I was so close tonight that I had to keep going until I hit.  All Lady Wyre’s Regret tonight, but I have absolutely no regrets.  I have no idea how much longer this prequel could be.  I don’t have a particular ending in mind.  Actually as I typed that, I *did* get the ending as clear as day in my head.  Isn’t that strangely wonderful?

So for this NaNoWriMo, I:

• Finished The Billionaire Zombie’s Virgin Witch.  I even edited it.
• Did some brainstorming for Lord Regret’s Price.
• Wrote several thousand more words on Lady Wyre’s Regret.
• Did some brainstorming and even first draft work on the project I’ll tentatively call “3 Aliens” even though that’s not what the title will be.

I did not get back to Phantom yet.  It’s going to have to wait a bit longer, because as soon as I finish this prequel, I need to format all the Shanhasson books and get them loaded next month.  After I submit the zombie story!

Final NaNoWriMo count:  50,027 (50,074 in my file, but I’ll go with what the validator gave).

Snippet:  From Lady Wyre’s Reget, first draft, etc. etc.

As Queen’s Physician, Charlotte had enjoyed every luxury Londonium had to offer as well as full backing for every scientific exploration she’d ever wanted to undertake.  Yet she’d never crashed a ship on an unknown planet before.

“Another thing I need to learn,” she muttered, pushing up out of the cupboard into which she’d tumbled.

Sig was sprawled on the floor and half buried by rubble.  From the brief look she’d gotten at his chest before the crash, she didn’t hesitate to grab the small black case containing her most prized research.  Tossing the broken panel and twisted hull away from him, she called out to him.
“Sig?  Are you still with me?”

“Charlie.”  He tried to laugh but his chest wheezed like a ghastly broken pipe organ.  “Did we make it?”

She dug into her case and pulled out a pair of sharp scissors to cut open his lawn shirt.  A pity, because the fine linen and delicate hand-woven lace looked like it’d come straight from Parisii.  “A bit worse for wear, I’m afraid.  I hope you weren’t terribly fond of Henry for I’ve broken him beyond repair.”  She kept her voice light and cheerful, despite the severity of his wound.  Any other physician would merely make him comfortable until his final moments.  But not I.  “What manner of planet have you sent me to, Lord Regret?”

“A colony.”

“A rebellious colony.”  Not good.  The shard had pierced his heart, possibly beyond even her repair.  “It won’t surprise me if Majel simply blows the entire planet out of the sky for their audacity.”

“Safest I could find in such short notice.”  His voice weakened, breathy with pain.  His pulse fluttered in his throat, frantic and uneven.  “Don’t bother, Charlie.  I know it’s bad.”

As if to illustrate his words, he wrapped his hand around the shard and yanked it out of his chest.  Blood spurted immediately, his life’s blood draining away in an alarming fountain.

Planting her right hand over the wound, she laid the precious glass tube out on his heaving chest.  Inside, tiny bits of silver metal glinted in the emergency lights.  She leaned down over him so he could see her face despite his weakened senses.  “I can save you, if you want to live.”

“Too many regrets,” he whispered, his words stumbling together until she could barely understand him.  “Let me die.”

She hesitated, searching his face.  The lines of pain eased about his eyes, smoothing into acceptance.  He’d risked his reputation as the galaxy’s most famous assassin to help her.  He could have left her at Dock 371.  He could have tossed her to the bounty hunter and escaped unscathed.

But he didn’t. How can I stand by and watch him die without at least trying?

She flipped the cork out of the tube.  She removed her hand from his chest, braced for spraying blood, but he’d already lost too much.  In the open wound, she could see the torn remains of his heart and the white of broken bone.  Into that cavity, she sprinkled the metal bits from the tube.

All of them.  The more assemblers in his body, the more likely they can repair the damage before he dies.

She pulled out the datapad and typed in simple commands.  Heart. Infection.  Blood loss.  Her assemblers weren’t  sentient, so without programming, they’d simply be bits of debris in his wound.  While they worked their magic, she gave him a shot for pain.  At least he’d be comfortable if they failed.  Then she spilled a bio-bandage over the wound and hoped for the best.

Settling back on her heels, she closed her eyes and allowed emotion to wash through her for one brief, luxurious moment.  Relief, joy, terror, heart-pumping adrenaline.  Her hands trembled, and with no one to see her moment of weakness, she even allowed a few tears to fall.  She was so close to freedom!  So close to losing the man who’d helped make it all possible.  So close to death herself.  But at least I’ll die fighting for my freedom, not trapped in the Tower while Majel scribbles down every secret her torturers yank out of me.

With that out of her system, she forced herself up and moving.  She couldn’t assume the bounty hunter had given up on them so quickly.  They were down in strange territory, helpless, unable to flee, and one of their party severely wounded.  If they had to make a run for it, she needed to gather the most crucial supplies.
There was nothing else she could do for Sig at the moment, although she couldn’t help stealing glances at him to see if he were still breathing.

Packets of food.  Every weapon she could find.  Anything she might be able to sell or trade for information or protection.  She had a tidy pile by Sig when she heard the first rustling and cracks of undergrowth outside the ship.  Arming herself with a lazor he’d thoughtfully installed beneath Henry’s main dash, she wiped all emotion from her face, hit the button to open the hatch, and walked outside with all the regal confidence of the Duchess of Wyre.

“Hello, there!”  She called in her most imperious voice as though summoning the butler for her afternoon tea.  “We need assistance immediately.”

A man stepped out of the shadows, crossing the torn earth and smoldering tracks of their crashing descent.  He approached with hands palm up and empty, his manner hesitant despite his lumbering giant-like size.  She kept the lazor hidden against her skirts, ready to slice his head off if he even thought about attacking them.  His much larger bulk wouldn’t matter one iota against the razor-sharp weapon.  Dressed in a strange mishmash of furs and leathers with the skin of some small rodent wrapped around his head, he appeared to be a colonist, not the bounty hunter that had shot them down.

“Are you hurt, my lady?”

English, at least.  She could thank her lucky stars a Britannian colony had been close, although she hoped the colonists weren’t too sympathetic to Her Majesty’s command.  Americus had been the first colony to attempt to cast off Majel’s yoke.  If she hadn’t been busy wiping out the Razari, she might have already destroyed Americus’s pitiful little rebellion.

“No, but my companion is.  Do you have shelter nearby?”

“Only my cabin, my lady.  I’m afraid we’re several klicks from any real civilization.”

Perfect.  She stepped aside to allow him to peek inside the ship at Sig.  “That’ll do.  What’s your name, sir?”

“Gage, my lady.  I’m no bloodletter, but your friend doesn’t look well at all.”

Briskly, she gathered up her research equipment and as much of their provisions as she could carry.  “Bloodletting is for ignorant fools who know nothing better.  Now make yourself useful and help me get my friend to safety.”

The man easily scooped Sig into his arms like a child, emphasizing his bear-like size.  I have no contacts in this
place.  My title and House cannot help me here.  All I have are my research—which I daren’t use too openly else Majel will catch wind of it—my feminine wiles, and my wits.

Putting as much seductive sway as possible into her hips, she stepped out of the wreck and cast a flirtatious glance back at Gage.  The poor bumbling man gaped at her like she’d sprouted another head and almost dropped Sig.

It’s a damned good thing I’ve been blessed with a brain. 

Posting this morning since it was too late last night.  I didn’t get much work done over Thanksgiving, but I did work in the car Saturday on the way to Granny’s.  And since I’m off from the Evil Day Job today, I stayed up late last night, which I’m paying for this morning because I still have to get the monsters up for school.

I plan to work more on Lady Wyre’s Regret today, but last night, I had to work on plotting and building a project that I’ve been thinking about for awhile.  I dreamed about it the other night, so I wanted to get down everything I could remember.  All the work this weekend was on plot and worldbuilding.  For once, I know the ending pretty well (or at least the general idea, perhaps not every last detail), but I have no idea what happens in the middle.  Other than the smexing.  *winks*  So I need to do a lot more plotting.  I’m sure I’ll be ready to set it aside for more work later once I run out of steam.

NaNoWriMo count (thru last night):  46,185 words

Snippet:  From Lady Wyre’s Regret, first draft only, subject to heavy revision later.

“So you’re a pilot as well as an assassin.”  Lady Wyre had traded in the slightly scorched gown for a high-waisted spotlessly delicate linen that made Sig shake his head.  “What other talents do you possess?”

The linen was so fine and thin he could see the darker hint of her thighs despite the petticoats she wore.  The hem and bodice were thickly covered with silver embroidery and pearls.  On Britannia, she’d be the perfect picture of a genteel lady heading to her country house.  She’s got a lot to learn about living on the run.

They slipped through the heavily armed Britannia shields using a tiny backdoor loophole he’d paid a small fortune to open.  Breathing a little easier, he initiated the illegal contraband engine he’d acquired from a desperate Razari.  It’d need a bit to warm up, but once charged, they’d hit Kali Kata in a matter of hours.

If one of Her Majesty’s ships happened to board him, they’d take one glance at that tiny crystal powering the ship to unheard-of speeds and throw him into the Tower without evening finding his female partner aboard.  Luckily they won’t be able to catch us once we hit Razari speed.  “Do you have any gowns a little less conspicuous?”

Up went her nose and she gave him that delightfully regal stare that somehow made him appear shorter than her slight five foot height.  “A Duchess has a duty to always look her absolute best.”

As gently as possible, he pointed out the obvious.  “You can’t be the Duchess of Wyre any longer, sweetheart.”

She sniffed and a sudden bolt of terror struck his heart at the thought that she might burst into tears.  He hated crying.  He’d actually botched a few marks in the past because he hurried up to silence all the moaning and messy sobbing.  If she was a crier, it’d be damned tempting to slit her pretty throat and toss her into deep space.

“I hope you stocked tea on this miserable little boat.  I need a cup.  Badly.”

Suspicious, he risked a glance at her and thankfully found her eyes completely dry. “I’ve got a nice black from Zijin. Just whirl your chair around one eighty degrees and hit the replicator.”

She didn’t fuss about having to make her own tea or complain that a replicator’s brew wasn’t as good as the real thing, a pleasant surprise.  After leading a life of privilege, she couldn’t be faulted for snobbish ways, as long as she wasn’t a bloody prig at the same time. That he couldn’t abide.

She surprised him yet again by handing him a cup, too and also asking—instead of ordering.  “Where are we going?”

“It’s going to be hard to disappear off the grid, unless you leave Britannian space entirely.  We’ll have to fuel up somewhere, so I planned to stop at the Colony.  Then beyond, wherever you want to go.”

“Britannia space grows wider day by day.  The Razari certainly didn’t expect a warship to show up on their front door.”  She sipped her tea in silence for a few moments.  “I’m not afraid of correcting my mistakes, Sig.  As long as you’re not afraid to point them out to me.”  She chuckled at  whatever she saw on his face.  “Besides, now I have a reason to go shopping again. What do you recommend?”

“Dark colors, simple utilitarian materials.  No embellishments.”

When she pouted, he couldn’t help but laugh.  “No silk?”

“Absolutely not.  Only a woman of a blooded House would wear silk outside of Britannia.  If you look like a lady, there will be questions.”

She blew out a long breath.  “This is going to be harder than I imagined.  I expected to live without servants, high fashion, and the tedium of Society.  In fact, I relished the opportunity to live on my own for once in my life.  But no silk?  Oh dear.  That might…” She sniffed and damned if her bottom lip didn’t quiver.  “Break me.”

Dread chilled Sig’s stomach.  Don’t cry.  Please don’t cry.  “Don’t make me toss you out the airlock, Charlie.”

She burst into laughter.  “You should see the look on your face.  Why, Lord Regret, I do believe you’re queasy.  Are you by chance air sick?”

An alarm blared, cutting through her teasing.  Instantly calm and alert, she calmly set the cup of tea aside and took up position beside him.

He scanned the readings.  “Unknown ship.”

“Her Majesty’s?”

Sig shook his head.  “Not a warship.  I’m also not detecting a merchant signal.  Not good, not good at all.  Someone was waiting for us to lift out of port.  I need another five minutes before the Razari crystal is fully powered.”

“What kind of cannon do we have?”

He couldn’t help flashing a look of appreciation at her.  No questions, no panic.  She leaped straight to the heart of the issue and prepared to blow them out of the sky.  “Henry might be little, but our ship is loaded for bear.”  He reached over and pulled up the armament program on her display.  “Fire at will.  We have plenty of ammunition.”

Concentrating on the controls, she still managed to quip.  “You named your ship Henry?”

“Be nice to him,” Sig warned as he programmed in a zig-zag flight pattern with a little more zig than zag to hopefully buy them time.  “He’s your ticket out of the Tower of Londonium.”

“Good boy.”  She patted the dashboard and winked at Sig.  “Fly faster, dear Henry.”

Taking return fire as quickly as she managed to get off a shot, the ship shimmied. Sig kept a wary eye on the shields, which were dropping at an alarming rate.  Another hit and they might lose their port engine.  Come on, Henry.  Fire up that blasted engine so we can get out of here!

Lady Wyre whirled her seat around.  “Where are my trunks?”

“You don’t have time to change your gown,” he gritted out.  “I’m pushing the engines are hard as I dare to get us some breathing room, but I need you to keep them off my tail as long as possible!”

“Oh for goodness sakes.”  She left her chair, stumbling against the panel when they took another shot that rocked the ship sideways.  Fortunately, the panel she accidentally knocked open contained her precious trunk. She rummaged in it and quickly returned to her seat.  “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, so to speak, Lord Regret.  I can help with the shields and possibly…”

She plugged a slim stick into the panel and her dainty hands flew over the keyboard.  “There.  I can’t wait to get my hands on Henry’s nether regions to fully explore that Razari engine.  All they brought to me to study was the crystal.”

Amazingly, the shields increased back to eighty percent capacity.

“You should have a bit more horses under the hood, too.”

Shaking his head, he increased the throttle and Henry leaped ahead like a charger taking the next fence.  “My dear Lady Wyre, if we weren’t getting chased by a bounty hunter, I’m afraid I might have to kiss you.”

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, slamming her fist down on the panel.

Taken aback, Sig kept his gaze straight ahead.  Stupid tongue.  Too familiar by half and me out of Society for years.  No wonder she’s offended.

“Oh don’t be a mamby-pamby.  If you dare to steal a kiss, give me your very best effort and I may reward you with a bedding you’ll not soon forget.  I’m frustrated because evidently I’m a wretched shot.  If we survive, I want your solemn word of honor that you’ll see to it that I receive proper training on marksmanship.”

“Done and done.”  Another blast rocked the ship, and this time poor Henry didn’t recover.  He wallowed to the port side.  Cursing beneath his breath, Sig hauled on the controls but the ship was sluggish to respond.  “Damnation, we’re sitting ducks here.  Don’t do this to me, Henry!”

“Incoming.”  Her voice was tight and low but not panicked.  “I’m trying to intercept.  Hold on…”

The explosion sent the ship rolling back to starboard.  Shrapnel splintered off the hull, jabbing into his left side and chest. He fought to bring the ship out of the roll, but pain choked him.

No.  That was blood.

“The hull is compromised.”  If anything, Lady Wyre’s voice became even more measured and calm as their situation worsened.  “Redirecting shields with my device.  Hold on, Henry…”

Sig glanced down.  A long piece of twisted metal protruded from his chest.  Once he pulled it out, he’d probably die in minutes.  I have to find a place to land and fast.  A place where we won’t fall into Britannian hands as soon as we try to dock.

There was only one blip on the radar that was settled but not firmly in Britannian control.  Whatever she’d done with the shields had settled the ship’s roll, but the controls were still sluggish.  He tried to plot the new course, but his fingers were numb.  His hands felt like blocks of ice.

“Tell me what to do.”

“New course.”  He tried to breathe shallowly to ease the pain.  “Americus.”
She said something, but pain blanketed him in a gray daze that words couldn’t penetrate.  He couldn’t help but laugh, even though it sent shards of agony through his heart.  I never thought I’d die in a shipwreck at the hands of a bounty hunter.