Niklas Voortag, High King of Terrna lives his life for his people. His own needs are unimportant. Driven by the words of an ancient prophecy, he searches far and wide for the woman who can save his world. Now that he's found her, can she also save his heart? Kidnapped from her world and everything she knows, Brianna O'Neill finds that she is The One bound to save an entire world. A trip through space, an acquaintance with a faery and an ancient sorcerer was never at the top of her list. Now she must come to terms with the fact that she is the only one with the power to thwart an evil plan.
This book was previously published under the title Prophecy. It has been revised, edited and republished.
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~Excerpt~
A slight movement in the corner startled her and she shivered with fear. Swallowing thickly, she tried to talk around the giant lump in her throat. “Is someone there?” She sat up, pulled the sheet up to her chest and squinted into the darkness, trying to see around the shadowy shapes she knew was her furniture. The sound of breathing from the corner made her heart pound faster.
Brianna’s hands fisted in her sheets, she hadn’t been this frightened in her own bedroom for years. The old fears and insecurities rose up, bound her to the bed, making it nearly impossible to move. She was torn between running and pulling the covers up over her head like a frightened child.
She inhaled sharply when a person stepped from the shadows, even opened her mouth to scream, but nothing came out. Reaching for her throat, she wanted to claw at the slim column and force it to comply. She tried again, still nothing.
Is this another dream? The intruder stepped fully into the moonlight and she could see him, or her, very clearly now. Whatever it was, it couldn’t possibly be human. It was tall and thin, with long silver hair and long pointy ears. Brianna resisted the urge to giggle. Hysterics were not an option. She needed to keep her wits about her.
“I would appreciate it if you did not think of me as an it or as a female.” The creature straightened. “I am Larin of the Fey. Messenger of Morgaine.”
“Huh?” Brianna sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. Now that she knew she wasn’t looking at a specter, whoever it was, had to be human. Fear came bounding back. She cast furtive glances around the room, hoping to find something she could use as a weapon. What the hell, if she was going to die anyway, she was going to go out with a bang. Maybe literally. “First of all, how did you know what I was thinking? Two, how did you get in here, and three, just who in the hell are you?” Brianna waggled three fingers, glaring at him. She didn’t give a crap if he was gay. She just wanted him out of her house.
He sighed. “I am most certainly not gay. Not in the manner you mean at any rate.” He hedged. “I am gay, meaning that I am happy.” He smiled and spread his arms wide, his hands palms up.
Like that was supposed to clear things up? Brianna slid backward across her bed to put more space between them. Turning her back, she dropped the sheet, grabbed her robe and put it on. Maybe he was a weirdo surgically altered to look strange. One who needed to make the acquaintance of the guys who wore the white coats?
She held trembling hands in front of her, in what she hoped resembled a placating manner. “I’m glad that you’re happy being gay,” she smiled. “Really I am. I just don’t know what it has to do with me or why you’re in my house.” She blinked and eyed the telephone, wondering if she would be able to dial nine-one-one before he could take it from her and make her eat it.
Larin closed his eyes, running a long slender finger up and down the most perfect nose Brianna had ever seen. He smiled and opened his eyes. They had the most devilish twinkle.
“I am pleased you like my nose, madam, but it is far from perfect.” He leaned back and sighed. “Ah. Now, my Queen, she is another story. She is perfection.”
“Will you stop that?” Brianna shook a finger at him. “Just stay out of my head! You weren’t invited.” She glared at him, furious, her eyes becoming slits. “How do you do that anyway?”
“Do what?” Larin asked, feigning wide-eyed innocence. The glacial blue of his eyes was prismatic, reflecting what little light there was back at her.
“Ack!” Brianna threw her hands in the air. She was never going to get a straight answer from him. The creep was more slippery than a politician.
His silvery white brows drew down in a fierce scowl. “I beg your pardon!”
“If you don’t like my thoughts, stay out of my head.” She said with a smirk. There! That got him. What in the world did the guy want anyway? And why aren’t you scared out of your wits because he just popped into your house? The strange thing was that she really wasn’t scared of him. She felt more like sticking her tongue out at him than running for her life.
Biting her lip, she eyed the phone and frowned. Why should she care if he’s gay? That was his business, not hers.
“I am Larin of the Fey! F.E.Y. You know, the faeries.” He all but screamed the last.
Brianna tilted her head to the side and looked on with interest. He wasn’t quite so beautiful when his face turned purple like that. His eyes did strange things, too, almost glowing orange, then suddenly changing back to the brilliant blue they’d been before his tantrum.
“Faeries do not have tantrums!” He stomped his foot. Then, when he realized what he’d done, he looked toward the ceiling and rolled his eyes.
She stifled the urge to giggle. This would be hilarious if she could be certain he wasn’t an axe murderer.
“I cannot abide your fear any longer,” he growled. “Rules or no rules, watch this.” He snapped his fingers and disappeared. Then poof! He was back again.
Brianna nearly fainted. If she’d been standing, she certainly would have fallen. “Wha—”
Larin sighed again and shook his head.
She was getting so tired of that. He acted like he thought she was stupid or something.
“How can you call yourself a witch and not believe in faeries?” He scowled again.
Brianna watched him with interest. If he hadn’t had that eerie glowing eye thing going again, it would have been comical. He was just too pretty to make those faces.
“Males. Are. Not. Pretty.” He emphasized each word.
She made a face. Well, two could play at that game. “Stay. Out. Of. My. Head,” she huffed. This yelling match was going absolutely nowhere.
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