Soaking in Strange Hours

---

Soaking in Strange Hours - book excerpt

Unblinking stars chaperoned me to the dockyard where I drank with old ships. The world was more bearable at midnight. No soul-eaters masquerading as people.

Dark Horse raced to my hands. A cheap title printed across a flask once given to me by a writer I’ve never met. I disliked his book, but his generosity tasted good on my lips. When ghost faces of abandoned loves scream at your heart, a stranger’s benevolence can keep you alive for a little longer.

The whiskey sang to a tired audience built from my veins. I listened.

“Are you lost?”

“And now I’m found.”

We sat on a bench, commemorating someone who no longer mattered. I looked at her face. Moonlight suited her. It erased sins of wild youth. She moved closer. I smelled like poverty. Unwashed hair and unwashed soul. Wars were lost inside my eyes.

“What’s your name?” she said.

“Tristan Grieves.”

“I’m Liene.”

Her ear was small and naked. In the other, she wore an earring—a dangling feather. I knew Liene was the kind of woman other women desperately tried to imitate, but how could you dress in someone else’s charisma? She had a style that spoke without an eccentric accent. A footprint that provoked curiosity in men like me.

“You soak in strange hours, Liene.”

“Whilst you just soak in alcohol.”

“I’d rather soak in you.”

She moved even closer. Her eyelashes were strong and thick, like little whips.

“You want to taste me?”