Percy Scarlett Novels & Stories

They had me. "Let me… think about it for a night," I said, closing my eyes in despair. Back in my dark, damp attic room, I shakily opened my old laptop and searched for everything I could find on "Caspian Valerius." What I found made my blood run cold. I’d heard he was ruthless, but I never imagined the chilling titles and stories attached to his name. "The Butcher," "The Night King," "The Monster Who Put a Bullet in His Own Uncle's Head"... every label came with a bloody rumor.

Giving the boy her attention, Rose introduced herself; “thank you for helping me get a better view young sir, I do love watching! My name is Rose Duncaster, heiress to this manor.” “Pleasure miss, my pa is about to compete in the sword play. We just moved here from Wales, my name is Percival but everyone just calls me Percy.” Shaking his hand as her da taught her to, not too firm but not soft and flimsy either… she caught herself gazing into his gorgeous eyes, they were the brightest blue she’d ever seen, and her ma’s eyes were pretty spectacularly blue as well. Then the spell was broken with the clanging of metal and the entertainment had begun.

Three men in expensive suits were hovering nearby, clearly waiting for an opportunity to reclaim her attention. "Busy night?" I observed. Scarlett glanced over at her audience with amused disdain. "Oh, them? They're like mosquitoes. Persistent but ultimately harmless." She raised her voice slightly. "Boys, this is private girl time. Go find someone else to bore with your stock portfolios." One of them, a guy with perfectly styled blond hair and a watch that could probably fund a small country, stepped forward with obvious reluctance to give up. "Scarlett, we were just discussing the merger—"

He was certainly cold and unresponsive, moreover, I soon decided that he was not particularly clever. Scarlett had not the art of sustaining or appearing to sustain interest in any one subject, on the contrary, she has an irritating habit of mentally drifting away from you into an absorbed reverie of her own in which you had no part, and which plainly showed you how little she cared for anything you or anyone else happened to be saying.

"If you are not Scarlet then where is the real Scarlet, where is she" My gaze dropped to the floor and I rubbed at my arms before I finally looked up at him. "Scarlet is dead. She has been dead for a long while even before I came into the picture" I whispered and Pierce's eyes which were already a shade of red turned darker. "What?" He trembled, his brow shooting up.

But here is Percy, a boy who wears enough gold that it makes Darla almost nauseous with how much metal is present on his body; a man before whom all of her captors and perpetrators bow, as though he is their god. A boy who offers Darla his hand but never reaches over to take it without Darla’s permission. A boy who treats Darla like she’s something precious. And Darla has never been a precious thing. Even now, there are times when it startles her - how Percy calls her precious, as though she were something cherished and lovely and worthy of it. As though Percy, who has all the gold a man could ever want, a man who could command precious metals at the tips of his fingertips, nonetheless finds

I am right behind you. Mr sexy pants Duh magic. I can't believe you didn't change the name I used to save my number. So you do find me quite sexy.. Let's meet after dinner and I can show you how much more sexy I can be. Scar Pervert!!!!.. Sure but only if I don't show you how sexy I can be first. Mr sexy pants I like it when you talk dirty to me. Fine but I will be crowned king sexy tonight.. Scarlett, I also have a gift for you.

I looked up from my phone. Pierce's statement was sitting at the top of my feed. I'd already read it four times and each time it made less sense. Scarlett Huntington is one of the most driven, principled people I've ever known. I set the phone down very carefully on the table. "What is this," I said, mostly to myself. Tara leaned over to look. She read it quickly. "Oh. That's actually really sweet of him." I looked at her. "What?" she said.

Hilda Scarlett is halfway through her second helping of blueberry pancakes and telling me a story about how Percy is definitely scared of bumblebees. “He screamed, Mama!” she says, eyes wide, hands flailing dramatically. “And he’s this big”—she stretches her arms as far as they’ll go—“and a little tiny bee made him run away! Like this!” She zooms her hand through the air, knocking over her cup of milk in the process. I catch it before it falls, mopping the few drops that splashed over the side. “Maybe Percy just didn’t want to get stung,” I say, trying to hide my smile.