the Miller brothers and installed the troupe (comprising cowboys, cowgirls, horses, cattle, bison, and an entire Sioux tribe) at the site. Ince’s death is another early Hollywood scandal/mystery: in 1924, when he was just 44, he was taken ill following a party on W.R. Hearst’s private yacht, spawning gossip and rumors that persisted for years. The 2001 movie, The Cat’s Meow, with Cary Elwes as Ince, Edward Herrmann as Hearst, and Kirsten Dunst as Marion Davies, is based on the rumor that Hearst shot Ince, mistaking him for Charlie Chaplin, whom he suspected of having an affair with Davies.
Outcast operative in the Supernatural Investigation & Crime Bureau (SICB) Callen Blackheath finds himself doing what he does best: defying orders and giving his boss a headache in the thick of an operation he shouldn’t be in. And there’s no way he’s walking away, not when the investigation has become deadly personal.
The customer always comes first, but IT consultant Brady Jansen loves to hate Nash O’Hara. Except the fine line between hate and attraction means sometimes Brady can’t help it when he crosses the boundary between professional and personal.
The Blogger Girls 