Showing posts with label Fantasy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fantasy. Show all posts

Thursday, December 11, 2014

SOUL FIRE by Shannan Albright

SOUL FIRE by Shannan Albright 

The Guardians of Drakkan Book 1

A dragon on borrowed time.

Crispin, king of a shape-shifting race known as Drakkan’s children has little hope left for his dying race. Without females for his males to mate with, their extinction is assured. When the mating fever grips him, he knows his time can be counted in days before he goes mad and must be destroyed.

A woman who holds the key to a race’s survival.

During the Beltane Ceremony, Aslynn Durry is one of the chosen by the god Drakkan and the Tuatha de Danann to save the shape-shifting race. Within a secluded glen Aslynn and Crispin, unite for what they think is one night of celebration, only to find both of their destinies’ are woven together.

An old enemy rises from the pits of hell to have his revenge.

The Fomorians have bided their time to strike. The alliance between the Tuatha de Danann and the great dragon god Drakkan has given them the chance they need to satisfy their thirst for revenge.

Crispin and Aslynn find themselves pawns in an ancient war. Can they survive long enough to defeat the Fomorians? Or will the hope for Drakkan’s dying children be destroyed?

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~Excerpt~

Forcing her gaze from those penetrating eyes, she became aware of his overpowering presence. The air around him crackled with power, an expectant hum filled the silence in the air. Dimly she realized he was more than human, something…other. Enticing and terrible, a heady mixture coalescing into an acute awareness. An arrow of lust pierced her belly, traveling down to her core, a liquid fire making her ach to the point of pain.

She couldn’t help but be drawn to him. His massive body hummed with male aggression and dominance, a perfect counterpoint to her femininity. Long, thick hair caught on a small breeze, lifting away from a face of sharp angles and shadows. Moonlight touched upon him like a lover’s hand, casting him in silver, a god come to earth to claim her.

A fanciful thought to be sure, yet by his intense regard of her, mayhap she had the truth of it.

He strode toward her with an unnatural grace, her pulse raced with every step toward her. He reminded her of a predator, more animal than man. Her heart slammed hard against her ribs, her breathing labored as she watched him approach, forced to tilt her head up as he stopped before her. The glen suddenly seemed too small to contain such a powerful being. He slowly held out one hand to her, her eyes riveted to the long fingers. High born, not one of calloused palms from laboring in fields, but smooth, soft.

Her hand reached for his of its own accord, watching as his swallowed her much smaller one. Warmth spread from her fingers up her arm as he pulled her up to her feet with a gentle tug. His nostrils flared as she stood mere breath betwixt them.

A rumble rose deep within his chest and she trembled. Not from fear, nay it ’twas desire which throbbed in exquisite anticipation, her body pitched upon a precipice from which there would be no return. The hunger from moments ago flowed hotter; his male scent of windswept seas and cedar mixed with an undertone of musk caressed her.

A moan escaped her as she took him into her lungs, her body softening, her core turning into molten liquid. Her ears roared as blood surged through and scalded her veins. Her body prepared for his, even as her normally logical mind struggled to reason through such a reaction with little luck.

The only clarity she could summon held sway of her emotions, for in the very marrow of her bones she knew this male was hers. If only for Beltane. The gods saw fit to give her a gift. Drakkan spoke of being the hope of his children. She would grasp this with both hands, hold it tight for this one moment, and have the memories to warm her on lonely nights. For once, she would take something for herself and face the consequences on the morrow.

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Thursday, December 19, 2013

MIND YOUR GODDESS by Flossie Benton Rogers


MIND YOUR GODDESS by Flossie Benton Rogers

Wytchfae 3

Razzle dazzle -- cool jazz and hot kisses

The Goddess Epona is breathless over a lover’s tryst with Eshigel, the dark Guardian of the Between. Before she can meet him, she must hear the pleas of her Dark of the Moon supplicants. Strange requests originate from a captive little girl and a succubus seeking revenge. Then, Epona is attacked and abducted.

Epona awakens stranded in the human realm in the Roaring 20’s. With her powers nullified, she assumes the guise of a flapper in a speakeasy. Knowing the little girl is nearby, Epona seeks to save her.

Eshigel rushes to find his missing Goddess. To gain information he undergoes a dangerous rite involving a half woman and half serpent Lamia. After locating Epona, he vows to protect his flapper Goddess from the demons set on her destruction. Can a Goddess and her dark Guardian overcome misfortune and reclaim their love?


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Story Excerpt

“Lady?” A hand tapped her shoulder and she forced herself to open her eyes. A man with slick black hair who was dressed to the nines in a dapper lightweight suit of a long ago style, knelt beside her. 

Relieved that the innate fae power of understanding languages had not deserted her, she whispered, “Who are you?”

“I’m Benny.”

“Where am I?”

“This is sunshiny Florida.

“What year is it, Benny?”

“1925. Say, are you in trouble? Do you need a sawbones, or did you jump overboard?” His tone held a note of jocularity that made her wince. Still, if he could get her out of this blaring sun until she had the strength to heal her weakened condition, she could withstand his cheerfulness.

She bit down hard on her lip. Not only had her abductors catapulted her down to the human dimension, they had pitched her back in time. “Please, help me up.” The wispy quality of her voice shocked her.

Instead of assisting her to rise as she expected, the man snapped his fingers twice, and a younger, brawny man trotted over. “Yes sir?”

“Be a gentleman and help the lady. Put her in one of the cabins—Margie’s.”

Epona didn’t like the sound of that but figured once inside and away from the blinding sunlight her head would stop hammering with such violence and she could check on her Goddess crystal. Using considerable effort, she assisted the beefy young man as he got an arm under her and raised her to a standing position. 

Although her legs seemed to be made of jelly, with his support she was able to untwist the sodden gown from her legs. Patting her salt stiffened hair, she murmured, “I must look a fright.”

“Not at all, cupcake.”

The hell with it. Her appearance was the least of her worries. When her wobbly legs buckled, and before she could utter a protest, her rescuer scooped her up into muscled arms and plodded through the white sand toward a bright yellow building set back from the beach. He continued around to the back where a row of neat cottages stood. 

The black haired man followed and when they came to a door, he knocked in a rhythmic rat a tat tat. Some kind of secret code, she thought. The door swung open to reveal two other stocky men. “Oh, it’s you, Benny.”

“Of course it’s me. Didn’t I give the knock, moron? Break’s over. Quit your yammering and open the bedroom door.”

A few moments later, after more chattering and remonstrations from Benny, Epona reclined on a narrow cot with no headboard. Propped up atop scrawny pillows and covered with a thin blanket, she took stock of her rescuers, while Benny eyed her from just inside the doorway. The other men peered over his shoulder. “What’s your name?”

She didn’t answer him.

“Muddled melon, huh? Well, never mind, we’ll call you Angel for now. You kinda look like one in that getup, or a bride. There’s not a hot-headed groom on the warpath behind you, is there?” 

Her fae ability with languages apparently wasn’t working at full throttle after all. Although she didn’t fully comprehend what he meant, she responded to his questioning look with a fervent shake of her head. 

“Good. You either need to dry off or dry out. Which is it?”



Romance Excerpt:

Slipping out the side door a few minutes later, Epona removed her shoes and plodded through the fine grained sand, away from the business lights and into one of the gazebos. She didn’t see Eshigel anywhere. Leaning over the railing, she stared out at the night. A crescent moon hung low in the sky, a silver slipper, and stars sparkled red, blue, and silver on the horizon. If she could just reach far enough, she could pluck one right out of the inky darkness. 

A footfall sounded on the wooden steps behind her. Gasping, she turned around toward the large, dark form, ready to scratch out the eyes of a stalker if it turned out to be necessary. Moonlight glinted on the long dark hair of the Guardian of the Between. 

With a sigh of relief, she reached out to him.

Without a word, Eshigel closed the distance between them, enclosing her within his arms and pulling her up against his warm, comforting body. They stood like that for a long moment. 

His breath tantalized her temple, evoking lightheadedness, and a shuddering moan slipped from between her lips. Her hands slid in slow motion up his chest, reveling in their hard contours. 

A finger lifted her chin, and his mouth claimed hers, seeking, probing, and then plundering. 

She opened to him, and with fervor, returned his kiss. Her electric response was proof positive of the hold he had over her and the wild, insatiable flame that burned between them. His hair cascaded over her cheek, and she entwined her fingers in its silky luxury. She melted against him, needing to have this man, be one with him, and blot out the rest of the thirteen worlds. 

The effect of his touch made her heart race and her breath come short. Eshigel’s mere presence took the oxygen from any room, and even at the seaside, with its abundant moist, salty air, there seemed not enough to go around. 

He cupped her breast, and through her clothing, caressed it with a tenderness that caused her to tremble. His hand shook a little, and she became aware of the effect she had on him. A ripple of pleasure trickled up her spine. 

“Eppie, I feared I had lost you.” His low, husky voice was velvety rough against her skin. 

She kissed the apex of his throat, swirling her tongue and catching the hot flesh between her teeth. 

He groaned. “I want you, Goddess.” 

At his words, she took a shuddering breath and gazed up at him. “Let’s slip down to the beach before someone comes looking for me.”

She hurried him toward a secluded copse of palm trees and seagrass she’d found on her first day of exploration. “Let’s sit here on this sand bar.”

He kissed her fingers, and then turned her hand over and pressed his mouth against her palm. His lips brushed feather kisses up her forearm.

As tingles rippled over her skin, she shivered in delight. Caressing the rough stubble on his chin with gentle fingers, she leaned back against his shoulder and lifted her face to his.

He captured her mouth, and she responded with fervent heat, seeking his tongue and fingering locks of his silky hair. It was impossible to be close enough to him, and she burned for him to possess her. Everything else receded until only Eshigel was real. Inflamed, she worked to unbutton his shirt, impatient for more of him to touch.

The night air caressed her skin as he removed her clothing, and then his. He took her in his arms once more, his aura spiraling around her, cocooning the two of them in tendrils of delicious heat. His low voice and words drugged her senses. “You are my Goddess, and you always will be.”

“Darling Eshigel.”

He kissed the soft area of her navel, and it was clear he paid loving care to the possibility of tenderness there as he continued to bring her body to life in the exquisite tropical night. 

She reveled in his solicitous attention but needed more from him and urged him on with inflamed movements and urgent strokes of her tongue. 

“I must have you, Eppie.” His voice sounded as hoarse as if no words had ever passed his lips before.

“Oh, yes, Eshigel. Please.”

“Fly with me, Goddess.”

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Monday, November 18, 2013

SLAVE FOR SEX by Laura Tolomei

SLAVE FOR SEX by Laura Tolomei

Rydan’s dead lover returns as a green faerie, seducing him into passionate sex and submission, but will he trust her enough to change his destiny?

Alone, having lost the love of his life, Rydan has visions of a mysterious creature in the forest. Who is she? And what will happen when he finally meets her in the flesh to learn about the secrets of sex and passion? But that’s not all she’ll reveal, and the truth about his world will blow his mind away.

Will he trust her enough to believe her or will he surrender to the sensual attraction of burning desire neglecting his duties?

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~Excerpt~

"Good morning, little one.” Rydan smiled at it.

The first time he had seen it, he had been scared. He recalled it perfectly because Kyraen had just died. Now, after countless encounters, he had gotten used to it. Still, he had no idea what the creature was.

Not a plant for sure. Not one of his campmates, either, even if in some thing it resembled them. Slender body full of sensual curves, green hair down below her shoulders, intriguing eyes, soft oval face, less rugged, with an inconspicuous jaw line and high cheekbones—it looked so different from everything he had grown up with, yet human…in an unexplainably different way.

Which was not the strangest thing.

Impossible though it seemed, something about the creature’s face belonged to Kyraen. The more he stared at it, the more he saw Kyraen.

Which had blown his mind away.

To the point he had returned to the clearing time and time again.

“Today is my birthday, Kyraen.” In lack of a formal name, his dead lover’s seemed appropriate. “And I’ll celebrate it with a special feast tonight.” He sat down in front of the creature.

It remained standing, looking at him sympathetically.

“Laird hasn’t told me much.” A part of his mind was still incredulous at finding his dead lover in this creature. “From what I heard, it’ll be quite an experience.” At how much stronger the impression of being with his dead lover had grown over time. And if it made no rational sense, his heart told him otherwise.

The unsettling resemblance, more than anything else, had prompted Rydan to make a connection with the creature. Then to develop a friendship in which he poured his heart’s grief for Kyraen. Maybe because he had spotted the sadness dimming the brilliant green of its eyes the first time he had talked about it.

Maybe because he just felt abandoned.

“The creatures I’m going to meet are quite exciting, or so people assured me.”

The creature made a concerned face.

No, it did not talk back. It did not breathe a sound. Nor moved too much, except to escape his touch the few times he had attempted it. Like the plants, it did not want physical contact with the likes of him. Like the plants, he had come to accept it.

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Friday, August 23, 2013

SELECTED LOVERS by Zenobia Renquist

SELECTED LOVERS by Zenobia Renquist

Caveat Emptor 7.5 - spin-off


Love, like peace, is never easy where two men are concerned.

The war is over, and now it’s time to rebuild. Rhea has been chosen at random to sit on a joint council to help decide future relations between mages, vampires, and humans. Jeremy and Colm are appointed her guards. What should have been a simple escort assignment becomes so much more when a spell meant to kill ignites a passionate encounter with Rhea caught in the middle.

Haunted by her desires and craving another threesome, Rhea knows it can't happen. Jeremy is a mage. Colm is a vampire. The men tolerate each other because they’re under orders to cooperate. Without another spell to force them, they would never agree to sharing Rhea again. She has to choose -- the mage with a satisfying kiss or the vampire with a passionate bite…or maybe the third option she hasn’t yet considered.

Caveat Emptor -- Let the Buyer Beware.

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Selected Lovers (Caveat Emptor 7.5)
Zenobia Renquist
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2013 Zenobia Renquist

This e-book file contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language which some may find offensive and which is not appropriate for a young audience. Changeling Press E-Books are for sale to adults, only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

Rhea shoved her car door open, grumbling and cursing under her breath. Mondays belonged in the eighth circle of Hell along with the rest of the frauds. It wasn't a real day. It was Hell visited upon Earth in the guise of a real day. That had to be the case because no one should have to endure the amount of shit she had without divine punishment being involved.

A computer crash that ate all her work, missed deadlines that had popped up at the last minute, the wrong presentation for an important client, and to top it all off, being rear-ended while trying to merge in a construction zone. Thankfully the collision had been at a slow speed and hadn't caused any damage. Rhea rubbed at the pinch in her neck that she hoped was stress and not symptomatic of a bigger problem. She'd been too pissed off to get the insurance information of the woman who'd hit her.

All Rhea wanted was a hot bath and alone time. Lots and lots of alone time where she pretended the world outside her bathroom didn't exist. She didn't even have the mental energy to lie to herself about everything being better tomorrow.

Monday -- fraud -- eighth circle of Hell. That was all there was to it. She would be raised up from Hell as soon as she baptized herself with lavender-scented bubbles and a bottle of peach rum. She was still debating whether she would drink the entire bottle or two-thirds of it.

She kicked her car door shut and headed for her apartment. Two steps from the porch she stopped. "Fucking hell!"

A little yellow notice was taped below the peephole. The words "Delinquent Payment Notice" mocked her in giant bold lettering. Delinquent payment her ass. She paid her rent the first day of the month, every month.

She snatched the letter off the door and read it quickly. "What do they mean 'check not received?' I have a fucking receipt." She yanked her phone off her hip and pushed the power button. It was past closing time for the front office. Of course. With the day she'd been having, why would the office still be open?

She would have to call in late tomorrow so she could meet the apartment manager nice and early with receipt in hand so she could clear up this matter. Something told her waiting until after work might mean she would come home to all her stuff on the front lawn.

"Rhea Valern?"

"What?" She barked the question before turning to see who had asked. She didn't care who it was. She'd had enough. No more bad news. If one more person did one more thing to her, she would lose her mind and kill everyone in a one-mile radius, so help her God.

Two men stood behind her. Both were the same height, which was several inches taller than her, and both had an imposing vibe. The man on the left wore mage robes that cloaked his body from his wide shoulders to the ground. His light brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, leaving his chiseled, clean-shaven features free to be gazed upon... and Rhea was gazing. If he was her reward for putting up with her crappy day, she gladly accepted.

The man next to the mage, who wore tight blue jeans and a half-open button-up shirt that showed his sculpted chest, was just as yummy-looking. His blond hair was cropped short and styled into a mussed-up do that looked too purposefully mussed to be anything but intentional. Light-colored stubble graced his cheeks and chin, giving him a rugged look that appealed to her. His shoulders weren't as broad as his friend's, but that didn't make him any less attractive. And then he smiled. His fangs ruined it for her.

A vampire. Not good.

Vampires didn't frequent human-populated areas, not since the docility charms had failed, and the freed vampires had fled back to their own territory after massacring their former masters. A vampire in the company of a mage had to mean bad news -- extremely bad news of which Rhea wanted no part.

The mage said, "Rhea Valern, we have come to --"

"Not interested. I've never bought a vampire before or even stepped into a store where they were sold. I'm not a mage potential. You've got the wrong girl. Go away." She turned back to her door with her key in hand to unlock her door and make a quick escape into her apartment. If the men persisted, she would call the cops. Human cops wouldn't be of much help, but there were a few mages who volunteered to handle situations like this.

"You don't understand."

"And I don't want to. Bye now." She pushed her door open, took one step and then screamed as the floor disappeared beneath her feet. Not just the floor -- the entire inside of her apartment was a void of black nothingness.

Strong arms grabbed her from behind and pulled her back, except the void started pulling her too. She screamed again. The darkness had hold of her purse and was climbing up it like a snake winding around a branch. She couldn't open her hand to drop the strap. The darkness touched her fingers and freezing pain ripped another scream from her lips.

The man holding her yelled, "Stop standing there like a dumbass and do something, mage. This is your people's shit."

"Shut up, vampire. I know my job." The mage mumbled words Rhea didn't catch. It sounded like an incantation. That was good, right? A spell would end this, right?

The void yanked her into the apartment by her arm, causing her vampire savior -- she hoped he was saving her -- to hug her waist tight as he leaned back.

"Strong fuckers. Any time, mage." He huffed against her neck and made grunting noises that said he was straining. A vampire straining? They could juggle small cars with no effort. If he was exerting that much force, Rhea's arm should have been ripped off in the tug-of-war.

Except for where the darkness touched her, she wasn't in pain. Her arm was stretched to the maximum, but it didn't hurt. A slow glow crept over her shoulder and dripped down her arm like water. It touched the darkness and the darkness... screamed? Could darkness scream?

Whatever. It didn't matter. The darkness was letting her go. Rhea jerked on her arm to hurry along the process. The glow surrounded her arm, pushing the darkness back until it released her completely.

She fell back with a yelp, landing on the vampire as they toppled to the ground.

The mage rushed by them and pulled the door shut. He chanted a few more words as he stepped back slowly. The door glowed, and white script in a language Rhea didn't recognize appeared below the peephole.

"There. I've sealed it until someone else can be summoned to close that portal properly." The mage turned to her. "Now may I tell you why we're here?"

Rhea nodded with a hard sigh. The motion pushed her breasts into the hands of the vampire. In all the confusion, she hadn't realized where he was holding her.

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Tuesday, April 9, 2013

MAGIC'S DAUGHTER by Ann Gimpel

MAGIC'S DAUGHTER by Ann Gimpel

Destined to be surrounded by magic yet have none of her own, Cassie walks a thin line between love and danger. Her mother is dying and her boyfriend has turned into something which terrifies her. By the time she wakes up to the danger she’s in, it’s nearly too late. 

Cassie’s friend, Jeremy, warns her about her scumbag boyfriend, but she doesn’t listen until deeply disturbing events unfold and her life hangs in the balance. With few choices left, she and Jeremy join forces to battle the darkness threatening them. Meanwhile, Cassie warms to Jeremy in ways she never could have anticipated. Love was there all along if she’d just opened her eyes and looked.

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 Magic's Daughter
Ann Gimpel

Chapter 1

Cassionetta Ceobbinn sat in her old Subaru and rested her forehead against its steering wheel. Her electronic design work had ground to a halt an hour earlier and a headache pounded behind one eye. The garage of the Capitol Hill mansion rose around her, silent as a crypt. Her mother’s Aston Martin sat off to one side, gleaming white in the semi-darkness. Cassie girded herself to open her car door, grab her things, and go inside. “It’s my house, goddammit,” she muttered to boost her courage. “So what if he sent me a text message not to come home.”

The garage lights came on, blinding her. The door leading into the house crashed against the wall. Before the ringing in her ears subsided, her live-in boyfriend stomped to her car. Well, the live-in part was still accurate. The boyfriend part seemed to have evaporated like so much smoke.

“You weren’t supposed to come home tonight,” he growled. “I texted you hours ago. You can just turn that piece of shit you drive around and go stay at your mother’s office.”

Fury boiled up from her guts. She took aim and opened the car door hard into his midsection, hoping she could clip a ball for good measure.

“Oooph. You little bitch.” He jumped back, rubbing his stomach.

You bet I am. High heels slapping the concrete floor, she jumped out of her car and stood eyeball to eyeball with him. “This is my mother’s house, Tyler MacKenzie. I live here. Or have you forgotten?” Cassie yanked her shoulder bag and computer case off the passenger side of the front seat and stormed past him.

He grabbed her arm before she reached the steps leading into the kitchen. “I have people over. It’s the full moon. I’m leading a séance. Your presence would disturb the energy.”

She twirled to face him, breaking his grip. “You mean you have mother’s clients over. Where is she, by the way?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen her.”

Cassie turned away from him. He closed his hand over her arm again, hard enough to make her squeal. “If you don’t let me go,” she snarled through clenched teeth, “I will call the police.”

His fingers loosened marginally. “But, sweetie…”

She heard compulsion beneath his words. Cassie didn’t have any magic of her own, but she recognized it in others. When Tyler had wanted her to fall in love with him, he’d used honeyed words all the time. They’d only stopped once she’d let him move in.

“Can it.” She twisted her head so she could lock gazes with him. “Let me go. Now.” His hand fell away. “I want you out of here tomorrow—”

His eyes narrowed. He shoved long, red-gold hair out of his face and sneered at her. “Fat fucking chance of that. We’ve had this conversation one too many times for my liking. I’m here, and I intend to stay. There’s nothing you can do about it. Unless you want to meet with an unfortunate accident.”
A nasty laugh bubbled past lips she’d once thought were full and sensual. “Of course something like that could happen anyway. If I were you, sweetie, I’d watch my back.”

Cassie shuddered. She swallowed, but her mouth was dry. Maybe she’d underestimated Tyler. Once they’d stopped getting along, she’d seen him as an inconvenience, not a menace. He’d never sounded quite like this before though. There’d been threats, but they’d been subtle, veiled in double entendre.
She squared her shoulders and turned to face him. It was the kiss of death to let bullies know they were getting to you. “I’m done with your crap.” She infused as much venom as she could into her voice. “I will call the police. You threatened me.”

He snorted. “I’d just deny it. They’ll believe we had a lover’s spat. Women are so emotional.” His blue eyes gleamed with an unnatural light.

She blinked. For a moment, he looked like a demon one of her mother’s psychic friends had raised by accident. Cassie knew enough about demons—interdimensional beings which traveled from world to world wreaking havoc—for the idea of them to scare the shit out of her.

Don’t be ridiculous. Ridiculous, ridiculous echoed in her head. I’m seeing things.

Her heartbeat sounded loud in her ears; her hands fisted at her sides. “You’d better get back to your séance. Wouldn’t want any of those high rollers to get away.” He took a menacing step toward her; his mouth was set in a hard line. She sucked in a breath, ready to defend herself.

Thank Christ he spun on his heel and trotted smartly back into the house. Tyler cut an elegant figure with his richly-embroidered gypsy cape, broad shoulders, and classically handsome Nordic features.
Flowing ruby silk pants rode low on his slim hips. No wonder she’d been taken in by him.

Fuming—and scared half to death—she followed him into the house, but turned a hard left before she reached the kitchen and took what had once been the servants’ staircase. It had been stupid to fall for Tyler, one of the dumbest things she’d ever done, but there was no going back. She couldn’t unravel time and choose not to tumble into his arms and his bed. That part was a done deal. If she listened to him, his residency at chéz Eleanora was a done deal as well.

Shit!

Worry for her mother filled her, obliterating her fears for her own safety. Eleanora Ceobbinn was—or had been—a well-known psychic, but she’d apparently made one too many trips to the far side of the veil. She was still alive, but she hadn’t spoken a word in nearly a year and spent the majority of her time rattling around their old house like a ghost.

Eleanora had come from money—and made plenty on her own—so at least that wasn’t a problem, but Cassie’s mother was definitely fading. It was almost as if someone—Tyler?—were feeding off what little energy she had left.

Unable to shake her earlier sense of foreboding, Cassie shivered. If she hadn’t been holding onto her purse and computer bag, she would have wrapped her arms around herself.

Maybe because she was thinking about her mother—and the house had a mind of its own—she wasn’t surprised to find herself beneath a full-sized oil painting of Eleanora. Lush dark hair ended at knee-level and her haunting violet eyes seemed alive. People had told Cassie she looked like her mom, but she’d never thought so. Eleanora was beautiful—and ageless. Cassie had the hair and the eyes and the striking six foot height, but the effect wasn’t nearly the same.

She still had no idea what had gone wrong the day her mother had checked out. She’d come home from work to find Eleanora sprawled face down on the Oriental carpet in the séance room, candles smoking black gouts of greasy flame. If there’d been clients, they were nowhere to be found.

Her mother had regained consciousness, but that had been about all. Cassie had known better than to lug Eleanora around to a bunch of other doctors with their uncomfortable questions and pained silences after the first one had asked, “Your mother does what for a living?”

Cassie dragged her gaze away from the portrait. As a little girl, she’d believed her mother’s painted eyes were the gateway to a magical world. She’d asked Eleanora and her mother had smiled shrewdly. “Stranger things have happened, child,” she’d said. “It’s best not to test this one.”

Cassie pulled a key out of her bag, unlocked her bedroom door, and then used the voice activated electronics she’d designed to spring the second lock. She was almost positive Tyler was stealing from her, but that wasn’t why she kept her door locked. Even the marginally gifted could wreak havoc if they got hold of your things. Her father, Francis Statton Braxbury, a British seer, had taught her that before his visits to Eleanora had petered out.

Cassie locked her door behind her and tossed her things in a chair. Kicking off her high heels, she sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed her sore arches. This thing with Tyler was way out of control. He’d shown up right before her mother’s accident. Lost in the first flush of sex with a new man, she hadn’t realized it was a shade too convenient that he just happened to be there to snap up all her mother’s clients.

That had been nearly a year ago. Tyler had dropped any pretense of a relationship with her after the first few months, but he’d been marginally friendly—and even polite—until recently. She shook her head, trying to figure out what had changed. It had actually been useful to have him help watch Eleanora, which was why she hadn’t tried harder to get rid of him.

Most of her non-Eleanora time was devoted to developing an electronic version of the Ouija Board because she hoped she could use it to reach her mother. Usually her circuitry was spot on, but for some reason this project had dragged on for months, dogged by one setback after another. It was like everything she’d learned getting her degree in electrical engineering didn’t work quite right. She was still stuck on the basic circuit board design. Until it worked right, there wasn’t much point in designing software or hunting for a microprocessor.

Speaking of which … I need to hunt for Mother. Cassie got to her feet and stuffed them into slippers before heading into the hall. She glanced around nervously before locking her door. Tyler had moved into the guest suite at the north end of the ground floor, but the mood he was in, it paid to be vigilant.
“Mrroww.” Hector, Eleanora’s large, black tomcat, landed lightly not ten feet from her, tail pluming as it swished back and forth.

Cassie jumped. “Where’d you come from?” She bent to scratch his head. The cat arched his back in pleasure. “Do you know where Mother is?”

“Mrroww.” Swish, swish.

“I take it that’s a no.” She turned a wall dial. Crystal sconces lining the long hallway brightened. Polished hardwood with Aubusson runners stretched before her. Leaded glass panes lined the hall. Priceless paintings graced the walls at intervals, interspersed with elegant bronze sculptures. Cassie checked her mother’s bedroom. Empty. Eleanora’s wonderful, earthy scent lingered. It made her heart ache. If ever she needed one of her parents, it was now.

I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I’m twenty-five, for God's sake. Time to fight my own battles.
Not finding Eleanora anywhere on the second floor, Cassie mounted the stairs to the third. She heard faint chanting coming from downstairs and wondered whose dead relative was on the hook tonight. She believed in the spirit world and had always trusted Eleanora to hold the gates. Her faith in Tyler’s ability to do the same was pretty truncated.

Oh my God. Is that how he’s planning to hurt me? By proxy?

Her heart slammed against her chest. It was hard to breathe around the thickening in her throat. Some spirits could do a lot of damage, mostly through suffocation or running people off cliffs…

“Stop it.” She spoke out loud to get a grip on what was starting to feel a lot like out-of-control panic. “Just find Mom. Make sure she’s okay.” It did occur to her that if Eleanora were truly missing, it would give her the perfect excuse to clear out all the New Agers at the séance and call the police.
There were seven bedrooms on the third floor. Eleanora was in the one at the far end of the hall, staring out its large windows into the night. Cassie left the bedroom lights off. Enough illumination filtered in from the hall which was twin to the one on the floor below. “Mother?” She crept forward and laid a hand on Eleanora’s arm. Her mother flinched and shook her off.

Cassie’s eyes flooded. Even though her mother wasn’t really rejecting her, it still hurt. Especially now that she felt so alone and vulnerable.

“Mrroww.”

Cassie looked around. Hector sat in the doorway, ears pricked forward. She hadn’t realized he’d followed her.

Eleanora turned and went to the cat. Maybe his non-human frequency was easier for her to respond to. He twined himself around her legs, purring for all he was worth. She reached down and petted him and then drifted into the hall like a sleepwalker. Cassie thought about trying to talk to her mother again, but gave it up for wasted effort. Either Eleanora couldn’t hear her, or she couldn’t answer.
Maybe both.

Her mother was dressed all in black as always; her skirts swirled around her as she walked. Cassie followed her back to the second floor and breathed a sigh of relief when her mother went into her bedroom and shut the door behind her. The snick of the deadbolt was loud in the silence of the hall.
“Mrroww.” Hector’s tail swished faster. He looked annoyed. The cat lifted a paw and left a long scratch in the wood next to Eleanora’s door.

“It’s okay. You can sleep with me.”

Cassie strode the few feet to her own room and unlocked the door. Hector raced inside. Who knew? Maybe the séance made him just as uncomfortable as it made her. The rise and fall of voices from below hadn’t abated. She pulled the door shut and secured it, wishing she’d inherited some sort of magical ability. Almost anything would be helpful. Telepathy to read Tyler’s mind. Clairvoyance to peek into the future. Medium skills to raise spirits to protect herself—or harm him.

She strode across the room and pawed through a bottom drawer, coming up with a dog-eared card. It was one of the last birthday cards her father had given her before he’d declared her too old for such nonsense. She dug a small, flat crystal out of the envelope. Her father had said if she ever needed him to hold the crystal in her hand and think of him. He’d told her to plan ahead because results wouldn’t be immediate, and she might have to do it more than once.

Cassie stared at the clear stone with amber flecks deep inside. She set it down, unzipped her black wool skirt, and let it pool around her feet. Her green cashmere sweater came next. She bundled both up and took them to her closet where she hunted down some hangers. Grabbing purple sweats off the floor, she pulled them on and returned to the table where she’d left the crystal. Her hand hovered over it before she picked the crystal up again.

What about fighting my own battles?

To hell with that. What about being so stubborn I end up dead?

Hector jumped onto the bed and groomed himself. She flopped down next to him and kicked off her slippers. She didn’t want to bother her father in London unnecessarily—cripes, she hadn’t seen him since she was ten—but the escalating tension between Tyler and her was more than a little unnerving. I need help, but it’s not fair to involve anyone else. Cassie blew out a tense breath. Her magical heritage had been quite effective at sealing her off from casual friendships. She’d always been afraid something would slip, and the person would think she was crazy.

Rubbing her temples—the headache was behind both eyes now—once again she considered involving the police. Even if she got them to chase Tyler off, unless she hired a bodyguard, he’d probably worm his way back into the house. And then he would kill her, as retribution for calling in the law if nothing else. Tyler had a pretty sweet deal. One he planned to hang on to. He’d made that patently clear in the garage.

Wonder why it’s taken me so long to figure out how toxic he is?

Feeling like a gullible idiot, and a weak one at that, she let the stone warm in her hand and thought of her father.

Cassie didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep until her standard ringtone—“Ode to Joy”—sounded from the depths of her shoulder bag. Staggering muzzily across the room, she located the phone and punched answer without focusing on the display.

“Cass?”

Her eyes widened. “Jeremy? What time is it?”

“Past midnight. Sorry to wake you, but—”

She picked her way back to the bed, cursing when she stepped on one of the high heels she’d discarded earlier.

“Are you all right?” He sounded worried.

“Uh, yeah. Just stepped on something sharp. Give me a second to get back under the covers. It’s cold in here.” She pulled the duvet up to her chin. “Okay, all set. What’s up?”

“I just got this feeling…” His voice trailed off again.

Cassie sat up straighter in bed, not feeling sleepy at all anymore. Something in her friend’s voice was … unsettling. Jeremy was almost her only friend; she’d known him forever. Psychic like her mother, he definitely marched to his own drummer. “Whatever it is, just spit it out. Sometimes it’s easier that way.”

A sigh rattled through the cellular network. “It’s hard to explain, but I felt something and thought you were in danger.”

Cassie sucked in a breath. For the briefest of moments she considered telling him everything but then reined herself in. No point in getting Jeremy riled up about Tyler’s threats. This wasn’t really his problem. Besides, she was embarrassed about fessing up to her own stupidity. Yeah, I was so desperate for a guy to want me, I didn’t read the fine print.

“Cass? You’re pretty silent over there. It is not making me feel any better.”

“Huh? Oh,” she forced out a light laugh. “Tyler held a séance earlier, but I’m sure they’ve mostly left by now. I could go look—”

“No!” The single word thundered in her ear.

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to shout at me.”

“I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to.” He cleared his throat. “I probably shouldn’t have bothered you. Promise me you’ll stay in your room until daylight.”

“Sure.” Confusion and an uneasy sensation made her feel ill.

“Call me tomorrow.”

The sick feeling did not get any better. Jeremy had never felt the need to check on her before. “I’m spending all day working on e-Ouija.”

“Okay, I’ll call you. Sleep well, Cassie. Sorry to wake you.”

“Jeremy?”

He wasn’t there. She clicked end call and shut off her phone. To her surprise, she could barely keep her eyes open. Then she realized he’d probably cast a spell to make sure she stayed in her room. Damn it. Last thing I need in my life is two meddling men using magic to control me.

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Friday, March 8, 2013

MASSEUR by Veronica Tower

MASSEUR by Veronica Tower

Playtime Series Book 2

On their 10th wedding anniversary, Edie and Jack vowed to reinvigorate their sex life and save their marriage through randomly selected fantasies. First up was Jack's fantasy starring Edie as a common streetwalker.

Now it's Edie's turn to call the shots, and she wants a little TLC.

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By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, please exit this site.

An Excerpt From: MASSEUR
Copyright © VERONICA TOWER , 2013
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Chapter One

Edie reached up to retrieve the breakfast bowl with the little folded pieces of paper inside it, an unusual twinge of hope sparking deep inside her body. The last time she and Jack had played this game, things had gotten really crazy, but it had still ended well. Who’d have thought that at the age of thirty she and her husband could still fool around in their car like a couple of horny teenagers? And who’d have thought that Jack would make the time to lie around cuddling with her afterward and talking about old times?

There was a smile on her face and a spring in her step as Edie turned around to place the bowl on the kitchen table.

Jack immediately reached for one of the folded up pieces, snatching up one of the slips of paper.
Edie’s good mood evaporated. “Hey!” she snapped at him. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to find out what we’re going to do for playtime this weekend,” Jack responded. His fingers never stopped opening the little piece of paper. He was a six-foot-two former high school quarterback with skin as white as Edie’s was dark. Unfortunately, while the high school glory years were twelve years in the past, he still liked to act as if he could run their household the same way he used to direct his team in the huddle.

Edie wasn’t putting up with that. “Well who says you get to be the one to choose the fantasy?”

Jack’s fingers stumbled as he looked up at her. “You picked last time. I thought this would be my turn. Doesn’t that seem fair to you?”

That did seem fair, but Edie still wasn’t happy with how Jack had taken control again. Dr. Phelps said these little fantasy games that they called playtime were supposed to bring them closer together. Edie didn’t feel close to Jack when he ran roughshod over her wishes. And she really didn’t trust him to play fair in this game. “Who’s to say you didn’t check out all of these pieces of paper over the course of the week and mark one so you could snatch it up like this and make us play another one of your fantasies?” she asked.

Jack frowned. He continued to hold the folded paper in his hands, but stopped opening it. “Who’s to say you didn’t do that?” he shot back at her.

It was just like him to try and turn the question back around on her. “I didn’t!” Edie told him.

“Neither did I!” Jack assured her.

“But how do I know?” Edie asked. “Last week when I picked, you mixed up the pieces of paper in the bowl and made me close my eyes. I think we should follow the same rules now.”

“All right, all right,” Jack grumbled as he tossed the paper back in the bowl.

Edie picked it up and refolded it. “Now close your eyes,” she told him.

Jack did as he was told and she relished the tiny victory. Then she mixed the five little folded slips of paper around with her fingers and told him he could pick one out.

Jack’s hand fumbled slightly for the edge of the bowl and then pulled out a slip of paper without any hesitation at all. “Can I open my eyes now?”

Edie didn’t like the sour expression on his face. “You know it’s unattractive when our kids pout, but it’s downright ugly when you do it!”

Jack laughed and started opening the new piece of paper. They’d started this game a week ago at the insistence of their marriage counselor. Edie had mixed feelings about the first game. On the one hand, it had succeeded in getting them to have sex for the first time in years, but the whole concept—Jack picking her up and paying her for sex like she was a streetwalker—still bothered Edie on some level. It had been hot and exciting—but there was no denying that their bumping and grinding had been sex and not lovemaking.

Still, Dr. Phelps seemed pleased with their experience. “It’s a start,” the woman had told them, “and you aren’t going to make any progress on your problems if you can’t make a start.”

Jack finished unfolding the piece of paper. “It’s one of yours,” he told her.

Edie leaned forward eagerly, wondering which one it was.

“Oh, Lord,” Jack said, grinning. “I thought you said you wanted romance.”

“I do want a little romance,” Edie insisted. “Which one is it?” She reached for the scrap of paper but he moved it away from her hand.

“Honestly, Edie,” he said. “This is one I could have come up with. After all your complaints about my streetwalker fantasy, you want exactly the same thing I did.”

“What are you talking about?” Edie snapped. This time she succeeded in snagging the slip of paper away from him. She turned it over so she could read her own handwriting.

I want to be teased and pampered by a professional masseur at a spa.

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Friday, September 16, 2011

THE ICE DRAGON by Tianna Xander

THE ICE DRAGON by Tianna Xander

A Dragon Bound Book

Rose wants and needs a mate, but when one offers in the form of a dragon, can she stop running long enough to test the bond?

Rose is convinced that no man, let alone a dragon, could possibly want her. When an ice dragon turns on the heat, she does what her instincts scream for her to do. Grabs her sister and heads for the hills with a dragon in cold and calculating pursuit.

With her destiny held in a kiss, will she ever let him get close enough to prove their match?

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~Excerpt~

Leaning forward, Tansy closed her eyes and, with an effort that looked painful, she held her wrists together, her hands arced out. Tansy’s lips moved, possibly in a silent prayer, just before she pushed a ball of concentrated energy at the driver through the thick wire divider.

The driver slumped forward, unconscious as the cab careened out of control toward the brick wall of a warehouse.

“Shit, shit, shit…” Rose closed her eyes and visualized the driver stomping on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt and the two women jumped out.

“Asshole!” Tansy ripped the driver’s door open, jammed the car into park, removed the driver’s seatbelt and dragged him from the car. “Get in,” she snarled in Rose’s direction. “We have to get out of here before someone finds us.”

Rose climbed into the vehicle more because she wanted to get away from the man who had kidnapped them than because she agreed with her sister. “Where to now?”

Tansy looked down at the gauges as she put the car in gear. “As far as three quarters of a tank of gas will take us, then we’ll catch a bus.”


Two hours and one flat tire later, they were walking. “I’m hungry.”

“Don’t whine to me about the state of your stomach, Tansy. This was your idea.”

“Yeah, but you’re older. You should have stopped me.”

Rose stopped walking to glare at her sister. “I’m older by months, Tansy, not years. That does not give me more experience. If it did, I would have known this harebrained scheme of yours would turn out badly.”

Tansy stuck her thumb out as a car approached. “I don’t care what you think about the perils of hitchhiking. I’m hitching a ride to the nearest restaurant.”

Rose shook her head and sighed. “Whatever. It’s not like you couldn’t use that weird energy thing on someone again.”

“I can’t. I can only use that about once every six hours, but that’s beside the point. I’m hungry and thirsty and my feet hurt.”

“Why do I always forget you’re the whiney sister until I go with some stupid plan of yours?” Rose shook her head. She almost laughed when the car sped past and Tansy stomped her foot like a frustrated child.

She didn’t laugh, however, when a long, sleek limo stopped and a door opened.

“Get in.”

“Uh, no thanks.” Tansy backed away.

“I thought you wanted a ride. You had your thumb out, didn’t you?” The man inside didn’t move to get out, nor did he attempt to coerce them into the vehicle any further.

“Well…yes. I did have my thumb out.”

“Then get in. I’m late for a meeting. I can’t sit here indefinitely.”

“I’m not sure about this, Tansy.” Rose grabbed her sister’s arm as she sighed and headed for the car.

Tansy turned around with a sigh. “You’re not sure about what? The man stopped because I had my thumb out.” She narrowed her eyes as if to say get in or you’re on the menu. I’m starved. “Get in. He’ll take us to town.”

“Which town would that be?” Rose asked as she climbed into the car behind her sister, the whole time telling herself you’re just too damned stupid to live, Rose. Or maybe that was Tansy. The jury was still out on that one.

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Saturday, April 2, 2011

THE WILLOW by Stacey Kennedy

THE WILLOW - The Magical Sword Series - Book One by Stacey Kennedy

A past of secrets, a life broken by death - awakens to a world of promise and love, but lurking danger threatens to destroy it all.

In Carson City, Nevada a tragic car accident has claimed the lives of Nexi Jones' adoptive parents. Now, without them, her reason to live has vanished and she is determined to end her pain.

The problem with that, it's not heaven she wakes up to, it's the Otherworld. Nexi must reconcile the truth about her past, and her heritage as part guardian/part witch, while she begins to train to join the Council's guard. But it's not the combat training that has her worried, it's attempting to keep her cool around the luscious guardian, Kyden that's her biggest concern.

Before long, Nexi's skills are put to the test as she begins to fight against the supernatural who have taken a human life. But nothing can prepare her for the journey ahead. Soon, she will find herself lost in a mystery and fighting to keep all she's gained, as Lazarus, a vampire, threatens to take it all away.

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Prologue


A bird singing in the distance stirred me from my sleep. My eyes fluttered open to a perfect warm summer evening in Carson City, Nevada. The night was so clear, every star in the dark sky was visible. There was forest laid out around me with plush grass resting below. A light breeze wrapped around my body and goose bumps rose across my skin, but suddenly, that peace was interrupted by gripping pain.

Where am I?

When I glanced toward the source of the pain, confusion swept through me--my wrists were slit and bleeding out tremendously. My vision blurred, but I blinked hard, forcing it to remain when, a tickle came from overhead. My gaze slowly glanced up toward it and the moment the weeping willow came into focus, my memory came with it.

Yes, I was badly hurt, but this, I had done to myself. And why that was is really quite simple--I’ve always been a little different. An outsider, never quite fit in anywhere, never felt right in my own skin. But having my adoptive parents Gloria and Frank Jones kept me strong enough to deal with it--strong enough to fight against the sense of alienation. Plus, I’d become an expert at hiding this little secret and blatantly ignoring it. My life had been full of happiness for twenty-four years.

But all of that joy was ripped away by the Carson City Sheriff’s Department. At first, all I heard was, “accident on Interstate 50”. It took another half an hour to come to terms with the rest, “your parents have been killed”.

With those few simple words, my hopes and dreams were shattered. The only two people in the world I loved left me. Deserted me in a place I didn’t belong. Now, there was nothing here for me anymore. No reason to stay. Which is why I was here resting beneath my willow, bleeding out.

The leaves dangled down again, trailed along my body almost in a way to comfort me. Located deep in the Carson City wilderness area, this tree is my home away from home--my own little piece of paradise.

Truthfully, I came here hoping it would save me from my own thoughts. But the moment I arrived, it only seemed to reassure me that the choice I was making was the only one. The life I had now was no life at all.

As a tear fell down my cheek, the pain consuming me began to withdraw and a chill set deep into my bones. My eyes began to droop, and my limbs were numb and heavy.

Someone once told me, when you die you see your entire life flash before your eyes, containing all of your happiest moments. Apparently, they lied. Nothing but ice ran through my blood equaled by the sense of being dreadfully alone.

Just as the pain threatened to raise a scream from my throat, a twig cracked beside me. Startled, I glanced toward it, a man stood, watching intently. Annoyance immediately filled me. A savior is not what I wanted, but when my mouth parted, nothing came out. Dammit!

He started toward me, his walk smooth, but strong. Was I dead? Was this my guardian angel? He looked the part well enough. Heaven isn’t called Heaven for nothing, especially if it’s filled with men like this. He was handsome enough to put George Clooney to shame. Looked a lot like him too--same soft eyes, dark hair, even his shape--strong without being overwhelming. The best part was his clothing, or lack thereof, which only consisted of a sword strapped to his back and a kilt made of armor.

Unexpectedly, a rush of the ickies sneaked up. Apparently, it was wrong that I was ogling him. Guess God had a sense of humor, fill Heaven with gorgeous men, but strictly enforce a hands-off rule. Just my luck!

When he reached me, he leaned down, and put his hand on the top of my head. There was something to his touch--something so familiar. “I have found you, my darling, Nexi,” he said. “Sleep now. You are safe and it’s time for you to come home.”

A wave of peace washed over me and the last thing I saw before the world faded away to darkness was my willow swaying in the wind.



Chapter One



When I awoke next, nothing made sense. A Cathedral or something like it was surrounding me. From wall to wall, it was an endless display of Gothic architecture. Pointed arches, large rose stain-glassed windows, heavily detailed pillars, immaculate stone sculptures, and even a hammer-beam roof to boot.

The hard floor was doing nasty things to my back. Pushing against it, I sat up and came face-to-face with a wolf. “Whoa, weird dream.” I drew in a deep breath, and gave my eyes a hard rub. Then, I lowered my hands.

One second passed, then another, and another.

Then, my brain caught up with me. I wasn’t a dreaming. “What the...” I screamed, scrambling back.

Confusion hit hard.

The wolf wasn’t alone--there were four other people here too. One, in fact, was the man from the woods. “Do you know who I am?” he asked, softly.

This couldn’t be? Did it work? Am I dead?

But wait, I didn’t feel dead. “Where am I?” My stomach tightened as I prepared for the blow. My views always leaned toward the theory when you die, your dead--plain and simple. None of this afterlife nonsense, but now, I began to doubt that theory. And past sins began to swarm my mind, equaled by questions. Does honor the mother and father mean listen to them always? And really, how bad is it if you use the Lord’s name in vain? Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I’m going straight to hell.

Interrupting my thoughts, the only woman in the room said, “I am Zia, Master of Witches.”

“Master of the who, what?” I stumbled, mainly in shock, but also because this strawberry blonde, blue eyed, bombshell shouldn’t belong in Heaven--no angel should look this sexy.

Instead of answering, she took my hand in hers and grasped it firmly. Seconds later, a bright flash of light forced my eyes closed and when they opened, a room sat before me, but not the room I was just in, a different one. And that wasn’t the shocking part, it was the people in front of me that had me stunned silly.

“Hello,” I called out, but no one responded. “Can you hear me?” But again, I was completely ignored.

Apparently, this was a vision I could see but not interact with. Resigned, I kept quiet and just watched.

“Drake, have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” A woman sat on a wooden bed, cradling a baby in her arms. Her long dirty blonde hair reached the middle of her back, her face made up of strong lines, and her eyes, a soft blue that shined with utter joy.

“Yes, Tyrianna,” Drake answered, joining her on the bed. “She is stunning. A true treasure.”

“She is special.”

“A little Guardian, a little witch--a perfect beauty.”

Releasing a deep breath, I stared in total disbelief. It was undeniable, she’s my birth mother. The resemblance was uncanny. Our athletic features, high cheekbones, plump lips, even our dirty blonde hair matched right down to the length. And yes, that baby was me. My freckle sat directly under the corner of my left eye like it always had.

That wasn’t the only kicker, the man from the woods wasn’t just any man, he was my father. They’re my birth parents, and the implication of what I was being shown here was insanity at its best.

Without a chance to fully process, another bright flash blasted me into the next vision.

“By the Gods, I will gut Lazarus for this,” Drake roared, holding Tryianna in his arms.

“Drake,” Zia whispered. “Nexi needs you.”

He lowered Tryianna’s empty body, stood, and took the baby from her arms. “I promise you, Nexi, you will not suffer the fate that has been brought upon your mother.”

“What is it you wish me to do, Drake?” Zia asked.

“Call a meeting with the Council. We cannot delay. It is of grave importance.”

Another bright flash snapped me out of this vision and into the next. The cathedral I’d awoke to was now laid before me, surrounded by all the same people.

“We must send her away,” Drake said. “As much as I hate to lose her, it is the only way.”

“Are you sure this is what you want?” a man wearing the same kilt and sword get up asked. “If Nexi leaves the Otherworld you will never see her again.”

Drake nodded firmly. “She must be kept safe, Talon. Tryianna would ask this much of me. The Otherworld is not safe anymore.”

“We have all felt the potential within this youngling,” a strikingly tall handsome man said. “It would be a waste to send her away. She can only strengthen our home.”

“If she stays here she could die,” Drake deplored.

The room fell silent for a few moments, then Talon finally said, “If this is what you wish, we will not refuse you. I can only hope that you have made the right decision.”

“It may not be the right decision, but it is the only one,” Drake responded then he glanced to Zia. “I would ask that you provide her with protection? If this danger follows her, I need to be able to act if she is threatened.”

“What you ask of me, Drake, is a small task.” A tear fell down her rosy cheek. “I will do whatever I can to help you and Nexi.”

Another flash brought me back to the present, glancing into the face of the man I thought I’d never meet. Now faced with it, I could see the resemblance. We had the same eyes, not only in the almond shape, but in the color too. The same deep green with brown flecks surrounding the iris.

Closing my eyes tight, I gave my arm a pinch. I’m dreaming. This isn’t real. Daringly, I opened them again, but I was still here. Shit!

“You are not dreaming, Nexi.” Drake chuckled, as did the others.

My lips parted, but only air escaped. Closing it again, a second passed before for reality set in. My chin tingled then I busted into tears.

Drake lunged forward, snapping me up into his arms. “Hush now, I have you.”

Surprisingly, nothing about this was awkward. And it felt good--right. After longing for a familiar touch, this was soothing. He was family. I’m not alone.

Disputing any of this was impossible. Those visions showed me the truth of my past and the relief of knowing who and what I was overwhelmed me. To finally have a reason for it all came with such emotion, I could barely breathe.

Nevertheless, just because that part had been explained, didn’t mean the loss of Gloria and Frank was any less painful. Reconciling all this was hard. The pain was so intense before, intense enough that I couldn’t fight against it. I was expecting to be dead, not having to face it head on, plus deal with a whole slew of other craziness.

Drake’s voice broke through my moment of hysteria, “I have longed to hold you like this.”

Backing away from his chest, I met his gaze and said, “I wish I could say the same.” When his expression filled with confusion, I continued, “Growing up--I never once thought of whom my birth parents were and why they had given me up.”

“It should sadden me to hear that, but I am relieved you were treated you so well you did not need to think of such things.”

“They’re gone.”

“Gone?” he repeated.

“They were killed a week ago in a car accident.”

“Ah, I see.” He brushed his hand across my cheek wiping away a tear. “That is why you were in the forest then?”

I nodded, gulping deeply. “I--I.” Great, now I was going to have to explain myself. Just what I wanted to do--explain why I was so pathetic I needed to off myself.

“You do not need to explain yourself,” he interjected. “When I placed you in the Earthworld, I hoped you would be able to adjust, that you would not know any different if the truth was kept from you.” He sighed deeply. “Quite a shame to hear the Jones’ have passed.”

Huh? “You knew them?”

“When Tryianna was killed and the decision was made for you to stay in the Earthworld. I searched out families looking to adopt. We needed to find a family who was small--one with little ties, so you would not be greatly exposed.”

He wasn’t wrong here. Gloria and Frank had no siblings, and their parents had passed when they were in the forties. Any other family was over in England, and they were distant. We never talked to or about them--ever. Our family consisted of just the three of us.

“It kept you hidden well,” he continued. “When we discovered the Jones’, Zia and I both agreed they were the perfect choice. Were we right?”

“Yes, they were so wonderful to me.” They’d been perfect in every way. The word adopted just held no meaning in our home. Gloria said God sent them an angel, but I never saw it that way, I was the lucky one.

They’d never once complained that I didn’t move out. Lame right--a twenty-four year old woman still living with her parents? But without them I couldn’t have survived. They fueled the empty vessel that was my body and kept me whole.

Now, looking back, maybe they knew how much I needed them. Maybe they knew if I left I would’ve fallen apart. Maybe they knew what took place beneath my willow was inevitable.

“I came to you once,” Drake said, brushing the hair away from my face.

“You did?”

“When the threat of danger in the Otherworld was gone, I came to get you and bring you home.” He smiled softly. “You were so young then, only around ten, and I saw you planting flowers with Gloria in the back garden. I stayed that day for hours and watched you.”

“But you never came up to the house?”

“No, you are right, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“You looked so happy. The smile I saw on your face that day showed me that I made the right decision for you. You were safe, in a world without danger, and loved deeply.” He cupped my cheek and I leaned against it. “I could not separate you from her. No matter how much I wanted you to myself.”

Christ, he looked tormented. And the sight of it unsettled me. I held no anger toward him. How could I? The visions made it clear enough--he only wanted to keep me safe. Besides, I wouldn’t have changed a moment of my life spent with Gloria and Frank. And in order for me to move past all this, he couldn’t continue to carry that guilt and sadness in his eyes. It would be a constant reminder. “You know one thing about Gloria,” I sniffed loudly, collecting myself. “One thing she would be saying to us right now.”

”What would she say?” Drake asked, curiously.

“She’d say what the hell are you two doing here when you have a life to live? She’d be right ripping mad that we were mulling over things we couldn’t change, and that the only one worrying about the past is us. She lived a life filled with great memories, that time means nothing, and she had everything she ever wanted. She’d say that if we didn’t shape up and pull ourselves together, she’d pull out the wooden spoon.”

Now, it seemed comical. Why had I been so afraid of that damn spoon? She never laid a hand on me, but just the sound of the drawer opening had me shaking in my boots and apologizing quickly.

“Wise woman.” He laughed. “Best we listen to her then.”

Rubbing my hands along my face, I sent the rest of the sadness away to store in that part of myself that I’d never go back to. A place I knew all too well. One thing Gloria taught me was to take life as it came. Could I change this situation, no. So, why mull over it. Better just step up and find out what I landed myself into. “So, what happened to my mother exactly?”

“Tryianna was a powerful witch, and because of that, she was killed by a vampire, Lazarus who was raging war against the Otherworld.”

“And you sent me away because of that?”

He nodded. “It was safer for you not to be here, and not discover your powers. Tryianna would have wanted you to be safe.”

This came with a whole mess of emotions. I was glad for the time spent with Gloria and Frank, but to know my birth mother, a little longing did filter through. I stuffed it away. “So, he’s been caught, right?”

“No,” he responded through gritted teeth. “He has long been in hiding. As I told you earlier, the threat from him has been gone for many years, and we haven’t heard or seen him since that night.”

The pain running across his face was heartbreaking. More than just an ache over her death, it was not having a resolution for it all--a means to end his pain. Undeniably, the wound was still very raw. So, I said the only thing that came to mind, “I am sorry you lost her.”

“My darling,” his voice was soft and full of despair, “I am sorrier that you will not have the chance to know her.”

Questions about my mother swirled in my mind. How did they meet? What was she like? But seeing the utter torment running through him at the mention her, as if I’d ask more. So, a change in conversation was in order. “Let me get this straight, I’m a...” I couldn’t even think the words let alone say it.

“Witch and Guardian,” he said concisely.

“And you’re telling me I’m going to have magical abilities?” This was just all types of ridiculous.

“Indeed you will. We will not know the level of witch magic you hold until it comes in, and I am afraid I cannot tell you when that will be. However, your Guardian powers are not so difficult to discover.”

Before I could ask what the hell any of that meant, Zia said, “The Council welcomes you to the Otherworld, Nexi.”

Startled, I chuckled at the absurdity that I had totally forgotten we weren’t alone. Then, I repeated. “The Council?”

She nodded toward the others. “We are the governing body of the Otherworld.”

As if to prove that thought, the wolf began to vibrate. Then, he wasn’t a wolf anymore. He was a man.

My hand flew to my mouth. “Holy shit!” I said beneath it.

Zia adamantly ignored my shock and continued, “Brax, Master of Weres.”

I’d consider him a softy with his sweet soft features and long dark hair. That is, if the two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle on his body didn’t put him into the category of scary as hell.

“Talon, Master of Guardians,” she said next.

He stepped forward and bowed his head. When his gaze rose to mine, it’s a surprise I wasn’t blushing. His short brown hair, bright green eyes, and hard jaw only added to the rest of his handsome features. He wore gear similar to Drake’s--just a little more extravagant, which sat deliciously against one rock hard bod. Pretty obvious, Guardians were warriors of some sort, but warriors against what was the question?

“Zade, Master of Vampires,” she finished.

He was the tall guy from the vision, and he indeed towered over me, but that was the least of my concerns. His black sinful eyes couldn’t pull a fast one on me. He was a vampire.

I began to tremble. My breath coming out in short gasps as fear instantly consumed me.

“You have nothing to fear from me, child,” Zade said, reassuringly.

Yeah right, trust a vampire--sounds like a brilliant idea. One had killed my mother, for flippin’ sakes.

“Not to worry, Sweetie.” Zia interjected as she took my hand. “Here this will help.”

The moment her hand closed around mine, a surge similar to an electric current tore through me. “Bah,” I gasped, snapping my hand away. “What the hell was that?”

“I used my magic to release the block I had put on you to hide your Guardian power. You will feel more settled now.”

“Right, used your magic.” I rolled my eyes. “What is the Leaky Cauldron around here somewhere?” When scared shitless make jokes--Frank’s number one rule.

“Wish it was.” Zia laughed. “Those Harry Potter movies are fabulous.”

But as my mind cleared of thought, it was apparent that something had changed within me. I took a few deeps breaths trying to understand it. Then, the realization hit. My reason for living, my purpose had suddenly been answered. For the first time in my life, I felt at home.

And that wasn’t all it fixed. Zade wasn’t so scary. In fact, why had he been so scary? After a moment of contemplation, I came up blank. “This is--wow--I.” Yup, that was me stumbling all over the place.

“This has been a long day for you,” Zia said. “I think it’s best for you to get some rest. Everything will be easier to process after that.”

Yeah right!

“Zia is right, come Nexi,” Drake said, raising his hand toward the door.

The moment we exited, I gasped a deep surprised breath at the room before me. Essentially a long rectangular room made up of pure white stone walls that seeped into a ribbed vault. On the left sat a large wooden door with wrought iron handles. To the right were four tremendously large windows with intricate stone carvings decorating the sides.

“This is the Council’s Foyer,” Zia said. “Quite remarkable isn’t it?”

“Very.” Hand me a goblet of ale, call me wench, and I’d fit right in. “What’s that room called?” I asked, nodding behind me.

“The Council’s Hall.”

“Wow.” I laughed. “Someone busted a vein coming up with those names.”

She grinned. “It is what it is.”

We passed through an arched doorway and the word Guardian was etched into the stone wall. Before I could voice my question, Zia said, “The Otherworld is home to many of us. We each have a part of the castle that is ours. This is the Guardian’s House. Since you will be training among the Guardians, it is only right for you to stay with them.”

“Training to do what?”

“Baby steps.” She smiled softly, patting my shoulder. “Let’s get you settled first.”

As we went through another doorway, a giggle escaped me. What was this a medieval hotel? The hall was lined with thick wooden doors on the left and pointed arched windows on the right. Each door we passed had a name written in pretty gold calligraphy on it. Keir, Drake, Nexi.

Wait, rewind!

I skidded to a halt. “Why is my name on this door?”

“Because this is now your home.” Zia answered, opening the door.

Don’t know what I expected, but it definitely wasn’t this. Matching beige sofas were huddled around a stone fireplace that reached from the top of the ceiling to the bottom of the floor and in between them was a thick dark oak table with a vase full of yellow tulips on top.

The kitchen was just off to the side--a rustic oak island matched the large cabinets with brass decorative handles, and a thick pine country table rested in the corner.

On the other side of the living room sat the bedroom, which fit the country charm perfectly. Centered against the back wall was a huge white iron king size bed with a frilly white duvet on top. Two aged wooden tables sat on either side of the bed, which held pretty, decorative lamps, and to the left was a walk in closet that happened to be stocked full of clothes. Beside it, was the bathroom.

“Is this to your taste?” Drake asked. “Your mother liked this look. I thought...”

“It’s perfect.” And it was--the country motif was just my thing.

His body softened from the tense one it had been in and a grin rose to his face. “I’m sure you need a moment. Join us when you are ready.”

After they left, I made my way to the bathroom. When I entered, I grinned myself. A huge--perfect for two bodies huge--claw foot bathtub sat against the wall with a toilet and pedestal sink off to the side. An antique bookcase rested beneath an oval mirror, filled with washcloths, thick white towels, and bath products.

This room, I was sure to enjoy. Baths and me got along real well.

Meeting the sink, a complete and total meltdown threatened to rise. I was sure as shit entitled as far as I was concerned. The question weighed heavily for a moment, but I eventually gave up. It wouldn’t get me anywhere. I’d still be here and have to deal with this. So, I quickly washed up and went back out to join them.

As I drew closer, Zia was preparing some toasted sandwiches with a spinach salad. I was beyond delighted. Who knew what they ate here? Very relieved, it wasn’t something with a heartbeat.

“I hope you are hungry,” Zia asked as I sat.

“Starving,” I responded, grabbing the sandwich and took a bite. After I swallowed I asked, “Out of curiosity, what happened after I disappeared from Carson City? I mean, did anyone notice?”

“The police were contacted by a neighbor who hadn’t seen you in awhile,” Drake responded.

Probably Mrs. Taylor, the wife of my former employer, Dr. Taylor. Days answering phones and filing documents was a cushy job. I could never complain. And the Taylors’ are wonderful souls. At the funeral, they told me to take off as much time as I needed, and my job would be waiting for me when I was ready to return. But they also fed me and let me shower at their house. Going back to the home I shared with Gloria and Frank wasn’t an option, and it was a need they understood. Completely kind and sweet people they are, and nothing felt good about having them worried sick right now.

“The search for you continues,” Drake continued. “But it will likely end soon, and they will declare you a missing person.”

After trying to imagine my face on the back of a milk carton, awkwardness began to sink in as silence filled the air. I hadn’t expected to meet my birth father, and wasn’t prepared for it. I had no idea what to say.

Bless Zia for stepping in. “Tell us a little about yourself, Nexi.”

And that was the beginning of an hour conversation as we learned every little detail of each other’s lives. Amazing to see how much I was like him--his voice, gestures, even in his smile.

When the conversation had run its course, Drake stood. “It is time for us to be off, you need your rest.”

I held back a laugh. As if that was going to happen--sleep was pretty much written off until I got a better grasp of this insane situation. Of course, as I followed them to the door, I didn’t voice the thought.

Just as Zia stepped out, she took my hand and smiled. “Sleep well.”

Suddenly, a wave of relaxation washed over me, my eyes drooped heavy with sleep, my body felt a thousand pounds and as the door closed, Zia’s laugh came loud.

Quickly, I made my way to the bedroom, threw on pajamas and climbed into bed. I was dead to the world before I even hit the pillow.


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Monday, March 28, 2011

PSYCHE'S PROPHECY by Ann Gimpel

PSYCHE'S PROPHECY Transformation Series Book One by Ann Gimpel

What if your psychotherapist could really see into your soul? Picture all those secrets lying hidden, perhaps squirming a bit, just out of view. Would you invite your analyst to take a peek behind that gossamer curtain? Read your aura? Scry your future?

Classically trained at the Jung Institute in Zurich, Doctor Lara McInnis has a special gift that helps her with her patients. Born with "the sight" she can read auras, while flirting with a somewhat elusive ability to foretell the future. Lara becomes alarmed when several of her patients - and a student or two - tell her about the same cataclysmic dream.

When she reaches out to the Institute for answers, Lara's paranormal ability sounds a sharp warning and she runs up hard against a dead end. Her search for assistance leads her to a Sidhe, and ancient Celtic rituals blaze their way into her life. Complicating the picture are: a deranged patient who's been hell-bent on destroying Lara ever since she tried to help his abused wife; a boyfriend with a long-buried secret and a society that's crumbling to dust, as shortages of everything from electricity to food escalate.

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Chapter One

Lara McInnis fidgeted in the ginger-colored overstuffed chair taking up most of one corner of her cozy psychotherapy office. Schooling her face to neutrality, she tried to gin up some energy to support her quarreling clients. Bethany Beauchamp wasn’t saying all that much, though; and her husband was cataloging her faults, clicking them off one by one on his fat fingers. Wonder why they really wanted to come here? Lara asked herself, searching for an opportunity to intervene. Aha, there it was.

“Mister Beauchamp,” she murmured, voice pitched purposefully low so he’d have to stop talking in order to hear her.

“Yes, what?” He sounded irritated, voice scratchy from too many cigarettes. “You interrupted me.”

“Yes, I know. But I was interested in what you were saying and I didn’t quite catch that last part before I, um, interrupted. Might you be so kind as to repeat it for me?” Oh-oh. Watch the sarcasm.

Ken Beauchamp straightened self-importantly in his chair, carefully slicking back a couple of mouse-brown hairs that had fallen out of place in his too-careful comb over. Uncrossing short, chubby legs encased in expensive suiting, he turned so he could look right at her with close-set blue eyes. Broken blood vessels along the sides of his nose suggested a far-too-intimate relationship with alcoholic beverages.

“We pay you quite well. The least you could do is be attentive,” he complained, an unpleasant whiny note in his voice.

She nodded, offering a silent invitation to speak to her rather than to his wife who looked exhausted. Bethany’s eight-month pregnancy dragged at her tall, slender frame and dark smudges under her hazel eyes detracted from her showgirl beauty. Light auburn hair fell in limp curls to her shoulders. Though only in her early thirties, today she looked ten years older.

After an imperceptible pause Ken took the bait and, rather than repeating his last statement as requested, he started in on Lara. “Well, Doctor, you’ve been late for our appointments twice out of the ten we’ve scheduled. None of the things you’ve suggested work and our marriage isn’t any better than it was the day we walked in here.” He sat back in his chair, a smug smile on his florid face.

“Which things have you tried?” It was difficult to keep her features pleasant. She was coming to detest Ken Beauchamp and suspected his wife felt much the same. Stealing a glance at her other patient, Lara noticed Bethany seemed to be trying not to cry. Reaching over, Lara handed her the box of Kleenex she always kept next to her chair. “Mister Beauchamp?” she urged. “What things have you tried? I need to know so I can work with you to figure out what might be more effective.” Or, so I can find an excuse to refer you to another therapist.

Ken’s face reddened even more. “I’m sure we’ve tried some of them,” he said defensively. Shifting his bulky body around in his chair, he shot his uncomfortable wife an intimidating look. “Beth, the good doctor here is asking what we’ve tried.”

Withering under her husband’s knife-like stare, Bethany burst into tears, choking on the word, “N-nothing,” as she buried her face in her hands. Outside of her soft sobbing, the corner office, morning sun streaming through leaded-glass window panes, was absolutely silent.

Lara leaned forward, her dark luminous eyes moving from Ken to Bethany. “It’s like I told both of you when you first came here, I can’t fix your marriage. Only you can do that. But, for there to be any improvement, you have to be willing to listen to one another. We’re nearly at the end of today’s hour, but frankly there’s not much reason for you to spend your money coming here week after week just so I can listen to you argue and try to referee. Go home and have an honest discussion this morning while everything’s still fresh. Figure out if you really want to continue seeing me. If the answer is ‘yes’, call me and come on back next week. If the answer is ‘no’, well . . .” She let her last words hang in the air, realizing she was hoping to never have to see Mister Beauchamp again.

“Uh, here.” Ken rustled around in an inner jacket pocket coming up with a well-creased piece of paper. “Sign this.”

Taking the paper from him, she flipped it open. Damn the man. He’d been court-ordered to attend marriage counseling and he hadn’t told her. In fact, neither of them had. Fuming, she hastily checked the box verifying attendance at ten sessions, signed the document and handed it back to him. “You should have told me, Mister Beauchamp. We might have done things a bit differently.” We sure would have, since I never accept court-referred clients. He just looked at her as he snatched up the paper, a feral smile adding a malevolent note to his already-unattractive face.

“Thank you, Doctor McInnis.” Bethany’s voice was still clotted with tears as she planted her feet beneath her ample belly, then struggled to her feet. Standing, Lara held out her hand and Bethany latched onto it like a lifeline. The two women looked down at Ken who hadn’t made the slightest effort to leave his chair. He was chewing on his lower lip, his face the color of a boiled lobster.

Acting on impulse, Lara let go of Bethany’s hand and gestured to her. “I’ll just walk your wife down to the ladies’ room, Mister Beauchamp, so she can put some cold water on her face. She’ll meet you at the car.”

Pulling the office door open, she exchanged a meaningful glance with her receptionist. “Arabel, could you please see Mister Beauchamp out?”

Without waiting for a reply, she took Bethany’s elbow, pushing her out into the hallway. As soon as they were safely out of the office, Lara turned to Bethany. “He hurts you, doesn’t he?” Her voice was the barest of whispers as she remembered the little she’d been able to drag out of Ken about his obscenely violent childhood.

A single tear leaked from one of Bethany’s eyes as she mumbled, “I, uh, can’t, um, shouldn’t . . .” They had reached the bathroom and were both inside the tiny enclosure. Lara waited, regarding her patient intently with well-honed inner senses. But Bethany maintained an edgy silence, the ragged, darkened edges of her aura radiating a gloomy melancholy. Probing with her psychic side, Lara suddenly knew much of what the woman was unwilling to divulge. And then—as was often the case when she used her gift—she wished she’d left well enough alone.

Reaching into a pocket of her plaid wool skirt, Lara pulled out a pen and one of her cards, scribbling a number on the back. “If things get bad, make an excuse, any excuse. Tell him you’re going out for a walk. Bring your cell phone and call this number. They help women like you.”

Bethany’s hand snaked out and she took the card; then a frantic look washed over her. “But what if he finds the number?” she whimpered.

“It doesn’t matter. They won’t talk to him.” Lara laid a hand on Bethany’s arm. “You probably need to get down to your car. Maybe you could come in and talk to me by yourself.”

“He’d never let me.” Dull voice matching her dead eyes, Bethany let herself out into the corridor and began walking, with the awkward gait of the very-pregnant, towards the stairs.

Back in her office, Lara stopped at Arabel’s desk. “Who else do I have today?”

Hooking her thumb out the door, Arabel asked, “What’s up with them? The mister, he seemed pretty put out. For a minute there I didn’t think I was gonna git him out of the office.”

“You know I can’t discuss patients with you, dear. Or, at least we have to pretend we don’t talk about them.” Lara smiled fondly at the elderly Black woman who had been her sole office help for over twenty years. Arabel was dressed in her usual white blouse, navy gabardine skirt and black flats. An ancient maroon sweater hung over the back of her secretarial chair. Hair in a modified mostly-gray afro, she had a piquant sense of humor and a quick temper that was sparking from her nearly-black eyes.

“Hmmmmph . . .” Arabel bristled, mouth twisted into a frown. “You know I got nobody I’d be tellin’ anything to. Never have.”

“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to your feelings.” Lara held out a conciliatory hand. “Truce?”

Arabel cocked her head to one side, the corners of her mouth twitching as she reached up to shake hands. “Truce. Never could stay mad at you. Not for long, anyways.” Turning back to the computer, she brought up the day’s schedule on the monitor. “David Roth cancelled, so you’re free till one thirty. Then you got folk packed in here till close to eight.”

Lara walked around the desk so she could look at the screen. Groaning audibly, she glanced at her watch. “Okay, I’m going to swing by the gym and then grab some lunch. Call me if anything comes up.”

“You got it.” Arabel’s voice followed Lara into her office where she grabbed her purse and her BlackBerry, locked her client file drawers and let herself out the back door.

Lara’s office was in an old, pale blue Victorian on Seattle’s Capitol Hill. She’d bought the building for a song about ten years before because someone had thought there were problems with the foundation. There had been some structural deficiencies, but they’d proven relatively trivial to fix. Split into four offices, her building was home to an architect and a CPA on the first floor, and herself and a psychiatrist on the second. Walking through a carpet of leaves that had fallen off the Madrona trees thickly lining East Avenue, Lara hit the clicker and heard the answering chirp from her nearby BMW.

As she drove, Lara thought about the Beauchamps. She’d spent an unusually long time—at least the first five sessions—gathering a history from them. One problem had been Ken’s reticence to disclose much of anything. Persistence and caginess had paid off, though, and he’d told her far more than he’d meant to about the French-Irish gang-affiliated father who’d turned him out as a child prostitute at the age of eight. His mother had abandoned the family when he was so young he had no memories of her at all, just oodles of anger Lara suspected he generalized to all women . . . including her. By contrast, Bethany’s meager life story had tumbled out with very little prodding. Not that hers read much better than her husband’s.

Fears for Bethany nagged at her. “What if they want to come back?” she asked herself softly. “Should I see them?” Pulling into the parking lot for her fitness center, Lara knew she’d turn that question over in her mind as she moved through her workout. Once she lost her objectivity—and any empathy she’d tried to develop for Ken had long since evaporated—it became progressively more difficult to work with clients. She’d learned some hard lessons over the years, including that it was usually better to cut the cord sooner rather than later.

“Hi Tony!” Dropping her membership card onto the glass countertop, she snagged the proffered key and towel from the tall well-sculpted front desk attendant and headed down the lushly carpeted stairs.

“Have a good workout, Doc! Power’s on today so all the machines are available,” Tony’s throaty voice trailed after her.

Pulling her longish coppery hair into a snug ponytail, she was just pocketing her locker key when she heard her phone trilling its Bach Etude. Wrinkling her forehead in irritation, she stuffed the key back into its hole, retrieved the phone and barked, “Doctor McInnis,” without bothering to look at the screen.

“Hey there, Lara. It’s me.” The clipped British accent of Trevor, her long time, live-in lover, came through the tinny cellular system. “Sorry to bother you, love, but the power’s off again . . . at least on Queen Anne Hill.” He paused. “Thought you’d want to know.”

She found she was gripping the plastic of her BlackBerry. “Again? But that’s the third time since, let’s see, last Wednesday. How long did they say this time? Or did they? Or did you even call? What about the food in the freezer?” She stopped abruptly, realizing her voice had become unnecessarily shrill. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“I know, I know. That’s why I called you.” There was a hesitation. “Guess I’m worried too, and I just wanted someone to talk to.”

She closed her eyes, summoning an image of him with his Nordic features and summer-blue eyes. He was a flight attendant for KLM airlines, which meant he only worked about fifteen days each month. She’d met him ages ago on a return flight from Europe where she’d been completing the last leg of her analytic training at the Jung Institute in Zurich. Exhausted from a grueling six weeks of seeing patients, she’d been half-asleep in her narrow airline seat and he’d solicitously brought her tea and cookies. Lara wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, but he’d come home with her that night and they’d been together ever since. Those first few years had been more than a bit rocky. In fact, she’d run screaming from their home a time or two, so she wouldn’t kill him on the spot. But something indefinable—in fact she still didn’t truly understand what it was—had always drawn her back.

Sinking into one of the wicker chairs in a corner of the locker room, she felt a less-than-vague sense of unease tugging at her. “What do you think it means? Have you any idea?” There was a very long silence, so long she finally said, “Trev, you still there?”

“Yes, Lara, I am.” His accent was more pronounced, so she knew he was debating whether or not to give voice to his thoughts. Finally, he blurted, “I think we’re really running out of oil this time. Not like all those other times when the government stock-piled it and then released it after the price sky-rocketed. You wouldn’t know about this, since you’re such a news-phobe and I gas up the cars, but it was really hard to find petrol last month. Damned near impossible, actually.

“If what I suspect is true, everything that takes oil to run will eventually go tits-up.” He paused to draw what sounded like a frazzled breath before adding, “We might have been all right here in the northwest with all our hydroelectric power, except the rest of the country’s been draining power off our grid to compensate for their shortages. That’s been in all the papers since our state lawmakers have been kicking up a fuss in D.C. Anyway,” his voice was brusque, “I’m cooking up what I can from the freezer. We can talk more about this when you come home. If you get any breaks today, think about how you’d feel if we had to leave the city. Whoops, my cell’s ringing. See you tonight.”

Slipping her phone back into her locker, Lara walked towards the aerobics room and jumped on one of the elliptical trainers. She wanted to come to some decision about Bethany and her husband, but the conversation with Trevor kept intruding. Damn it, she thought irritably. He hung up before I could even react to that whole doomsday scenario he laid out. Hmmmmph! Probably didn’t want to give me a chance to talk him out of it. Meantime, I’m supposed to think about leaving the city? Where the hell would we go?

Mopping at sweat that was trickling down her face, Lara glanced at her reflection in the mirrors covering almost every wall. Staring back at her was a tall, too-thin redhead with freckles covering every inch of exposed skin. Her angular face, with its prominent nose and chin, glistened in the reflected light. Moving to the treadmill, she set it for six-and-a-half miles an hour and ran hard for ten minutes. Gasping, she slowly backed off on the speed, while increasing the angle. Ten minutes after that, she sucked down what felt like a quart of water from the drinking fountain and stopped by the squat rack to do three sets. Finishing with twenty pull-ups, she headed for the locker room and the showers.

Briskly toweling off, she felt animated and dynamic, the problems with power outages and the Ken Beauchamps of the world temporarily pushed to a back burner. Nothing like a few endorphins, she told herself, inhaling deeply. Making plans to get a smoothie-to-go with extra protein powder from the small on-site restaurant, she contemplated the afternoon’s lineup of patients.

Out of the six scheduled, there was one analytic client, two angry teenagers: a cutter and a bulimic, another couple and two lonely, middle-aged women, one depressed, the other anxious. Too bad it’s unethical to introduce patients to one another . . . outside of a therapy group that is. Lara chuckled softly to herself. She loved doing analytic work, but there weren’t many who really wanted to delve that deeply into themselves. Not to mention the cost. For analysis to be truly effective, patients needed to come three, or even four, times a week. “Magic theater, not for everyone,” she mumbled as she picked up her smoothie, a tofu bar and some green tea before heading for her car. The sun, an elusive phenomenon in Seattle, was nowhere in sight and it was raining lightly. While not cold, the day held some of the crispness typical of mid-October. Her phone chimed again but she ignored it, figuring she’d be back at her office in less than five minutes.

* * *

“Can you tell me what goes on inside you before you start cutting?” Lara took in the overweight seventeen-year-old, sitting catty-corner from her, arms and legs covered with a network of fine white scars from years of self-mutilation. Caren would have been attractive, with her silky black hair and porcelain skin, were it not for the miasma of absolute misery emanating outwards from her like a spider’s web set to trap the unwary. The girl had been coming to therapy for a month, but had been steadfastly unwilling to divulge anything.

“I suppose I could tell you, but I don’t really want to,” the teenager spat. “You don’t care about me. You see me because my stepmother pays you. This is nothing but a fucking waste of time.” Folding her arms across her chest, she stared defiantly at Lara.

Lara watched her patient intently. Caren squirmed in her chair, eyes glued to the floor. “Caren, would you look at me, please?”

“Why?” The girl sounded sullen.

“Because I want you to see I’m telling you the truth when I say I do care about you. You’ve had a perfectly rotten life and you have every right not to trust anybody.”

Caren risked a sidelong glance at her. “How do you know anything about my life? I haven’t told you very much.”

Lara was silent for several seconds. Even without her ability to read auras, she’d have been able to figure out a likely script for Caren’s early life: molested, physically abused and emotionally neglected. “What we really need to talk about is a plan so you have something to do besides carving on yourself when you feel bad. Once we can come up with that, we can talk about anything you’d like.”

“Can I take a bathroom break?”

Lara nodded. “Second door on the left outside of my office.” Watching the teenager leave, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. What if she has razors with her and cuts herself in my bathroom? How do I explain that to her parents? Making a conscientious effort to breathe, Lara glanced at her watch deciding to give Caren five minutes before going after her. Trying to summon her elusive ability to predict future events, she came up dry while wishing fervently there was a shaman somewhere who could teach her about her psychic abilities. “Yes, but first you have to be willing to tell people you can do those things,” she muttered. “You’ve always been afraid they’d cart you off to the loony bin.”

With just ten seconds to spare, Caren sidled back through the door. She had a mulish look on her face and Lara knew her young patient would bolt if given the slightest excuse.

“Thanks for coming back,” Lara offered, attempting to soothe the alienated girl.

“Thanks for trusting me to leave.” Caren resettled herself in one of the comfortable chairs across from Lara. The barest of smiles ghosted across her face and she took a deep breath. “This is really hard to talk about . . .”

“Yes, I know. But nothing you say leaves here.”

“That’s almost not the point,” the teenager mumbled, twisting in her chair. “Talking makes it hurt more.”

Lara nodded and, as she looked at Caren, scenes flashed quickly, one after the other: a woman holding a small screaming girl down then doing unspeakable things, brutal beatings, cigarettes pressed into tender flesh. Lara closed her eyes, sucking down a surreptitious ragged breath. “Yes, it does hurt to talk about it,” she agreed. “But that’s the only way out. If you keep everything bottled up inside, you’ll just keep cutting . . . The first part is always hardest. After that it won’t be quite so bad.”

“How can you know that?” Caren risked a sideways glance at her.

“’Cause I’ve done this for a long time.” Lara paused. “And I’ve got no reason to lie to you.”

Caren raised crystalline-blue eyes and Lara saw a scared little girl, living behind teenaged bravado, desperately wanting to trust someone . . . anyone, but frightened half out of her mind at taking that first small step. After a very long time, Caren began hesitantly, in a voice so low Lara had to strain to hear her. “It feels like I have to cut or something terrible will happen. I try to fight it, but I always lose . . .”

“What do the voices that live in your head tell you?”

“How do you know about them?” Caren sounded rattled. Fear flitted across her face; and she folded her arms protectively across her chest. “I didn’t tell you . . .”

“Because everybody who cuts has voices that tell them things, before they tell them to cut. It’s okay to talk to me about them. The voices don’t mean you’re crazy.”

Caren’s eyes closed. Her head dropped back against the chair. As Lara watched, one tear escaped, rolling down the girl’s pale face. Time passed. Lara knew it was impossible to force anyone to reveal their secrets. Clients had to come to an inner juncture where they believed the pain of disclosure would be worth the risk. Fleetingly, she thought about how lonely and isolated the teenager must be. Just like I was . . .

“Doctor McInnis?” Caren’s voice was thready, almost not there at all.

“Yes, dear.”

“You said everybody who cuts has voices telling them things. Have you helped other people like me?”

Lara nodded, then realized Caren couldn’t see her because her eyes were still closed. “Yes,” she said simply. “I have.”

“Did they stop cutting?”

“Some of them did.”

The girl seemed to consider this. She opened her eyes, shiny with unshed tears, and looked pleadingly at Lara. “You must be telling me the truth,” she said in a choked voice.

“How can you tell?” Lara smiled gently and, she hoped, encouragingly.

“Otherwise you would have told me all your other stupid, fucked-up cutter patients got well.”

“You’re not stupid, or fucked-up.”

“Yes, I am. And fat and ugly too.” Caren was struggling not to cry.

“That’s what the voices tell you, isn’t it?”

Caren nodded miserably, giving in to a flood of emotion.

“It’s all right,” Lara murmured. “Cry. This is a good place for your tears. Here’s more Kleenex. I think you’re courageous. Maybe we can re-program those voices to say good things.”

Caren shook her head vehemently. “Nothing good . . . never.” The words choked out between sobs.

“I want you to take a few deep breaths,” Lara urged, waiting for the girl’s emotional storm to subside. “Now I want you to listen, just listen. None of what happened to you was your fault. And it doesn’t matter how I know.” Lara held up a hand to still Caren’s protests. “You were a child. None of those things happened because you were fat or ugly or stupid. They happened because your caregivers were sadly damaged . . .”

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