Blurb:
When Graham Logan draws the Queen of Swords, he knows he’s about to meet the love of his life. For the third time. But surrendering his heart will mean risking her life…or making her what he is--two things his beliefs won’t allow him to do. Graham rages at God: Why give her back only to take her again?
Cat Fingal, the third coming of Graham’s beloved, won’t let him slip away so easily. A white witch, she casts a spell to summon him—for answers, among other things.
Graham has other problems, too. Like the seductress who wants him for herself and the dark wizard who cursed him and killed Cat the first two times.
Will she find a way to save him this time around?
Excerpt:
Graham had just
come upon the misplaced diaries—in the cupboard under the stairs—when he caught
a whiff of something burning. Concerned, he stepped back into the foyer. A
quick look around revealed nothing unusual. He sniffed the air, again detecting
smoke, though none of the toxic undertones of a house fire. Neither did it
smell of a choked chimney. It was, in fact, pleasantly herbal—like the
juniper-laced bonfires of Beltane he
knew in his youth. Was Branwen burning incense...or Benedict trying out a new
pipe tobacco?
Shrugging
it off, he grabbed the box of diaries and headed for the stairs. As he climbed,
so did the smoke. A picture of Caitriona came into his mind. Or was it
Catharine...or the new one? He couldn’t be sure as she was naked and her hair
hung loose. As she reached for him, he saw something odd: a blue fire the size
of a pilot light in the center of each palm.
Like moth to flame, you yearn for light.
Come from shadow into my sight.
The words whispered. Caitriona disappeared. Desire blossomed.
What was going on? At the top of the stairs, he
was sweating and dizzy. Every nerve ending, every vein, burned like fire.
He raced down the hall toward his bedchamber, dropping the box as he shot
through the doorway. Bending to collect his spilled diaries, he startled at
what he saw:
He had no hands. And no feet.
The
smoke and ethers enveloped, pulling him apart cell by cell until he felt like
the sands of time moving through an hourglass. The cosmos was silent except for
a haunting echo—like the sound inside a seashell. He felt at once connected to
everything and nothing. Adrift and yet highly attuned. He was blind yet all
seeing; numb yet hypersensitive; defenseless yet omnipotent. Others were there,
too—phantasmal energies blowing past and passing through like sleet.
The
next thing he knew, he was on his back, winded and disoriented. The room was
dark save for the flicker of a solitary candle. He could make out only two pale
shapes. The larger one, he presumed, was a bed, the smaller one, by the window,
his summoner. His nostrils flared, seeking her scent, but found only the spices
of the smoke.
“I told ye to stay away from me,” he growled. “Why did ye not
listen?”
*****
“Just so ye know, vampires don’t kill—except
by accident, of course, or to commit deliberate murder.”
The sound of his
deep, musical burr quickened Cat’s pulse. It could only be the good-looking Scot who’d been checking her out from the stacks
for the past twenty minutes.
“Excuse me?” She raised
her eyes from Anne Rice’s Interview with
the Vampire, but did not turn around. There was no need. She’d already
memorized every detail of his appearance while he skirted her gaze. Each time
she looked his way, hoping to catch his eye, he was conveniently reading the
book in his hand. Each time she returned to her work, the prickling hairs on
the back of her neck gave away his game.
He seemed uncannily
familiar too, though she couldn’t place him. The proud stance, powerful build,
and thick copper hair all struck a chord—a sweet arpeggio that resonated
somewhere deep inside.
“The average adult
has five liters of blood,” he began to explain, “and the average stomach can
hold fewer than two.” He paused to shift gears. “She’s also wrong about the
coffins. And the impotence—though the book remains one of my favorites of the
genre.”
“Mine too.” She set
the gold-clad novel on the table beside her laptop. “Do you go here? You seem
familiar.”
“Nay. I went to
Saint Andrew’s ages ago.”
She still didn’t
turn. “Oh? Then what brings you here?”
“I just moved to the
village,” he said, “and heard the university had an impressive collection of
vampire literature. So, I thought I’d see for myself—to kill a wee bit of time.
But it seems ye’ve beaten me to it.”
“For my dissertation,”
she offered quickly, pinging with guilt. She did not add that renewal of her
faculty contract hinged on her finishing her Ph.D. before the term ended in
three more weeks. Or that she was hopelessly behind. If she told him how
under-the-gun she felt, he might leave. And she wanted to keep talking to him.
He was undeniably
handsome. Bodice-ripper, book-cover handsome. Straight nose with a slight flare
at the end; strong jaw and jutting chin; prominent brow and cheekbones;
intense, deep-set eyes that turned down at the corners ever so slightly; and a
sweet, kissable mouth whose tucked lower lip made it both boyish and sensual.
Apart from the biker
jacket and boots, he might have stepped out of one of the Highlander romances
she read every chance she got—a longstanding guilty pleasure. For some
inexplicable reason, she’d been attracted to all things Scottish for as long as
she could remember.
He reached past her,
selected Dracula off her stack of
reference material, and began looking through it. She could hear the pages
turning behind her, but couldn’t bring herself to turn round. If she met his
eyes, she would melt like butter.
“He was lucky to
have no reflection to fuck with his head.”
His voice brought
her back, but only partly. “Who?”
“Count Dracula.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment
scorched her cheeks. “It was meant to symbolize that he had no soul.”
“I ken that. But is
it true, do ye think?”
Cat knew from her
Highlander romances the word “ken” meant “know” in Scots, but was otherwise
confused by his question. Why did she find his closeness so discomposing? Men,
even good-looking ones, rarely had this effect on her.
“Is what true?”
“That vampires have
no souls,” he clarified. “That they’re eternally damned.”
“I don’t believe
in—”
When she didn’t go
on, he prodded. “Ye don’t believe in what?”
She was going to say
“eternal damnation,” but remembered it was never a good idea to discuss
religion—especially her religion—with
any but like-minded practitioners of the craft. And even then, it could lead to
heated disagreement.
Turning at last, she
met his eyes, an astonishing shade of gold—like topazes or whisky backlit by
the sun. They also were so gnawingly familiar she wanted to scream.
She tried to speak, to wrench her eyes away, but
couldn’t seem to. Images of heather and bracken, of misty hills and crystal
lochs, washed over her like a dream. What in the name of the goddess was
happening to her?
Unable to bear his
riveting gaze any longer, she turned back to the table, winded and shaken. She
took a couple of breaths to slow her pulse and regain control. As he reached
past her to return Dracula to its
place, her eyes followed his hand—a sculptural marvel with long fingers
tapering from furrowed knuckles to lustrous nails. She shivered as she imagined
those fingers traveling over her flesh. He smelled good, too. Natural and
earthy. Like a walk in the woods on a crisp autumn morning.
“How do I know you?”
She had to force the words through her throat. “Have we met before?”
“Oh, aye.” His
breath brushed her ear. “A couple of times.”
Author
biography: Nina Mason
Nina
Mason is a hopeless romantic with strong affinities for history, mythology, and
the metaphysical. She strives to write the same kind of books she loves to
read: those that entertain, edify, educate, and enlighten. Three of her books
will be published in 2014: The Queen of Swords, a paranormal romance/urban
fantasy from Vamptasy Publishing; The Knight of Wands, book one in the Knights
of Avalon Series from Soul Mate Publishing; and The Tin Man, a thriller from
Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly Publishing. When not writing, Nina works as
a communications consultant, doll maker, and home stager. Born and raised in
Southern California, Nina now lives in Woodstock, Georgia, with her husband,
teenage daughter, two rescue cats, and a Westie who’s frightened of the dryer.
Author Stalk Links:
Works In Progress:
The Queen of Swords (coming March 22, 2014 from Vamptasy)
The Knight of Wands (coming Spring 2014 from Soul Mate)The Tin Man (coming August 30, 2014 from CHBB)
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