Spoiled — With Exclusive Advance Excerpt: Page Morgan On The Lovely And The Lost
The thing about being a book lover who falls in love with a series is that, just like Tom Petty said, the waiting is the hardest part! So today we’ve got a treat for those of you waiting for Page Morgan’s sequel to The Beautiful and the Cursed, which is called The Lovely and the Lost and won’t be out until May. We know, that’s so far away. So today Page is going to spill some details and share an except. Take it away, Page!
When people ask me what The Beautiful and the Cursed is about, I usually say, “Gargoyles and demon hunters in Paris, and the two sisters who fall in love with them.” With The Lovely and the Lost, the second book in the Dispossessed series, I’m amending that pitch to include Ingrid and Gabby’s brother, Grayson Waverly. He has a much larger presence than he did in the first book in the series and, yes, he too finds a young woman who intrigues him. Only Grayson has a serious problem: the girl is a demon hunter—and Grayson is half-demon.
The torment he survived in the Underneath, a hellish realm his sister Ingrid helped free him from, has changed him, but as I started writing his first scene, I was surprised to realize just how much. Grayson is no longer the titled rake he had been in London nor the affectionate brother Ingrid and Gabby once knew. Instead, he has shut them out because he loathes himself, and because he fears he might still be a danger to them.
The only person Grayson can’t seem to stay away from, however, is the small yet fierce demon hunter, Chelle. She makes no bones about disliking him, and Grayson likes the fact that she doesn’t try to pretend otherwise. Their budding romance is completely different than the other romantic storylines in the books. It’s more of a slow burn, founded on Grayson’s admiration of Chelle, and ultimately her acceptance of who and what he is. My fondness for Grayson grew a lot while writing The Lovely and Lost. I hope yours does as well!
- Page Morgan
And now for the excerpt:
Rue saint- dominique
Early February 1900
The quiet ached.
After all the crying and screaming, the pleas for Léon to stop!, silence crushed the dining room. Now Léon trembled on the rug beside the table, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees.
He wanted to shut his eyes, but terror froze them open. He wanted to clap his palms over his ears so he wouldn’t have to listen to the weak, muffled cries coming from all around him— but his fingertips were still leaking.
Léon’s father was at the head of the table. Every inch of the man, from his thinning crown to his polished brogans, even the spindle- back chair upon which he sat, had been bound in a cocoon of thick white silk. The untouched plate of coq au vin still steamed in front of his father’s mummified figure. The scent of mushrooms and wine, a sauce his mother had spent the afternoon stirring at the stove as she hummed little songs, now turned Léon’s stomach.
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