Rachel Purchit was reaping in the rewards of her third successful book in twice as many months. Detective novels just seemed to be her forte, for some strange reason or another. It was odd, given that she was quite sure that she’d never been a detective in her past lives, but somehow the stories just flowed like ink onto paper.

Heh. Now there was a funny metaphor.

At some point during those six months, she’d taken up Waiter Boy Brian up on his offer of cheese sticks over dinner. Then there had been a clumsy moment where they’d both tried to grab the same cheese stick and then the whole room had erupted in a golden glow.

A Soul Bond- now wasn’t that a literary cliché? It had been something Rachel had been firmly against including in any of her books. That the actions of their past lives could dictate their future lives in any way? No, that was down right cruel in the reality context of things- but to enforce it into literature? That way lead the way to cheesey sex scenes and forced relationships without any substance behind them.

Rachel Purchit- thrice striked lucky novelist- was above such things in literature, and now reality as well. “Here’s what we’re going to do,” She’d laid out the law, “we are going to take things slow. Same as if we didn’t have a soul bond- in fact, we’re going to pointedly ignore it entirely.”

Brian was quick to agree. A soul bond was mean surprise from years past. They would act around it- not through it. Just because their past lives loved each other enough to spend eternity together, didn’t mean that their current selves held the same regard.

Rachel supposed she could take the experience and write another novel about it. Maybe break out of the Detective genre somewhat? She and Brian were both Lycans… hrm… Well, reality was the mother of all inspiration and such. Why not make it about a Pair of Soul Bonded Lycans?

This time, Rachel was certain she was drawing upon the memories of her and Brian’s shared past lives. At some point, she’d inquired about a scene she’d had trouble writing, and he’d suggested details that fit just perfectly into the newly crafted narrative like a gear fitting into a cog, or a harpy egg being the key to bring together an epic omelette. … Okay, maybe that last part was being influenced more by the awesome food her boyfriend the waiter could cook.

“How come you’re a waiter instead of a chef?” She asked him.

“Well,” Brian paused to flip the omelette over in the pan, “I like cooking, sure, but, I’m not so great at it as to make a career out of it.” He smiled at her. “Besides, my little sister’s got that corner of the family market cornered. I wouldn’t want to step on her toes.”

“That’s cute,” Rachel smiled. “Speaking of family, when should we meet each other’s?”

“The day my mother finds out I’m soul bonded to an internationally famous writer is the day I sign my own death certificate.” Brian smiled at Rachel’s confused look, then clarified: “She’ll hug me to death. Then,” He grimaced, “she’ll ask when we’re getting married, or having kids. Not sure which’ll jump to the front of her mind first, really.”

Rachel, paling slightly at the thought of her own family’s reactions, remarked, “Maybe it’d be for the best if our respective parents never meet.” Brian could only laugh in response.


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