[The Proving Zone: Tory's Story] [In The Zone: Pitin's Problem] [The Ship's Bastard] [Terce's Madness] [Starving For Romance] [Max] [Olivia] [Order Page] [Book Covers] [ Author ] [Home]

 

 

Terce's Madness

   This is just the beginning and may never be finished...

        Terce's Madness

   He could smell her. Somewhere close. Terce’s eyes closed to concentrate on the elusive scent. He tried to stop this insanity. Dammit! He was a product of civilization! But the scent was doing things to him. Unfamiliar, yet somehow very familiar things. As if it knew things he didn’t. Turning his head, he located an errant whiff that seemed to indicate where it was the strongest. He quivered.
    God! What was happening? This wasn’t the flu or too much stress at work. He tried concentrating on the words on the menu. Nothing—he couldn’t read it. His hunger for the scent was more important than food.
   Control rapidly disintegrating, he tossed the menu aside; then standing abruptly—knocked his chair over. He bent to pick it up but staggered instead after inhaling a whiff of almost pure scent. A trail. He turned towards the scent, leaving the chair forgotten where it fell.
   Appalled at the thoughts that kept popping into his head and the focus of his attention—scent—he tried to react normally. Instead he found himself walking purposely in the direction of that enthralling scent.
    Almost beagle-like, his nose kept sniffing, searching, ah, finding the direction she had last been. His intellect observed in horror as his body kept functioning as if he were losing all free will. The only complete control he maintained was over his fingers. He managed to stop their weird grasping motions by forcing them into fists. He flushed in triumph. He still had a little control.
    Entering the darkened hallway under the sign marked, "restroom", he stopped. She was in there. The door opened. A woman stepped out from the light into the dark. It wasn’t her. As the door closed, he stepped aside to let the wrong woman free.

   He entered forbidden territory—at least to any civilized male.

    He sought and flipped the light-switch off as he entered the ladies room. Finally, luck was with him. Only one feminine voice squeaked a protest! Her voice. He knew it immediately. He staggered against a counter and then stilled to get his bearings.

Please let others know what you think of this book:  Contact Author

 

Send mail to Weege@pld.com with questions or comments about this web site.
Copyright © 2002 Blatant Appeal


Last modified: September 18, 2003