Flash Friday: “Dark Alliance”

“Dark Alliance” — Excerpted from Project Prometheus: BLOOD DEBT

copyright 2002 by Esther Mitchell

            “This is unacceptable.”  Red Widow seethed with fury as she paced angrily around the small lab.  She hated this goddamned jungle, the heat and humidity.  She hated these people.  She hated everything about this.  She spun toward her gathered minions, ignoring the woman seated at the lab table.  The girl was the one constant reminder of her own failure, and she wasn’t about to acknowledge her existence.

            “Why can none of you numbskulls get anything right?”  She fumed, though her glare fixed directly on Rurik Babin.  She’d loose her ire on Lapinov, as well, except the Tarantula Brigade leader wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of a fight.  Most times, she appreciated his icy demeanor, but she was spoiling for a fight.

            “I did what I was ordered to do!”  Babin shot back, giving her exactly what she wanted – a target.

            “You were supposed to kill her, you incompetent arse!”  She snapped the words out as she stalked the cockroach.  “So, tell me why she’s still breathing.”

            “She has more lives than a damned cat, is why.  And the poison’s effectiveness is wearing off, too.”

            That was news to her.  Red Widow spun on her heel to confront the scientist who sat in one of the room’s only two chairs.  “Is this true?”

            He shrugged.  “It’s possible, at any rate.”

            “How?”  Red Widow demanded.

            “Hard to say.  There are numerous reasons.  Environmental factors, exposure, incorrect dosing…”

            “It is none of those things.”  The room’s other female occupant spoke for the first time, drawing everyone’s attention.  Then, as if she wasn’t the focal point of the room, she made tiny clicking noises as she stroked her fingers over the hairy body of the tarantula crawling slowly across the back of her hand.

            “Magdalena,” Lapinov finally spoke, his tone coaxing and indulgent, as if speaking to a child.

            “There is a reason the poison is failing.”  Her voice was soft and serene, as if she was in a trance.

            Red Widow rolled her eyes with a snort.  Clearly, the centuries had warped the girl’s mind, turning it to sponge.  “Do tell.”

            Magdalena didn’t look up, or give any indication she was aware of the sarcasm.  “The Musir built in a failsafe.”

            Red Widow’s eyes widened, and her gaze whipped to the scientist in the next chair.  “Did you know about this?”

            He nodded.  “But we took care of it.”

            Her eyes narrowed.  “How?”
            A cold grin split his face as his hand raised to the series of long scars that grooved his cheek from eye to jaw.  The bitch had nearly taken his eye out, but he won in the end.  “We introduced our own ingredient, of course.”

            Red Widow leaned back against the table and studied the scientist with interest.  Could she have found the one American capable of actually doing his job?  Rachel hadn’t had the staying power, once Sargon was awakened, and so far, Daniel Cook was proving incompetent beyond compare.

            But this man’s icy lack of emotion made him formidable, and gave her the first burst of confidence in his ability to get the job done.  This wasn’t a man easily distracted by personal vendettas, and he bore the evidence of how far he’d go to sate his brutal desires on his face, like a badge of dishonor.  She heard he left the native woman who gave him those scars for dead, deep in the Peruvian jungle.  A chilly smile tugged at her lips.  Aye, this man wouldn’t let anyone get in his way.

Find out how we got to this point.  Get your copies of the first three Project Prometheus books today at www.aspenmountainpress.com !

Flash Friday: “A Dangerous Kind of Help” (Adult Content)

Flash Friday: “A Dangerous King of Help” – excerpted from Guardians, Inc : DOUBLE TAKE

copyright 2007 by Esther Mitchell

Jesse paused in his office doorway, not sure if he was more surprised that Analeise was talking to thin air, or that she was actually there. His wry glance passed over the clutter of books that hadn’t been there when he left, either. Apparently, she raided Jason’s archives. Wonder if Jason knew.

“Damn it!” The sudden oath, punctuated by the sharp sound of flesh striking wood as she slapped the desk – hard – snapped Jesse from his musing. She looked pissed, and the furious light in her eyes shouldn’t turn him on, but damned if it did. Lust surged toward his groin, and he stifled his groan only through sheer force of will. So he had a thing for bad girls. No surprise there; Natalya had been as bad as they come, and he fell head-over-heels for her.

Jesse heaved a silent snort of disgust. Natalya should be all the warning he needed to stay away from Analeise. Tangling with another bad girl was liable to get him killed, even if that was more difficult these days. His eyes fixed back on her, and the rush of heat was instantaneous at the memory of her hot, welcoming body and eager responses. Both heat and memory were expected, though neither was appreciated. Still, it was the tiny twist in his gut at the layer of vulnerability beneath that anger that bothered him most. She looked innocent, and that was such a contradiction he wanted to grin, but his swollen, split lip protested the attempt, and he hissed in pain.

Analeise’s head jerked up, a gasp of surprise flying from her, and she stared at him as if he was a ghost. The irony of it was, without Victor, he would be – twice, now. He uttered a bitter laugh, but it ended on a groan as his bruised ribs protested. Good thing he was a fast healer, these days. A year ago, a beating like that would have laid him out for a good week, if he survived it. Now, a good night’s rest, and he’d be right as rain, as he mother put it; or, as right as a man under a vampire’s curse could be, anyway.

“You’re bleeding!” He didn’t realize she moved, but her hand was suddenly there, a cotton handkerchief in it, pressed against his mouth. He jerked away with a surprised hiss as the thrum of the pulse in her wrist filled his ears.

Goddammit! Jesse clamped down on the impulse that urged him to take her arm, and sink his teeth into her soft, warm flesh. Strong as the urge was, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew the ritual of Turning – he burned it into his brain those first few months after Victor’s impromptu gift, terrified he had no choice but to become a monster. He couldn’t begin to describe his relief when he discovered that wasn’t true.

Turning a living human being into a living vampire was an elaborate ritual, full of ceremony and magic. At least, most of the time. Problem was, there was no recorded precedent, no history for cases like his, where a vampire essentially gave a life-saving transfusion. It just wasn’t done. The closest Jesse could find, in a year of desperate searching, was the mention of a young girl from the fourteenth century who was miraculously restored to health after a terrible fall, by a nameless traveler. Unfortunately, the story didn’t leave him with much hope. By the account, later the same year the girl accidentally swallowed some blood while tending to an injured family member, and became an unnatural creature. She was eventually burned as a witch, for her thirst for human blood. Jesse’s stomach had plummeted after reading that. One taste was all it took to Turn her. One accident. How many bloody scenes did a cop – particularly a homicide detective – see in a week? Too many. So he quit the force, unwilling to take that chance. It didn’t even matter that he knew better, now – that drinking blood was useless to a living vampire.  It didn’t even matter to know that it was the energy in the blood, not the blood itself, that he would really be absorbing. Whenever his adrenaline surged, the urges were there, and they terrified him. He feared it was only a matter of time.

No. He dragged his mind from the thought with a shudder. It wouldn’t happen. Not to him. Jesse Guardian would not become a damned monster. Hell, he was probably damned anyway, but at least he could still make a conscious choice. He could choose to avoid temptation, to not take that first taste. He could choose to avoid the subtle scent, the rich, sweet wine of blood, the siren pulse of energy…

He yanked his mind from the thought with a muttered oath. He wasn’t about to go that route, damn it all. Especially not with this woman; she already fascinated him too much. He blinked, and found her watching him with worried mocha eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he rasped, and focused beyond her, on the desk where she’d been sitting when he came in. “What are you doing here?”

Her brows knit as she backed off a step, and her dark eyes searched his face. “Helping you. I think you should go to the hospital and–”

“I’m fine,” he repeated sharply, with one upraised hand when she would have continued her protest. “Really. And I didn’t expect you to stay here all night.”

That flash of vulnerability was back, and something else that tugged him toward her like an invisible guide wire. She met his gaze, and the smoky quality of her eyes sucked the breath from him. Her tongue darted over those lush lips, and he could barely focus on the words that followed, through the lust roaring in his ears. “I… I wanted to help.”

“Help?” Was that croak really his voice? He swallowed hard, even as a hundred images of how she could help him right this moment cascaded through his mind.

Guest Spot: Desiree Holt’s WHERE DANGER HIDES

Also from Desiree Holt – WHERE DANGER HIDES

Blurb:

After a night of wild sex with a total stranger, Taylor Scott never expected to see the man again. What a shock when he walked into her office weeks later as the representative of the father she never knew she had, a man who’d left her his entire empire. With her father’s killers still at large and vultures hovering to pick apart his massive corporation, Noah Cantrell soon becomes the only person she can trust. He’s also the man who teaches her the pleasures of erotic love, demanding her body even as he sets barriers to any kind of personal relationship — because Noah has a dark secret he never shares, one that prevents him from ever opening himself up to anyone again except in bed.

As the two follow a treacherous path through the world of corporate intrigue, a path that takes them from the corporate boardroom to the jungles of Mexico, with the sex growing hotter by the night, can Taylor find a way break through that wall he’s built around himself?

Excerpt:

Taylor felt shock ripple through him and she clutched harder at the fabric of his jacket to keep him from pulling back. She wanted this man in ways she’d never wanted anyone else. Ways that startled her as her body reacted in an unfamiliar manner. She almost pulled back, frightened at the explosion of desire streaking through her, but determination overrode trepidation. For all the things she’d lost and the ones she’d never had, she deserved this. She pressed her tongue hard against his mouth, and whether from shock or desire he opened and she tasted him. Whiskey and coffee and mint combined to produce a heady flavor that tantalized her sense of taste. She sucked at his tongue, drawing him into her mouth in a kiss more sensuous than she’d ever permitted herself. Or ever wanted.

His hand gripped her upper arms tightly as if to push her away but she had a death grip on his lapels. She was so damned tired of being strait-laced and obedient. The past week had stripped away all the steel bands restricting her life, with today finishing the job. All that obedience had been for nothing. Now she wanted wild, a night that would help her blot out all the dark feelings rampaging through her.

With a groan the man pulled her closer. His own tongue responded to hers, sweeping into her mouth, leaving no inch of the dark wetness untouched. The slight roughness of it scraped across the sensitive tissues, calling each hidden nerve into play. His lips fused to hers, pressing down on them, devouring them, as his fingers dug into her shoulders.

They stood suspended in the darkness, sensations from the kiss rocketing through her body and drawing forth reactions from parts of her body long dormant. Her nipples began to tingle and she felt wetness seeping between her thighs. She would give anything to stay this way forever, balanced on a precipice.

He was the first to break away, looking down at her with glittering eyes. “I think you’ve had far too much to drink.”

Taylor was trying to find her breath but all the air seemed to have been sucked out of her lungs. The pulse that beat between her legs was echoing through her core. She knew about “getting hot” and “getting wet” but this was the first time a man had made her feel it.  The drinks had nothing to do with what was happening to her. It was the man, a powerful jungle animal who called to the hidden wildness within her.

“This is my idea, not the whiskey.” She pulled in another breath and tried to drag his face down to hers again.

He tightened his hands on her shoulders, a strangled sound erupting from his throat. “I’m a stranger. You can’t just pick me up and take me to your room like this. Don’t you know things like that aren‘t safe?”

“I don’t think you’ll harm me,” she whispered. “I don’t know why but I trust you.”

And wasn’t that absurd, when she’d hardly trusted anyone all her life. Yet something in him gave her a sense of security, certainly unusual when locked in the darkness with a caged panther. “Please don’t pull away.” With slightly trembling fingers she shifted his tie out of the way and began to unbutton his shirt. She pressed her body against him, rubbing herself against the hard erection the layers of clothing between them couldn’t hide.

“This is insanity.” His voice was hard and edgy, his grip on her tightening almost to the point of pain. “There are things about me you don’t know.”

Taylor licked the bare skin of his chest that she’d exposed and slid her hands inside his shirt. The warmth of his body almost burned her. Beneath the hot male skin he was harder than steel, his muscles like ropes of steel. As her tongue found his soft chest and the tip of it danced over him, his breathing hitched.

She looked up at him, struggling to bring out words. “Are you a wanted criminal? Do you have a deadly disease? No? Then I don’t care about anything else.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

“Rendevous” – Excerpted from Legends of Tirum: PHOENIX RISING

“Rendevous” – excerpted from Legends of Tirum, Book 2: PHOENIX RISING

copyright 2010 by Esther Mitchell

(This scene is unedited and may differ from the final published version)

By the time Telyn reached their agreed rendezvous place, she could tell how aggravated Nacaris was.  It wasn’t that he was acting annoyed.  If she hadn’t known him so well, she might never have known his mood.  He crouched by the trunk of a tree, his sword balanced loosely across his knees and his head resting back against the rough bark, looking all for the world as if he was meditating, or asleep.  But the tense set of his shoulders told a very different story, and Telyn hesitated for an all-new reason.  What if he truly didn’t want to listen to her reason?  Had she already pushed him too far?

“Nacaris,” she whispered his name as she stepped out of the brush to his left.  Let it never be said Telyn Gwndal was a coward.  She’d face his wrath head-on.  He deserved that much.

Instantly, Nacaris was on his feet, facing her, his blade in hand and the point aimed straight at her heart.  He froze then, and they stared at one another over the dim glow of the steel, bathed in moonlight.

Telyn shoved away her trepidation and, from deep inside, summoned up a teasing grin.  “If you kill me now, this’ll amount to the shortest partnership in history.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move, and the pain and anger in his eyes tore at Telyn’s soul, and raised her doubts again.

“Nacaris, please…”

With a weary sigh, he relaxed, his arm dropping until the blade hung loosely in his grip at his side.  “I swear you’re going to be the death of us both.”

She drew a breath, and ignored the pang of prophecy she heard in those words.  She didn’t want to contemplate that possible future.  “But not tonight.”

The sword thudded into the grass at his feet, and he took a wary step toward her, and then another with more confidence, until they stood toe-to-toe, their breath mingling on the cool night air.  His hand raised, and Telyn trembled as Nacaris’ fingers lightly skimmed her face, before his whispered words met her ears.  “No.  Not tonight.”

Flash Friday: “Leap of Faith”

What happens when an immortal creature supposed to be nothing more than myth takes human form to escape total annihilation?  … Meet Ryan Jaspar – the last of his kind.  He’ll do anything to stay hidden from the Crucibani, a secret religious order determined to see him dead.  But when he meets up with Guardians, Inc.’s spunky receptionist, he’ll have to do something that’s totally against his nature – he’ll have to learn to trust a human, again.

“Leap of Faith”  — excerpted from Virtual Darkness

copyright 2007 by Esther Mitchell

            “We have to jump.”  He grasped her hand securely and drew energy for the descent.  A few more moments, and the Crucibani would realize where they’d gone.

            “Jump.”

            Her disbelief was emphasized by the way she dug her heels in and refused to move.  For such a waif, she was suddenly a completely immovable object.  And he didn’t have time for her stubbornness.  Already, he could feel the energy dissipating.

            “Yes, jump.”  He glanced toward the stairwell door again.  “And quickly.”

            “We’re twelve stories up!  Are you serious?”

            “Very.  Kylie—”

            “You’re crazy!”  She tugged backward, and they were playing tug-of-war with her arm.  Their eyes met, and he read fear in her grey-green eyes.  And suddenly, he saw the drop through her eyes.  She was afraid of dying. 

            He focused his energy as he stared into her eyes until the crackle of energy rose around them both, and her eyes widened as a small gasp flew from her lips.  His mouth curved up at the edges, seductively persuasive.

            “Trust me, Kylie.”

            Her expression was dubious, and she eyed him warily.  “Who are you?”

            His brow furrowed.  He wanted to avoid this; especially now.  She wouldn’t believe the truth if he told her.  “You already know me.”

            He tugged her hand to get her moving again, but again she resisted him, her narrowed eyes full of accusations.

            “No.  I mean, who are you really?  Why are there Crucibani chasing us?”

            It was his turn to freeze, as surprise gripped him.  How did this waif of a human know about Crucibani? 

            “How—?” he picked up the sound of feet pounding on the stairs, two floors below them.  “Never mind.  Now isn’t the time.”

            “Actually,” she eyed to edge of the building again, and the empty air beyond.  “If you expect me to throw myself off of a twelve-story building, your timing couldn’t be more perfect.”

Flash Friday: “Ghost of YesterYule”

Today’s Flash Friday is from an Urban Fantasy series I began some years ago.  The first book was published as an independent title a while ago, but is currently only available in left-over print titles.  This scene comes from the second book, which was never released.

“Ghost of YesterYear”

copyright 2005 by Esther Mitchell

Kyna sighed as she sank onto a bench beside the hearth, letting its warmth seep through her chilled soul, even as the sounds of students laughing and singing drifted to her.

There was once a time she loved Yule.  As a girl, she waited all year for the bright festivities, waited anxiously through the solemn ceremony of the Holly King and Queen, until they could all retire to the main Hall, where the scents and sounds of the season would wrap around her, and the laughter would begin.

That girl was gone, and Kyna mourned her difficult passing.  Even as she gazed out over her students, innocent in their joyous laughter as they exchanged baubles and quips, and sang festive, jolly songs, Kyna felt the prick of pain to her heart, the wound re-opened.  It was at Yule that her life tore apart, so many years ago.  Now, she wanted to run to her students, to break up their festivities and warn them not to laugh so much, or sing so cheerfully.  Laughter was fleeting, and love died a long, agonizing death.  She wanted to spare them her heartache, by showing them the truth…

“You shouldn’t sit alone under the mistletoe.  Someone might think you were looking for company.”  The gravelly, husky whisper danced along her nerve endings, the voice of Yules past, and Kyna’s hand shook so violently that wine sloshed from her goblet and over her hand.

A low, humming noise filled her ears, and she found the vessel gone, her hand clasped in a large, strong hand she knew oh-so-very-well.  A gasp flew from her as his tongue smoothed over her skin, cleaning away the wine.

“Wine?”  He looked stunned.  A ghost of a smile flirted with her lips.  Did he truly expect that she found their separation any easier than he did?  She’d been slowly dying for a decade, unable to feed properly.

“Yes.”  It was all she could force past her constricted throat.

He groaned, the sound a low growl that reverberated through her body, setting loose wards she’d crafted so painstakingly over the years.  As his mouth returned to her skin, her eyes closed as a tiny moan escaped her.  She didn’t want to see him, to know the reality of what she contemplated.  She was too vulnerable, too hungry.

“Geoff…”

“Shh.”  The admonishment growled from him, even as he raised her to her feet and tugged her lightly into his embrace.  “No talking.”

She melted against him, her eyes firmly closed and her mind shut against what she was about to offer – about to beg for.

“Take me.  Please.”

She heard his intake of breath, felt him hesitate.  Geoff was an Alpha.  Alphas didn’t hesitate.  Her eyes snapped open, and she knew instantly that ten years hadn’t been long enough to wipe her heart clean.  A century wouldn’t be near long enough.

I’m doing something special for Flash Friday, this week… Post your guess as to what kind or kinds of beings these two characters are, here, and I’ll draw a name or two from among those who guess (whether you’re correct or not) to receive autographed print copies of the first book in this series. 

Flash Friday: “Gatekeeper”

Flash Friday: “Gatekeeper”  – Excerpted from Project Prometheus: BETWEEN WORLDS

copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell

She was so cold.  The wind here on the shore was bitter, chilled by the storm that raged around her.  Csilla huddled in the cavern, watching as sthe boats were made ready.

“Are you ready, Gatekeeper?”

She turned at the sound of a masculine voice, to find Sargon beside her, tall and strong in his armor, the glow of his charge shining around him even from where it rested, secure in the scabbard at his side.  She shuddered to think that, of them all, only she was a real danger.  Only her charge could bring them all back to this place, and only her charge could be forced from her grasp by any manner besides death.

“Go, Warrior,” she whispered, already aware of what she must do.  And yet, she could not tell these men, her soul-brothers, what she planned.  They would surely halt her plan, if they knew how she meant to protect them all.  “I am weary, and will bide here a while.”

He frowned.  “It is not safe, Csilla.  Already, Arachaena swarm the mountain above us.  They must not find us here.”

She looked out toward the storm-tossed waves whose peace she once found solace in.  Sadness gripped her that she would leave this behind, and she hugged her cloak tighter about her shoulders.  There was no help for it.  This was as it must be.

“I shall follow directly.  Have Mykalos tie me a boat in yon rocks.”

Sargon sighed, but relented.  Truly, he was too tender to a woman’s comfort; she feared that would bring him to ill ends.  “Do not linger too long, Csilla.”

She smiled up at him, careful that he did not read her sorrow.  “I will be gone before they arrive.”

With a nod, his eyes wary, Sargon left her and headed for the boats beyond.  Csilla sighed, and shivered slightly as she rested her back against the cool rocks.  She felt the weight of the knife concealed beneath her cloak.  She would keep her promise.  Only, it would not be as Sargon believed.

Find out more about this series at www.esthermitchell.com/projectmain

Read IN HER NAME, HOPE OF HEAVEN, and SHADOW WALKER today!  Find them at:

www.aspenmountainpress.com/in-her-name/prod_73.html

www.aspenmountainpress.com/hope-of-heaven/prod_128.html

http://www.aspenmountainpress.com/paranormal/romance/shadow-walker/prod_219.html

Flash Friday: “In a Demon’s Wake”

Today’s Flash comes from one of the most unique and unusual books I’ve ever written.  While definitely highly on the paranormal side of fiction, this book is unique even among its series-mates, in that it involves a culture many don’t even realize still exists beneath the fabric of other cultures and religions.  I certainly enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it.  You can find the full novel by visiting www.aspenmountainpress.com

Disclaimer:  This scene contains descriptions of violence of a graphic nature and language some may find offensive.  Reader discretion is advised.

“In a Demon’s Wake” – excerpted from Project Prometheus: IN HER NAME

copyright 2001 by Esther Mitchell

            “We went in there with orders not to kill anyone.  But no one told us the revolutionaries knew anything about bombs or planting mines.  Four of my team got blown to pieces when they tripped some hidden claymores.”

            Manara gasped at those words, every muscle in her body tensed as if he physically struck her.  The memory of the canyon flooded over her.  Blessed Ishtar, she let it happen again!  No wonder he didn’t trust her!  She tried to pull away, sick with her own sins, but his arms were like steel bands around her waist and his gaze, when she turned to look at him, was fixed in another time.

            “I guess I just flipped out or something.  I don’t really remember.  All I remember is turning the teams loose and telling them to waste every goddamned gook they saw.” 

            Manara saw the pain flash across his face, heard the hollow regret in his words.  This, she realized, was but one of his demons, spawned from whatever great evil had torn loose that piece of his soul.  Sadly, she knew his tale wasn’t over.  Covering his hands with her own, she asked, “What happened?”

            His gaze came back to her and Manara wanted to weep at the coldness of his eyes.  This was the man she didn’t know¾the one she saw only a glimpse of when his demons held her prisoner.  “They did exactly what I said.  Afterward, we found out there weren’t any revolutionaries in that village.  Just farmers.  The claymores were leftovers from V.C. plants in the Seventies.  They just weren’t uncovered until my men triggered them.  I ordered an entire village wiped out, for nothing.  Nothing!”

            Tears welled up in Manara’s eyes as she watched him struggle with the evil truth he held silent for so long, a mistake such a good man could only suffer under.

            “Matthew.”  She reached to stroke his cheek.  “You cannot blame yourself when the true fault lies with another.  Who made that madman?  What was her name?”

            He swallowed hard and Manara’s heart broke for him.  To live with such painful secrets…  His eyes met hers; she saw surprise, and then gratitude, light within the depths of his darkness.  He knew she understood; perhaps that would make his tale easier for him to share.  A sigh left him and his eyes closed as he hugged her to him and the words flowed out.

            “Her name was Rachel Murray, and I was all of fourteen years old.”

Flash Friday: “Dead Pirate Walking”

I’ve played in the Fantasy for a while…  Thought you’d like a little something else, this week.  This week’s Flash Friday is a short little piece, and comes from a paranormal series I’m working on, called Guardians, Inc.   I already love this story, because it has everything a good ghost story should have, and a little something surprising, as well…

“Dead Pirate Walking”  — excerpted from Lady’s Lament

copyright 2008 by Esther Mitchell

            There was someone up there.  A  chill of awareness slid through Alie, pulling her gaze to the upstairs window of the old manor, even as her brain called her an idiot for believing Mrs. Tolliver’s stories.  She dealt with Paras every day, and she’d never encountered a ghost.  She didn’t even believe in them.

            She was about to turn away, when the curtains stirred again.  The air left her body in a gasp of disbelief as a shadowy figure passed behind the curtains and disappeared.  There was no one in that wing of the manor; not at this time of night.  But it was exactly where the chatty town historian told her rumor said the pirate appeared, keeping look out for the lover who once betrayed him.

            A new shiver passed through Alie, and nausea gripped her.  There are no such things as ghosts.

            But what if there were?  Were the stories true?  After all this time, had Captain Sawyer come back from the grave?  Or had he simply never left?

DAUGHTER OF ASHES Release – Today!

Legends of Tirum: Daughter of Ashes

Time to break out the party hats and celebrate!  Today’s the launch day for a brand new series for me!

Legends of  Tirum is a Fantasy series with Romantic elements that’s been a long time in development, and I couldn’t be more happy or proud to say it’s finally here!

Today’s release of DAUGHTER OF ASHES, the first book in the series, is the culmination of years of work!

So, in honor of today’s release, I’m posting a special excerpt.  Have a peek… tell me what you think… And if you like what you read, pick up your very own copy at Desert Breeze Publishing today!

Excerpt from Legends of Tirum: DAUGHTER OF ASHES –

The streets of the Brassanburg Market were already thrumming with morning business by the time Telyn and Nacaris entered the gates of the city. Telyn smirked at the hawkers — street corner peddlers who screamed their trinkets and wares like birds of prey — who badgered passers-by in the hopes of turning a head by sheer volume. She wondered if they knew how many potential customers they drove off that way. The proprietors of the storefronts and billowing pavilions certainly knew, if the disdainful, irritated looks they cast their street-corner compatriots was any indication.

“Is it always this loud?” Nacaris’ voice carried over the boisterous peddlers, and she turned to grin at him.

“This is the great part of the market.” She always enjoyed watching the subtle battle of wills that thrummed between peddlers and merchants. Trade towns were famous for both hawkers and shopkeepers, and little as they cared for each other, neither would have celebrated the demise of the other. As long as the barter war remained in full force, the powers of trade remained balanced.

Telyn drew her mount closer to Nacaris’, to be heard above the din, as she jerked her chin toward an inn at the end of the street. “There’s where we want.”

He eyed the non-descript building warily. “Are you certain?”

Her grin flashed, wide and wicked. She knew what he thought, but was too diplomatic to say. It looked like a swill house. But she knew that appearance could be deceiving, and this little inn was testament enough to that. “Trust me.”

He cast her a long look, then surprised her by nodding. She’d expected more of a battle.

Telyn turned Bloodcloud toward a stable a few doors up from the inn. She knew the stablemaster, and trusted him to take good care of her horse. She grinned at the man in question as he stepped from the livery doors at the sound of horses outside.

“Ho, Carmyd!”

He blinked into the sunlight, and a wide grin split his scarred face as he swiped a hand over his bald pate. “Well, bless my silver shoes, if it ain’t a grand sight for old eyes.”

With a laugh, she leapt from her horse and into his waiting embrace, breathing in the familiar, comforting scents of leather and horse. Unwelcome tears swelled in her eyes as memory washed over her. Carmyd was an old Gildgard — one of the few that actually managed to survive to a respectable old age and retire gracefully. He’d come to her mother, bleeding and near death from horrific wounds on his face, when Telyn was a mere babe, and his long recovery had made him a semi-permanent fixture in her young life. From Carmyd, she heard the old legends, and learned to ride her first horse. Under his tutelage — and despite her mother’s disapproval — she’d learned to handle blade and bow, though others were responsible for honing her skill.

“Here, now, girl,” he muttered, holding her away to look into her face. “What brings the tears?”

She blinked them away and shook her head, smiling. “It does me good to see your face again.”

He glanced beyond her, and his shaggy brows lifted curiously. “Who’s the stallion?”

Telyn laughed, but couldn’t contain the flush that crept up her neck. “A friend.”

“I see.” He frowned, and then, as if reaching some inner conclusion, shrugged. “What brings you to my fair city?”

She sighed. “Business, I fear.”

His gaze flickered to Nacaris again. “His or yours?”

“Both. I came to see Seoman.”

That gained her a piercing look from her old friend. “What kind of business?”

She batted him away and turned toward Bloodcloud as Nacaris swung down from his own mount. “Don’t pry, Carmyd.”

“I see.” Those two words carried a wealth of meaning, and Telyn sighed. She wasn’t about to explain herself to anyone — especially not Carmyd.

“We need lodging for the horses for the night, at least.”

He nodded, and gestured toward the stable. “You know the way. But, Telyn, a word of caution…”

She turned expectantly. There was something about his tone…

“Aye?”

“The boy you knew is long gone. Have a caution with the man he’s become.”

As she walked Bloodcloud into the stable, those words travelled with Telyn, and concern knitted her brows. What, exactly, did Carmyd mean?