Erotica Harem

Setting: A small town in Oregon. (This is the second story I’ve read today that happens in Oregon…) It sounds like a nice place. You might want to put more details in about Hanna’s house.

Characters: Marc is introduced. He is a novelist and has been away on vacation. He is very close to his grandmother. It seems he has some sort of physic ability. I don’t have a clear sense of the type of person he is yet. It’s chapter one so that may not be a big deal right now.

Hanna is several years older. The reader doesn’t really know anything that has happened to her since the prologue.

Referencing: I didn’t see anything out of place.

Plot: Marc is home after being on vacation that was cut short. He senses that he is being watched and that danger is coming.

Grammar: I pointed out the adverbs again in bold.
I would also suggest going through and see if you can replace some of the ‘was’s.

Just my personal opinion: I would suggest making the prologue chapter one, after cutting some of the descriptions. There was more sense of intrigue and danger in the prologue. I know some people will skip the prologue when shopping for books. However, I would also suggest, starting out this chapter with Marc sensing the Watcher. That seemed the most plot driven scene, and it was a flashback. I think that could be a better a hook than Marc just thinking about his premonition as he’s driving. If you can pack a better punch at the beginning of this chapter, than the prologue could probably remain the prologue.
I’m still curious to read more.

Sephina


Line by Line:

Cedar Cove, Oregon

Late August

Present Day




Something was coming.

Of this Marc McDaniel was utterly certain. Like a monstrous wave spawned in the depths of some undersea canyon, Marc sensed a powerful and relentless force marshaling its energy and silently moving toward him.

With a sudden chill he was overcome with the realization that he had been deemed a target, and he could think of absolutely no logical reason why.

Just as he knew the sun would set in the west and the direction of the tides would change, Marc understood on an instinctual level that he could not stop what was about to happen. But whatever it was, it had the potential to alter the course of his life forever.

From the moment of his return to Oregon’s rugged north coast, Marc began to perceive a strangeness in the air, a curious flux in the subtle rhythm of his hometown. He had been back in Cedar Cove for little more than a week and it was as if each passing day brought him ever closer to some crucial revelation.

Paranoia? He didn’t think so. It was far more complicated than that.

With determined effort Marc forced the nagging distraction to the back of his mind and piloted his Jeep north along a characteristically deserted stretch of Oregon’s Highway 101. Savoring the hiss of smooth pavement beneath his tires and the warm breeze flowing into the open vehicle, he ran a hand over his close-cropped, wheat-colored hair and caught sight of his reflection in the rearview mirror: the last rays of the fading sun darkened the smooth, tanned flesh of his face and caused his pale green eyes to glow brilliantly.

“That boy was born with the sea in his eyes.”

That had been his grandmother's mantra for his entire twenty-three years. The recollection brought on a wistful smile.

It was true; Marc’s love for the ocean was boundless. To live in a location not situated near the sea was simply unthinkable. He felt the oceans were symbols of unyielding power and timeless beauty. Both awed and sometimes frightened by the fury Nature could produce with her waters, it was from these same depths that he drew a potent energy that inspired and fueled his creative mind. It was his firm belief that a writer and the sea were essential companions.

Marc’s own literary efforts were on hold since being summoned home during holiday in northern England due to his grandmother’s unexpected hospitalization. What first appeared to be a stroke was deemed a bit less serious. Despite the physicians’ reassurances, it left Marc wary and hesitant to leave his grandmother alone for more than a few hours.

Since bringing her home from hospital in Portland, he spent the majority of his time at her side, making sure she got received the rest she needed and that she adhered to the stringent diet and medication prescribed by her doctors.

Thanks to a creeping premonition, he began to dread the event weeks before it actually transpired. And despite this ambiguous forewarning, the episode managed to frighten him far more than he cared to admit.

Quite frankly, Marc was apprehensive about his European vacation from the start. A growing sense of anxiety started to gnaw at him weeks before his departure, and it became more pronounced with each passing day during the extended excursion abroad. When the call finally came beckoning him back to the Cove, he was hardly surprised.

The four years at university in Florida kept him and his grandmother apart for far too long; her illness now made that perfectly clear. Though his rational mind recognized the pointlessness of such a notion, he felt obligated to make up for lost time.


Like Marc, Hanna McDaniel Connection to the prologue. Good. was a fiercely independent individual. She cherished her grandson unconditionally but her privacy was something she required. Earlier in the afternoon he started to sense that she had her fill of his protectiveness.

“Marc, sweetie, please stop doting on me,” she said as he was clearing dishes from their lunch. “You haven’t left my side in days. Surely you would like to get out for some fresh air. You could take Molly for another ride. That horse has missed you terribly, you know.”

Marc look at her and grinned. “Ok, alright, I get the point. You need some space. Funny you should mention Molly, though; her bridle is looking a little worn. I was considering a run to the tack store in town.”

“That’s a good idea. Maybe you could drop by the art supply store and pick up a tube of cerulean blue for me … oh, and a quart of linseed oil?”

“Anything else?”

“No, I think that will do it. Ameilia is coming by later. She’s bringing Japanese take-out.” She paused for a long moment. “And Marc?”

He looked up.

“Thanks for being here; for coming back from your vacation. It has meant the world to me.”

He went to his grandmother and gathered her tightly to himself in one of his famous hugs. “I am just glad that you’re OK.”

“Indeed I am. Now go, I give you leave.” She lovingly ran her hand over the fine stubble of his buzz cut and gently pushed him away.


As he drove the few miles up the coast toward town, he thought about Amelia and how glad he was that she could be there for her old friend, especially when Hanna was hospitalized. Despite Amelia being a nun, Why would being a nun matter? Because Hanna has ‘powers’?the pair had been inseparable for as long as he could recall. He was comforted by the fact that Hanna could count on Amelia when he was absent.

The sweetest wave of nostalgia washed over him the instant he crossed the border into Cedar Cove proper. He had not realized just how much he missed the place. After parking his Jeep, he wandered around the small coastal village in which he’d been raised. It felt good to take his time and simply walk along the clean swept streets as had when he was a boy.

Returning to the Cove after an extended time away usually centered Marc and calmed his spirit. It was something to which he always looked forward.

But this time things were quite different.

He could not shake an unflagging sense of apprehension. Sporadic intuitive episodes such as this were not unusual, but this one was beginning to unsettle him. It was embedded with a swirling confection of unfamiliar and potentially threatening sensations.

Typically, these feelings were tentative and fleeting, and at first Marc even wondered if the clean Pacific air was simply fueling his fertile imagination. He dismissed that convenient notion the instant he discovered he was being followed.

It occurred two nights ago on Shelter Beach, a favorite stretch of secluded shoreline that backed up to a formidable wall of high cliffs just north of his grandmother’s seaside estate. He was taking his beloved mare Molly out for some much-needed exercise while the tide was out; the firm sand at the water’s edge was stable and could support the animal’s weight. It was a solitary ritual he had repeated a thousand times.

Less than thirty minutes after the sun dipped below the far horizon and the western sky was surrendering its azure to indigo-violet, it happened:

Marc stopped to adjust a loose strap on Molly’s saddle when the tiny hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. His scalp tingled and the sensation of being watched started to lap at the periphery of his awareness. His attention was drawn to the cliffs high above the beach where he knew, without question, that someone was silently observing him. And as strange as it seemed, Marc felt he was being allowed to be aware of the presence. It desperately wanted to be acknowledged.

He shivered at that prospect and scanned the weathered rock face, trying desperately to distinguish a silhouette from the hundreds of overlapping shadows. Though the distance was not that great, the failing light made it ideal for anyone wishing to remain concealed.

Angered at the intrusion, Marc allowed Molly to wander while he deftly negotiated the treacherous path up to the highway. As he neared the summit, the presence immediately began to pull back, to retreat. But as it withdrew, Marc got the distinct impression that it was male.

Once on top, Marc found the cliffs and Coast Road barren and quiet. Whoever was up there watching him had skillfully slipped away without leaving a trail. Strangely, though, he saw no headlights during his climb. And now, as his eyes followed the cooling asphalt meandering away in either direction, it too was completely void of movement.

The uneasy atmosphere Marc perceived hanging over the town since the day he arrived was something he could deal with, but this incident left him wary and on edge and more than a little pissed off. His ride home in the near darkness that night was unremarkable, though the entire time he expected someone to leap from the shadows.


And now, as Marc went about completing his errands, he contemplated the episode with his Watcher A slayer or Highlander Watcher? Sorry. . Even as he spent time leisurely looking through the Euro import section of the local music store and perusing the newest arrivals at the Cove’s tiny art gallery, he could not shake the notion that he was missing an obvious element in this bizarre equation. He considered telling his grandmother about it, but then decided against anything that might interfere with her recovery. No, he could handle this one on his own. Yet, given her past, she will no doubt hold a valuable piece of information to the story.

After returning home, he took Molly out for an extended ride on the beach. He was actually hoping for another encounter with his Watcher, but aside from a spectacular sunset, their outing was uneventful. Though he failed make an appearance, Marc was certain he was still out there, biding his time. Waiting.
By the time he returned to the main house, Amelia had come and gone and Hanna was asleep in her room.


He spent the remainder of the evening sipping cold beer and halfheartedly pouring over notes and fragmented ideas for the novel he was researching during the trip to Europe. The fitful sleep that followed was far from restful and was laced with forgotten nightmares of being chased through the darkness by some faceless, hungry creature.