Shadows of Fate (Shadow Born) (33 page)

Gray smiled. “Someplace we can be alone for a moment.”

Brenna brushed his lips with her fingertips. “It is still hard for me to accept you’re alive. It feels like a dream.”

“No dream. Flesh and bone.” He laughed. “I want to complete our bond.”

Stunned, she stepped back. “That’s romantic,” she joked. “I guess you’re not a flowers and candy guy.”

He followed her as she moved. “I won’t lose you again. No matter what happens in this world, I want to finish the mating ritual.”

His mouth crushed hers, frantic in his need. It was freeing to be able to embrace the feelings she had for him without guilt. She plunged her fingers through his hair, reveling in the silky feel of the strands. She loved being this close to him. Almost as much as she loved—

She froze and struggled to catch her breath. She still loved him. The thought was terrifying. They were different people than they had been a century ago. But she still loved him.

There was a very good possibility they wouldn’t survive Adare’s war. Could she truly commit to him, knowing she might lose him again? She didn’t know what the future held, but she wouldn’t give up her present. Gray was hers and she was going to keep him. To hell with tomorrow, she was going to live in today.

“I love you,” she said as she returned to his embrace.

“I love you too.” He paused, uncertain. “Is that a yes?”

Brenna fought back a laugh. “You didn’t ask a question. You issued a command.” Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close so their lips were a breath apart. “I will bond with you eventually, but I expect you to woo me first. We have plenty of time, and our work here is just beginning.”

Gray smiled, running his hands down the length of her back. “I love a good challenge.”

About the Author

Angela Dennis lives outside Cincinnati, Ohio with her husband, son and a sheltie with a hero complex. When she is not at her computer crafting stories, she can be found feeding her coffee addiction, playing peek-a-boo, or teaching her son about the great adventures found only in books.

You can visit Angela at her blog
angeladennisauthor.blogspot.com
or at her website
www.angeladennisauthor.com
. She loves to hear from her readers, so feel free to email her directly at
[email protected]
.

Saving the love of her life could mean letting her inner darkness out to play.

Blood of an Ancient

© 2013 Rinda Elliott

Beri O’Dell, Book 2

Beri O’Dell is on a mission. She has to rip back into a hell dimension fast, but needs two things first—the blood of an ancient and a fix for her friend Blythe’s magic, which careened out of control after the battle with the Dweller.
 

Finding ancient blood isn’t easy when the old ones are rare and unwilling to donate. She needs to find Blythe’s former mentor…except the woman has lost her mind and joined a traveling band of singing witches.

That’s not the only magical monkey on her back. Nikolos is imprisoned, and after a screwed-up spell lets her witness the horror that has become his life, her fear for him grows by the day. Now there’s another problem—a powerful being unleashed during the battle with the Dweller likes her gluttonous new existence, and will kill anyone who threatens it.

But Beri has a few tricks up her costumed sleeve, even if it means mining the darkness of her soul to set everything right…and get Nikolos back in her arms.

Warning: Sleazy ancients. Random fires. Nosy teenage hackers. Hints of off-screen torture. Battles with...Beri doesn't know what. And one scary boyfriend who keeps inching toward insanity.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Blood of an Ancient:

Later in the day while Blythe packed, I rummaged in a greenhouse I discovered behind the house. It was obviously under construction because no actual plant life resided inside, just a lot of boards and tools. I assumed Nikolos planned to build more of the long tables he had in here. There were two.

The sprite was still sleeping—I hoped—in the windowless bathroom, but I needed something to put him in for the trip. I wasn’t letting him out of my sight. Who knew when we’d find another ancient?

I ended up building a kind of rudimentary mini-coffin. It wasn’t pretty, but I glued the hell out of every corner so I was sure no sunlight could get inside. We couldn’t just keep him wrapped in shirts the whole way.

I was wondering if vampires could suffocate later as I watched Blythe pull up a search engine. Dooby and Castor had grocery shopped, so Blythe and I made a quick dinner of sandwiches and chips before settling in front of the computer to find this band.

“The witch who answered the phone said the band is called Staglina.”

It wasn’t hard to find them. They must have been popular because they came up on the first search page. Their website was a dark, serene blue with an image of the moon hovering over an ocean. There were no concert locations, no band member biographies…nothing but a link to a video.
 

Blythe clicked and sat back with a thump against her chair when the music started. So did I. My heart pounded harder, warmth filled my chest. Women’s voices raised in a harmony like nothing I’d ever heard filled the room. Castor and Dooby left the table where they’d been poring over the ancient spell book translations and approached the computer.

We all waited until the last note played, then I released a shaky breath. “Whoa.”

Blythe shook her head. “Sophie can’t be in that. This is magic.”

“Of course it’s magic—they’re witches.” I managed to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I was trying not to do that so much around Blythe with her habit of stating the obvious. I did catch Phro’s eye roll in my peripheral vision. The goddess couldn’t care less about the little witch’s feelings.

Castor leaned over my shoulder and used the mouse to restart the video. He turned the speakers down. “Look at their faces.”

I squinted at the small video. All I saw was a blur of women in blue dresses. “What faces? This is obviously a poorly recorded phone video from a concert.”

“And Staglina linked to it?”

I shrugged. “Sure. Why not? That song alone would pull a lot of people to their concerts.”

“Nothing around them is blurred—just their faces.”

The stage, the trees behind it, everything else showed up sharp and crystal clear. “Creepy.”

“Suspicious,” Blythe replied. “Wonder what Staglina means?” She clicked back to the home page. “And why wouldn’t they have a concert listing? I was told Sophie called them from Alabama. Some small town near Birmingham.”

“I think Staglina is Norse.” I searched the memories of my stint with an obsessive Norse mythology fascination. I’d been trying to find a troll and got completely caught up in the old stories. I wouldn’t be telling Aphrodite this, but I never got quite as fascinated with the Greek myths. “I’m sure Nikolos has some books on Norse myth in his library, but I think I remember it having something to do with a chain and anchor.”

Blythe clicked on another page. Empty again. “I don’t get it. What kind of band has no useful information on their site? How are fans supposed to find them?”

“See if you can find a mention of their concert.” I took a bite of the ham sandwich, enjoyed the extra kick of sharp cheddar. “Maybe someone who went to the last concert blogged or something.”

An hour later, all we had was the location of the last show in Alabama and that came from a small news piece on cops being called out to break up a concert they couldn’t find.

Blythe sighed and stretched her neck back and forth. “I’ll stay on this and read comments on the video page. There were hundreds.” She picked up a potato chip and crunched it.

“Have fun with that. Comment sections on any website never fail to sap at my belief in the general goodness of human beings.” Grimacing, I reached for the mini-coffin I’d built. “I’m too tired to deal with that little creature in the bathroom tonight. Have Elsa or Castor… Wait.” I turned to Dooby, who’d gone back to the book. “You have power over the dead, right, Dooby?”

He looked up. “Yeah, but vampires aren’t technically all-the-way dead.”

“Do you think you could figure out how to feed him so he doesn’t starve before we can get to the spell?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Give me the little coffin.”

I didn’t trust that ornery expression but I walked over and gave the box to him, then walked to the door. “Hey Blythe, don’t stay up too late. We have a long trip tomorrow.”

“In the car?” Blythe avoided my gaze.

Suspicion gave me sudden goose bumps. “I think taking a vampire sprite on an airplane would be a bad idea, don’t you? Why?”

“Nothing. I just don’t like long car rides. But before you go to bed, I want to try something.”

I waited for her to go on. Tapped my foot when she didn’t.

“I think I know how you can see Nikolos again. I have some yerba santa. If we pour boiling water over it and pour it over your ankhs, I think he might come to you in your dreams.”

Even the thought had my heart pounding hard. “Let’s do it then.”

It only took a few minutes to boil the water and strain the concoction over my necklaces. It took me forever to fall asleep because I couldn’t help wondering if it would work. I wiggled so much the sheets tangled about my legs.

When I finally slept, I realized that once again, Blythe had gotten a spell wrong. Instead of Nikolos coming to me…I went to him.

There’s nothing more deceptive than the truth…

Playing Against Type

© 2014 Heather Long

Soulgirls, Book 4

Pepper Kirk lives for the moment. Diagnosed with an incurable disease, she set out to see the world and found a place—and remission—at the Arcana Royale. For once, life is perfect. Until a federal agent appears, determined to catch the casino in corruption.

Owing her very existence to the magic that sustains her—Pepper reluctantly agrees to seduce the handsome agent and sabotage his surveillance, though she’s not sure how a woman without a dishonest bone in her body will make it work.

Finn Mickelson’s investigation into a crime family is only a smokescreen to keep his real targets off balance. Nothing will keep this witchborn from digging into the secrets of the Royale—not even a Southern belle with honeyed tones and a sweet smile.

He quickly sees through her ruse, yet he finds himself falling under the spell of her porcelain doll beauty, even wanting to help her. But for love to take hold, they’ll have to play the house in a game that’s stacked against them…or lose their lives.

Warning: Contains lies, deceptions, twists, turns, behind-the-scenes plotting, a man with a revengenda, a southern belle who just wants to live her life—and a game they didn’t know they were playing.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Playing Against Type:

Heidi glanced up from the paperwork spread across her desk, a frisson of awareness skating up her spine. Eyes narrowing, she stared at the door. It was the middle of the day and all of the dancers slept in their frozen states, silent and secure. No one moved in the theatre, not even Stan. Minion slept along the back of her shoulders, tufted ears folded close to her head and the imp’s fuzzy kitten-like face buried in Heidi’s hair. Flipping the folder closed, she waited.

The handle turned silently and the door swung inwards. A tall man with black hair leaned against the doorframe. The flirty smile on his lips didn’t quite touch his devastating blue eyes. “Miss Heidi.”

“Connor.” The shadow man’s arrival didn’t bode well. He rarely ventured into the Midnight Mystery Lounge unless something was wrong. Sadly, she’d already had to deal with him twice in as many months over issues with two of her dancers. As far as she knew, however, no one else should have earned this kind of personal attention.

“You don’t look very happy to see me. I’m wounded.” He grinned and strolled into her office. His gaze swept over the contents of the room, from the books lining the walls to the stack of puzzle boxes decorating a shelf. Despite his apparent interest in the surroundings, she knew it was a ruse. He would detect even the faintest trace of weakness in her.

Fortunately, she’d overcome her weakness for him years before.

She closed the folder. “I’m busy, Connor. What do you need?” She added the folder to another stack and dragged a new one toward her. She didn’t bother to read the words, looking at the information inside was enough to piss him off.

He dropped into a chair opposite her desk and swung his booted feet up to rest against the polished wood, one ankle over the other. “Some days I think you forget who is in charge.”
 

“Some days I think you forget who kicked your ass.” She lifted an absent hand up to brush against Minion’s downy soft head and kept the little one asleep.