CUFF ME
New York's Finest #3
Lauren Layne
Releasing on March 29th, 2016
Forever: Grand Central
Vincent knows he's not the most charming of the Moretti brothers. He prefers brooding to flirting, reading to talking, and he sure as hell isn't about to give into his mother's insistence that he 'settle down with a nice girl.' Luckily, Vincent's gig as one of the NYPD's top homicide detectives keeps him busy. As does his long-time partner, Jill Henleyâa tough-as-nails cop with the face of an angel and smart mouth that makes Vincent crazy in all the worst ways.
After six years of working the homicide beat with the tight-lipped Vincent Moretti, Jill figure she knows him better than anyone. Which is not at all. But when their most recent case points to a potential serial-killer situation, the higher-ups send them on a rare undercover mission to a place no NYPD officer dares go: the Upper Eastside.
Now the bureau's most antagonistic set of partners is posing as Mr. and Mrs. Brooks of Park Avenue. Spending 24/7 in the suspect's territory brings them closer and closer to their killer . . . and closer to each other. Soon Vincent and Jill are playing good cop/bad cop in and out of bed, and Jill's falling hard. But can she convince Vincent to give her a shot as partner in life, as well as at the bureau?
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Lauren Layne is the USA Today Bestselling author of more than a dozen contemporary romance novels.
Prior to becoming an author, Lauren worked in e-commerce and web-marketing. A year after moving from Seattle to NYC to pursue a writing career, she had a fabulous agent and multiple New York publishing deals.
Lauren currently lives in Manhattan with her husband and plus-sized Pomeranian. When not writing, you'll likely find her running (rarely), reading (sometimes), or at happy hour (often).
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by Philip J. Gould Genre: YA Action/Adventure, Sci-fi Release Date: March 29th 2016 Summary from Goodreads: With her mother murdered and her traitor father taken by the CIA, could things possibly get any worse for Sophie Jennings? In her quest for the truth Sophie travels to America in search of the bio geneticist father responsible for the genetically enhanced DNA that has given her super-human abilities. Wanting an explanation for recent tragic events and a cure for her invisibility, Sophie finds herself in Washington DC. With the help of the British Secret Intelligence Service and her own unique deadly skills Sophie uncovers a terrible truth. Plunged into the middle of a battle involving the American army, Sophie is faced with a task that threatens both her morality and sanity - save her father or save thousands of lives. The Sons of Gyges is the explosive, action-centric second novel in The Girl in the Mirror series.
Emily Porter felt like sheâd barely had time to take a breath as she followed Sophieâs voice at a run through the corridors, down flights of stairs and eventually out of the hospital.
Armed police heading into the building gave her little notice, assuming her haste was due to fear and the continuing racket of the alarm system. An invisible hand occasionally grappled with hers, leading her in directions less obvious.
Street lighting illuminated the paths surrounding the hospital buildings. Running to the left of the Critical Care Centre, passing the Lombardi Comprehensive Cancer and the Pasquerilla Health Centres, Sophie brought her to a stop outside the garage entrance of the Georgetown University Hotel.
Out of breath, Emily doubled over in her standing position, trying to recover. She looked up to where she imagined Sophie was standing, just a step away from her. âI guess...â she started, â... I owe you one...â Her words were punctuated by gasps for oxygen.
âWhat were you and Ryan thinking?â Sophie scorned. âYou couldâve died in there!â
âI...â Emily couldnât think of an excuse. She stood upright. Her heart was still pumping fast. Instead she said: âI know. We are trying to help you!â
âAnd I appreciate that.â Sophie sounded quite the opposite. âJust do it from the end of a phone. I can do without these... distractions...â
âI think you are forgetting something.â Emily held up Agent Robertsâ shoes. âWithout me we wouldnât know how important these are.â
âSize nine brogues... Classy.â
âHe hid something in the heel of one of them.â Emily turned the shoes over to inspect the soles. Not seeing anything obvious, she put one shoe down and paid closer attention to the one still in her hand. With a finger she probed the inside, feeling the lining for any signs of a secret compartment. She turned it back over and tapped the sole with the nail of her index finger. It sounded solid. She discarded the shoe in favour of the other.
âItâs beginning to look like you nearly died for nothing...â
Emily repeated her actions from the first shoe. Probing the lining inside the shoe again, she turned it over and ran the flat of her hand over the surface of the sole. The treads were rough for the most part but worn smooth in others.
âJust ditch the shoe and letâs go...â
Emily tapped the sole with the nail of an index finger once again. Solid... until the heel. The sound of the tapping changed pitch slightly â more dull, hollow.
âYou were saying?â Emily noticed a very minute line of an indentation just above the surface of the flat of the heel. She tried prying it off with her nail but it seemed stuck down fast. âDo you have a knife?â
âDo I look like someone who carries a knife?â Sophie countered.
âUm, yes... actually you do!â
Sophie ignored the comment. âHere. Give it to me.â
Emily held the shoe out. It abruptly disappeared into thin air as Sophie snatched it away.
âHmm. I see,â Sophie made a few more noises of affirmation. âYes. Got it.â She placed the shoe back into Emilyâs hand where it suddenly reappeared.
âA sliding compartment,â she grunted satisfactorily. âShould have guessed that.â A thin piece of hard rubber at the base of the heel had been pushed from the centre outwards to the back, to reveal a small square compartment big enough to hide any object the size of a small matchbox. Whatever was hidden in the secret compartment was steeped in shadow. Emily upended the shoe and gave it a gentle tap with the flat of four fingers. A small flat piece of plastic the size of a thumbnail came dislodged and fell out into the palm of her hand. Carefully, she examined it under the soft light of a neighbouring streetlamp.
âA flash card,â she said with an air of bewilderment, turning it over one handed with her thumb. In her head she heard Agent Spencer Roberts:
âIn my... shoe... youâll find... what you... want...â
Book One:
The Girl in the Mirror
Genre: YA Action/Adventure, Sci-fi
Release Date: October 27th 2015
Summary from Goodreads:
Abduction. Theft. Murder. Betrayal.
Created as a prototype for a soldier of the future, sixteen-year-old Sophie Jennings possesses abilities like no other. With exceptional strength, intelligence, endurance, longevity and the ability to become invisible, she is a force to be reckoned with, but many will try. Her father, a bio-geneticist with a murky past, has ties to a corporation whose motives are questionable. His unease with their intentions, prompts him to run, taking Sophie with him. Their journey unleashes a malicious chain of events that will pin Sophie up against a sadistic and equally powerful opponent and force her into a position to utilise every skill necessary to outwit and outrun her pursuers. Fight or flight? Hide or seek? For Sophie, the decision is simple. Unbeknownst to her, taking out two armed men will only be the beginning of what sheâll face during the next forty-eight hours. Will Sophie, inexperienced and untested, prove to be their worst enemy? The Girl in the Mirror is a gripping action adventure that twists and turns, and twists some more. Like Sophie Jennings, you won't see the end coming...
Buy Links (Sale price - US $0.99 & UK £0.99):
Sophie was now standing in front of the fallen soldier. He slowly reached up to his ear and removed the earpiece, electronic voices continuing to whisper commands and instructions, oblivious to what had concluded in the apartment. He pulled the microphone out from his jacket and tossed it aside.
âIâm done,â he repeated hoarsely, then spat a globule of spit and blood out.
Sophie reached down and picked up the ear and mouth piece, holding it up to her ear.
âAlpha Team, whatâs going on? Report? Back up team will be with you shortly. Do you copy?â
Sophie walked over to the place where the window had been, the curtains billowing in like an unfurled flag. She peered out just as her father had done earlier.
âWhy wonât you leave us alone?â she asked into the microphone. âWeâve done nothing to you!â
At first the radio went silent.
In the distance the sound of sirens wailed as they fast approached in answer to all the gunfire and an elderly neighbour whoâd been crudely woken from a nap in his armchair from all the hullabaloo. A small gathering of nosey onlookers had gathered at a safe distance down the road, their macabre fascination for blood, death and destruction fuelled their appetite to watch, no matter the risk to themselves.
âItâs not what youâve done⦠Sophie. Itâs what you are programmed to do.â An electronic voice secreted from the earpiece now held in the palm of Sophieâs right hand.
âYou should stop. Whilst you have the chance. Stop now, Iâm warning you.â
A police car appeared at the end of the road, tyres screeching, siren blaring, flashing lights splashing blue translucent colour urgently as it drew closer, coming to a halt outside the apartment block. Another police vehicle arrived moments later and still more sirens sounded in the background.
âSophie⦠It doesnât have to be like this. We could be friends, you and I.â
Sophie knew the voice at the end was playing with her, stalling for time, time which she didnât have. She had to leave, and leave immediately, but before she did there were things she had to retrieve, things essential to her (and her fatherâs) survival.
Speaking as she worked, Sophie replied: âI doubt that very much.â
Retrieving a backpack and a large sports holdall, she filled the backpack with things she absolutely needed; spare clothes; provisions, water, food; the iPad which had miraculously survived the gunfire and violence; a mobile phone; a torch; her fluffy kangaroo from the safe room. What she couldnât fit into the backpack, she placed into the holdall. She then emptied the refrigerator of every vial of serum, not forgetting to pack the jet injector.
From one of the fallen soldiers she unholstered a handgun and collected all the ammunition she could find (from them both), six magazines in all.
âWe need to meet Sophie. Iâm sure we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.â
Lastly, Sophie located the place where her fatherâs floor safe was, hidden beneath a section of carpet that was easily lifted. She pulled up the floorboard, exposing the digital combination lock of the safe. She keyed in her date of birth â a combination, or version thereof favoured by her father:
1-6-0-4
The latch clicked as the door from within was released. Sophie opened the door and reached in; removing her fatherâs laptop and two thick A5 envelopes which she knew each contained a thick wad of fifty pound notes. These last items she dropped into the holdall without much ado, and zipped it closed.
âNice talking to you creep. Letâs do it again⦠not!â Sophie dropped the ear and mouth piece back to intruder number two, and unseen she left the apartment carrying the big holdall in one hand and the backpack over the shoulder of her opposite arm. She passed the policemen who were busy marking their territory, some armed and taking up strategic positions, rifles aimed ahead of them; others cordoning off the area at a safe distance, trying to assess the situation.
She passed further the group of bystanders whoâd gathered into a very large force of spectators, busily gleaning and gloating at the theatrics now playing out ahead of them. Ignoring them, she continued at a pace putting distance between her and the Chelsea apartment, passing the black car that had gained her fatherâs attention but which hadnât quite convinced him that there was an occupant staking them out, despite the possible sighting of a riflescope or the glass from a pair of binoculars.
She paid the car little more than a sideward glance, deep in concentration as she tried to make sense of what had just happened and formulate some ideas as to what next to do.
Sophie knew there was only one place she could really go, one place where the people who lived therein she could honestly trust. Although angered to be leaving all her worldly goods and her home behind, she was equally excited at the prospect of seeing her sister again, the only friend she knew.
The rear window of the black car, now behind her, electrically wound down. The passenger watched from a safe distance, night vision binoculars held against his eyes. For all intents and purposes he looked like a Peeping Tom. He watched the girl religiously, unseen by all she passed, her dishevelled appearance and determined look concealed to all except one. The man picked up a walkie-talkie and spoke into it.
âBravo Team, stand down. Do not engage; repeat, DO NOT ENGAGE.â
About the Author
Philip John Gould, was born during the hot summer of August 1974 in Suffolk, England. From an early age he escaped reality by spending many hours daydreaming and aspiring to be an author. It's owing to positive feedback on the back of a short story when, aged 13, Phil's English teach wrote an encouraging phrase at the end of his assignment, that inspired him to persevere with his ambitions deep into adulthood.
In 1990, Phil left school and took a job in shipping, where he worked as an Export clerk for a very abusive manager. He changed careers in 1993, joining a large insurance company, where he undertook a number of positions, including training guide writer, and culminating in a junior manager role which he maintained until he was made redundant in 2003. A day after the announcement of losing his job, he had blood tests in relation to a growth in the side of his neck. A month later he was diagnosed with having Hodgkins Lymphoma. In 2002, work on The Book of Alternative Records had begun, written with the assistance of Ralf Laue who owned the second largest database of achievement records in the world, behind the Guinness behemoth. Together, the book was compiled and completed in 2003 and published in 2004 by John Blake Publishing. In 2005 a German translation of the book was produced. Phil's ambition to be published was fulfilled, but his health and personal circumstances thwarted any hopes to pursue an immediate career in writing. In fact, it wasn't until 2011 that Phil got the itch to write again. Having been working back in insurance for a while, he decided that he would leave his paid day job early the following year to fulfil two things. One, to spend more time with his family (his wife had given birth to a son in October 2011 and Phil wanted to be more hands-on with his newborn's upbringing, an opportunity he'd missed with his two daughters), and two, to start working on a new writing project. Actually, an idea for a series of novels had been at the back of his mind for some time, but it wasn't until September 2012 (after an extended holiday), that Phil finally sat down and started working on what would be The Girl in the Mirror. Still spending too many hours daydreaming, Phil continues to live in Suffolk with his wife, Beth, and three children, Rebecca, Sophie and Matthew.
Title: Til Fear Do Us Part
Series: A Grim Awakening Series #1
By: Michelle Gross
Publication Date: February 24, 2016
Cover Designer: Mayhem Cover Creations
Genre: PNR/Fantasy
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How long does it take to change a person’s life from happy to terrifying? How long was I normal before that part of me was taken away? How long would I live in fear after that? After being attacked by something she can’t explain as a child, Melanie Rose is left with the ability to see ghosts and it haunts her everyday life. It only gets worse the night before her eighteenth birthday. Things that shouldn't be real, start appearing before her. The evil that attacked her as a child is back to finally take her life. Then he appears, a stranger wearing a black leather jacket. All the unanswered questions she’s had, start to unfold around her. She soon realizes it’s only the beginning. Melanie must control her fear before Fear claims her.
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Michelle is from a small town in Kentucky where she spends her days chasing after her twin girls and conjuring up crazy stories in her mind. She loves all things paranormal and fantasy, the crazier, the better.She has a slight obsession with Korean Dramas and their men. She loves to write just as much as loves to read, but there's nothing like a good smutty read with strong alpha men!
Social Media Links Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/michellegrossauthor/ Goodreads - https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/15037639.Michelle_Gross Twitter - @AuthorMichelleG
Deviations
**On sale for $2.99 until April 1st only!** -- Are you a reviewer? -- EXCERPT: It’s funny how I never noticed till now. Miho, I mean. I’d talked to her a few times in the library, though only to exchange the usual greetings and perform book transactions. But we hadn’t really talked, not until Taka approached her. Then watching her, I realized she was like me. Her eyes had that same deadness to them. Did her preference for long clothes make it easier to cover bruises, like I had to? Was she always alone because it was easier—easier to hide the shame and the pain if you had no one around? Now that I’d acknowledged it, I was hyperaware of it, looking for more clues. When she checked me out at the library, I thought I spotted a white scar on her wrist. I wanted to ask her, ask her about all of it, but that would have been crass. You never talk about that sort of thing in public, and not with strangers. We were still strangers, after all, even if we had the darkness in common. After leaving the library, I’d taken the books to our hideout before heading back into town. I never took the books I got home out of fear something might happen to them. It was one thing when they were my own books, but letting my dad destroy other people’s property, much less community property, would be pretty crappy. So I kept them safe where only Taka and I could find them. I was heading home when I spotted her walking across the river from me. I don’t think she saw me before that pack of girls surrounded her. It was clear they’d been lying in wait. I leaned on the rail and watched them with an odd sense of pride in Miho for not crying. She was used to it, like I was. People like us, we learn how to endure. Crying, appearing weak, it only gets them going worse, feeding on whatever it is inside them that makes them have to hurt others. Miho only broke when they stole the scarf we’d picked out for her. That bothered me a little. Though I knew it was better not to interfere, I moved towards the bridge to cross to the other side. I was halfway across when the scarf hit the river and Miho was left there to watch it float away. Only she didn’t. She dived into the water without hesitation. I ran, scared she would drown. All those heavy clothes could easily pull her under, but when I reached the bank I realized she was swimming. Her arms breached the water at her side before slicing back into the water above her head like a professional. The only difference was her legs stuck straight out behind her instead of kicking. Smart girl. Then she was back at the bank and lying on top of me, both of us panting even though she’d done all the work. Her body was thin, but soft and warm. Her chest was small, a B cup at best, but more likely an A. Still, they felt nice. She felt nice.
GIVEAWAY! -- Maybe Yes
**FREE on March 24 & 25 only!** -- EXCERPT: I just don’t know what I want. I think of everything I’ve been told I want—money, clothes, a modeling career, an acting career, and an intelligent husband who will run the company in order to give me even more money. But not one of those things has ever made me happy. I try to think about things that have made me happy—my family and Scarlett. But that leaves me with fewer answers. I know what I don’t want. I don’t want a modeling career. I don’t want an acting career. I don’t want to marry a complete stranger. I try to think of my happiest memory with my dad. It was on my eighteenth birthday. It coincided with my high school graduation. He took me to a casino in California, one I could legally gamble at. He taught me how to play blackjack and how to count cards. We won—a lot. It wasn’t the winning that made it fun. It was learning something from my father. It was the confidence he displayed in me when he gave me high amounts of money to place a bet that I would win because I was capable. It was one of the only times I felt he was proud of me for something other than my looks. The line I will never forget my father saying to me is, “No one would ever suspect you of counting cards. You’re too pretty.” It was that day that I learned that my beauty was a weapon that could be used to my advantage. I just have never learned how to harness it. I head to my room to grab my shoes and purse to head to a casino, to find a happy memory…because, tomorrow, I’ll meet the man I’m going to marry. Tomorrow, I’ll have to face the fact that I don’t get to decide my own future, but I don’t have to today. I still have a chance to make today better. I was wrong. Today isn’t the worst day of my life. Tomorrow probably will be, so I’m going to make the most of my last night of freedom.
GIVEAWAY! -- by Adelle Yeung Release Date: March 25th 2016 Summary from Goodreads:
Deciding last minute to stay in Starrs, Michelle continues her epic adventure as Goddess. After all, learning how to save the world sure beats a year of pre-calculus. With her friends by her side, Michelle travels to a city of scholars to learn the lore of the Cycle of the Six Moons.
At first, the exotic retreat turns romantic, as Michelle spends her free time exchanging sweet letters with the crown prince, Jayse. But, during her studies, Michelle learns something that drastically changes her game plan. Powerful blood must be spilled to end the Cycleâ¦blood that only runs through her veins and the prince destined to fall in love with her. During a celebration honoring their enlightenment, Michelle and Jayse are whisked off to a rogue city as trophies of a tournament, where only the strongest can claim a taste of their blood. Gallant as ever, their guardian, Gediyon, enters to prevent harm to his friends. Unfortunately for the contestants, the Cycleâs latest trial prevents everyone from waking from a cursed slumberâ¦
Book One (click on image for Goodreads link):
The Starriest Summer eBook will be on sale for 99 cents from March 20-26!
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About the Author
Adelle Yeung is the author of The Cycle of the Six Moons trilogy, a young adult fantasy adventure.
She is also a voice-over artist who canât go a day without a cup of tea. When sheâs not writing or recording, she enjoys sewing costumes, baking sweets, and escaping on video game adventures. She lives in California with a cat that dreams of eating the pet bird. She has provided script supervision for the independent animation, Shattered Heaven, and is head script editor and one of the co-writers for the upcoming game Fiona Frightening and the Wicked Wardrobe. Author Links: Relevance
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble EXCERPT: Nothing fit right anymore, but it didn’t matter. I could close my eyes and see myself standing at the cabin watching the Six banter back and forth over fishing or swimming. Home. I smelled like home. The serenity of the moment shattered when Riley burst through the door, swearing a blue streak until she realized she wasn’t alone. “Ace. What are you doing in here?” She didn’t even bat an eye at what I was wearing. Had she been anyone else, I’d have had my ass ripped for being in civilian clothing. “Oliver just took me to get my clothes.” She noticed then. “Oh!” I put my hand out, and she stepped into my arms with a heavy sigh. “What’s wrong, Riley?” I asked, gathering her close and kissing the top of her head. Dread ran through me. I had a feeling I already knew. She tucked her head under my chin and slid her hands down my back until her thumbs found my belt loops. “Nothing.” I snorted at her lame-ass attempt to cover up how she felt. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Riles. I know you’re not happy with any of this.” I caught her face in my hands and leaned down to place a kiss between her brows. Right on the spot that pulled together, telling me she was anything but happy. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m gonna prove it every day for the rest of my life. I know you’re miserable. I know this isn’t what you wanted.” “Once we find the leak and figure out what Nicco is up to, we’ll talk with Nadia and Grant and come up with something. Maybe they’ll even want us to transfer to Scotland.” A real smile broke through that time. “Okay.” One word was all it took to make the knot in my chest unravel. I didn’t want to leave Riley, but Oliver was waiting for me in the cafeteria. “I have to go meet with Oliver. Are you staying in here for a little while?” She shook her head. “I need to meet with Oliver too. I guess we better get going then.” Riley made it to the door and had it open before I could cross the room. “Why do you have to meet with Oliver?” I asked, closing the door behind us. Her hair spilled over her shoulder, hiding her face from me. It wasn’t often Riley had her hair down, so the missing presence of her ponytail seemed odd. Truth be told, seeing Riley with her hair down was like seeing her naked, as weird as that sounded. Maybe it was because the only way I really saw her hair down was when we were… “Oof.” My side ached and my hand went to the offended spot immediately. “What the hell?” “Um…” She’d been talking to me and I’d tuned her out as I fantasized about her hair being down. “Sorry, I was uh…” Mentally stripping you and watching the way your hair falls over your… She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “My eyes are up here, Ace.” I jerked my gaze up to hers, feeling my cheeks blaze. “I know.” She rolled her eyes and pushed past me into the cafeteria where Oliver waited at one of the tables. He looked up from the file he had opened in front of him. When he looked between the two of us, he swore. “Please tell me you two aren’t in the middle of some sort of lover’s quarrel.” Riley flipped him off and then sat opposite of him. I kept the urge to say something smart-ass back at him locked up tight, choosing to sit down instead. Oliver looked between us again and then back to the file. “Okay, here’s what we’re gonna do.” My spine snapped ramrod straight. “We? What we? Because I know you don’t mean Riley too.” Oliver leaned his elbows on the table as he crossed his arms and looked directly at Riley. “You didn’t tell him?” “Yes, I did. He wasn’t listening though.” “What do you mean he wasn’t listening?” I forced myself to listen instead of drift off as I’d done earlier. Damn her hair. She needed to pull it up and get it out of my thoughts! “…just like that,” she said, waving her hand in front of my face. “Do you think it’s a flashback?” The fear in her voice startled me. “I’m not having a flashback,” I answered, shifting myself on the bench seat so I straddled it. “Then what the hell is wrong with you?” Oliver demanded. My lip curled as I swung my gaze to him. “I’m dead, so, technically, it could either be classified as everything or nothing.” Oliver shook his head, tapping the folder in front of him. “Do you think you can keep your corporeal form focused for a minute while we go over tonight’s recon mission?” --
GIVEAWAY! Snatched
**Only 99c for a limited time!** EXCERPT: He backed me up against the pillar with my hands held by my sides. His face was so close to mine that I could feel his hot breath on my neck. He had that rich people smell too. He must’ve been able to hear my heart pound, it was so loud. My whole body pounded. I’d become a pounding, blushing idiot. “You shouldn’t,” I said, but instead of sounding insistent, my words came out in a husky whisper. Like a plea. “Oh, I should.” The deep rumble of his voice vibrated in my ear, sending delicious sensations through my body, down to my feet. He didn’t sound like he was going to take no for an answer. My common sense told me to stop him but it’d been so long since I’d been with a man. His lips hovered near mine and all common sense fled my mind. The only thought I had was how much I wanted him to kiss me. Every fibre of my being screamed for him to kiss me. It thudded through my body and reverberated with my pulse. The edges of my self blurred and I melted into the space around me. That plump bottom lip of his called to me. It told me it held the keys to dreamland. That everything I’d ever fantasised about could be fulfilled.
GIVEAWAY! -- Here's the direct buy link for Snatched (part one): http://www.amazon.com/dp/B01D5NYKM2Call Forth the Waves
READ CHAPTER 1: I dreamed I was on The Show’s train. I don’t know if I actually heard a sound while I slept or if it was pure, fearful imagination and regret, but I felt the uneven glide of wheels along the track and heard the steady rhythm of the rail mechanism as it laid new planks down and picked the old ones up. My father, Magnus Roma, had designed our circus’s train so that it could roll anywhere, even through my mind in the middle of the night. I was mute and invisible, and when I tried to warn the people I loved that they needed to run, they couldn’t hear me. I watched, screaming silently, as Wardens Nye and Arcineaux laid waste to them all and left the train a smoking heap of slag. There were no survivors— human, metal, or Klok, who was a little bit of both. He died at my feet, glassy eyes frozen open so that I couldn’t get away from them. It was exactly how I’d watched the mechanical re-creation of my mother fall, but my father had built Klok with my eyes, which made it worse. A piece of me died with him. My father had created her to protect me, and now she was trying to kill me. I ran, and the train pursued over water and air and land. There was no escape, so I did the only thing I could: I turned around, stood my ground, and called destruction down to save myself. I unleashed the full power of the Celestine without restraint, until the train and my mother were battered to dust and stopped trying to come back. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed, but the words stuck in my throat, held there by a paste of tears and ash while the remains sifted through my fingers. “I’m sorry!” I screamed so loud and hard the words could have cut themselves free from my throat, but they never made it to my mouth. My hands began to glow, and I felt the impossible heat of a fire that had never before burned me. Hotter and brighter. Hotter and brighter, until my skin flaked off in twinkling bits. I was a star swirling to life in the ruins of a universe beyond my control. Uncontainable energy that had been held in check for too long. I became heaven’s fire. And in the final moment of my mortal existence, I screamed again. Unheard again. One last, horrible second of incineration before I woke up, still screaming, but far from silent. Doors slammed up and down the halls inside the Hollow, the sup- posed haven my father had promised would protect us all, and I knew what came next. The monsters. That’s what I’d called the sounds as a child, before I knew the monsters were me. Bad dreams always caused my abilities—my touch—to flare. Groaning metal and creaking and shrieking from power lines. The chiming of chimes and the straining of gears. Every square inch of the Hollow was rushing to my defense, ripping itself apart to do so. The room’s rug caught fire. Pipes burst from the walls, flooding what had once been my nursery and dousing the flames. Next came a sour wind blowing havoc through the room. I never should have slept there, but I was obsessed with the nursery and everything in it, just for the hope that I could force a real memory of it to surface. In my old life, when the train wasn’t a nightmare, this was where my father would have appeared in my door. But I’d lost him, too. Now silencing the chaos was up to me. I had to get control over myself before the call I hadn’t intended to send out reached the stars and brought them down, the same way I had called to them the night I was born— when I murdered my twin brother. I threw my hands over my ears to stop the sounds, but all that did was dredge up walls of rock from under the Hollow’s foundation. They blocked me in on all sides, creating a cell that would isolate me from everyone else. Alone and in the dark, I was able to get a handle on myself. I couldn’t hear the monsters anymore. I laid my palms flat to the cool slate, inhaled the earthy scent of soil with all its microscopic life, and my panic calmed. It would have been easy to leave the walls up, or even to command them to crush me so I couldn’t be a danger to anyone ever again. The wardens wouldn’t chase my friends without me. But that was the kind of stray thought a half-sleeping mind considers. I’d never really do it; I still had three sisters left to save. My stone prison began to crack, letting fresh air and light through. Anise. She was terrakinetic, someone who could move earth by will alone, and she had a lot more practice at it than I did. She and my other sisters had been on display as part of our circus, but I’d had to hide myself, claiming the identity of my dead brother. I’d been a hunter wearing the pelt of her kill for a disguise so I could walk among the flock of so-called normal humans undetected. “Are you coming out, or should I get the bear?” Anise asked through the crack in my defenses. Each of my sisters had a particular skill for creating creatures from the element they wielded, the same way my father made golems out of metal and gears. Anise’s took the form of a Kodiak bear. Like a grizzly, only bigger and more aggressive. “I’m fine,” I said. “Just give me a minute.” The stone cracked wider—that was a “no.” Not only was Anise in the room, but Jermay was there, looking “I said I was fine,” I snapped, climbing out of the cell. If Birdie was there, she was hiding, making her the only one with any sense. Once I’d threaded my arms through the gap, Jermay took my hands and pulled. My sister had made me an exit, but not a wide one. I had to work for it. The room was a wreck of broken furniture and sloshing water. Anise dismantled my hiding spot, bidding the stones return to the ground, but she couldn’t do anything about the rest. Baby clothes that had once sat neatly stacked on shelves were now a muddy mess. The water was quickly soaking a wooden crate of books in the corner so that the pages turned translucent and stuck together. One book floated past, with a yellow duckling peeking out from the warped body of a brown dog. “I’ll fix it,” I told her. “Fixing things isn’t enough. You’ve got to stop breaking them in the first place. You’re getting stronger, Chey-chey. You’ve got to get control of yourself.” This was humiliating. She was scolding me like a child, and the others were all watching. “What if Jermay had been in here with you?” Ever since our escape from Warden Nye and his Center in the sky, sleeping had been a problem. We all had our nightmares and our shared fear that the dream would overtake reality to prove we were all still prisoners. At some point in the night, there was an inevitable migration. I’d wake up to find Jermay had snuck in and was now sleeping beside me, or I’d wake up alone and creep down the hall to the room that was his. Winnie and Birch did the same thing, and on the occasions that we passed each other in the halls, no one said anything. No one looked anyone else in the eye. Our fears came with an unacknowledged shame, especially on the night everyone but Klok had ended up on the floor of Anise’s room, just close enough to touch so no one could get lost. “What if Birdie had curled up to sleep in your chair instead of mine tonight?” Anise asked. “You could have hurt her, or worse!” Didn’t she understand? It wasn’t me—it was the Hollow. Every inch was a reminder of why our house had never been my home. There wasn’t a single room I could use as a refuge from the guilt I carried for what I’d cost her and everyone else. She’d tried to convince me that my brother’s death wasn’t my fault, but that had been a fleeting comfort. I knew the truth. I’d lived it for sixteen years, and now it was choking the life out of me in retribution. Absolute truth was so terrifying an idea that I still hadn’t found the nerve to access the memory chip my father left me for my birthday. I knew it had to be important, but I wasn’t ready for my world to twist again. I kept the chip with me always, tucked into a pants pocket when I was awake or a shirt pocket when I slept, but I absolutely could not open it. I hadn’t even told anyone else it existed for fear that whatever secrets it held would be worse than those shared by the walls around me. “I have to get out of here,” I said. It felt like an admission of weakness, me begging for my big sister to protect me from the unseen things that gathered in the dark to scare me. “How long until Klok has the golems ready to go?” My father’s metal son was the only one with enough foresight to leave me alone. He’d been in Magnus’s basement workshop for days, putting the final touches on repairs to Xerxes and Bijou so we could use them as transportation to reach whatever secret place Winnie knew. Not safe, she said, but free of the Commission, and that was free enough to let me breathe. Klok had been working nonstop, but I still wished he was faster. I had been ready to leave the day we arrived. “Any time now,” Anise said. She seemed to notice the edge in her own voice, because she softened it to ask: “Honestly this time—are you okay?” “Am I ever?” The rocks were gone and the fire doused, but we were still ankle- deep in rising water. I placed my left hand against an exposed pipe and held the right out toward my floor. The leak stopped and reversed, flowing back into the pipe with everything that had drenched my room. Once the rug was dry, I covered the break in the pipe with my palm and willed the metal to melt into a new seam. “See?” I said to Anise. “It’s under control.” “For now.” She scowled at me. “I’m making breakfast, if you want any. Do not leave this house.” Then she let me be. Winnie and Birch left my door, so only Jermay and I remained. I could almost hear Birdie’s ghostly steps running away unseen. Or it could have been my mind playing another trick on me. “So what was it this time?” Jermay asked me. “The Center falling out of the sky? Accidentally summoning an army of Medusae golems that dragged you into space?” Nightmares were so common that we knew each other’s by name. I shook my head and said, “The train,” so quietly I almost didn’t hear it myself. “Mine was a man-eating clock tracking me through a poisonous jungle.” He grinned, so I couldn’t tell if he was telling the truth or not. One of his more frustrating traits. “I left her,” I said. “Who?” “Iva. She was shot, and she died, and all I did was step over her body and save myself.” “You mean the robot?” “Don’t say it like that. You wouldn’t talk about Klok like that.” “Klok’s different,” Jermay said. “Why?” “He just is.” Jermay gave me the lopsided grin that used to be my greatest weakness, but he was trying old tricks on a new girl. I wasn’t that Penn any- more, and I wasn’t really Penelope, either. I was something new, hard and sharp because my edges hadn’t worn down yet. No matter what I said or did, I cut him. “You didn’t know her,” I told him bluntly. I wondered if I could have saved her. I had rewired Warden Nye’s mechanical hands without a manual or tools, using a few stern words and stubborn looks. That had been years’ worth of damage. Maybe even decades. Iva’s wound was fresh. Her systems were mostly intact. Surely I could have routed the rest around the burnouts. I could have done something—anything. But I left her there, and I didn’t think about try- ing to fix her until we were out of reach. I forgot her, and now I knew what it was like to watch my mother die. “Iva fulfilled her purpose,” Jermay said. “She helped save us. If it’s possible for a machine to feel satisfaction, then she died happy.” “But she still died.” I started picking up the mess, one infant-sized toy at a time. Jermay sat down on the end of the bed I’d begged Klok to move in here for me. He surveyed the room. “What d’ya say I snap my fingers and clean this place up my way?” His way meaning magic. Illusion. Deception. I’d blink my eyes, and he’d have everything hidden in the closet and under the bed before I opened them again. “That’s okay. I’ve got it.” I needed to ground myself in reality. Using my hands felt normal, and I’d nearly forgotten what that word meant. Sleight of hand wouldn’t help me remember. “I’m sorry I can’t make it better,” he said. “So am I.” He flinched as if I meant that I blamed him for not being able to fix things, but I was only returning his apology. I was sorry, too. I wanted to make things better for him, but didn’t know how. We were both orphans, most likely. I couldn’t say for certain that my father was dead, but he wasn’t there, and every new day withered my hope of finding him a little more. And yet, I still had that scrap of hope—Jermay didn’t. His father’s grave was right outside the door to the Hollow, and he was the one trying to make me feel better, when I should have been showing him the same compassion. What was wrong with me? “Anise is right. You are getting stronger,” he said when I sat down beside him on the bed. “Not strong enough, and I can’t stay cooped up like this. I need air.” The Show’s train had never stayed in one place longer than a week; we were always on the go. What I hadn’t realized was that we couldn’t afford to stop. The only time I’d ever been still longer than that was inside the Center. It took me a while to figure out the timeline, but between fleeing with Jermay and the others, being unconscious after we lost the train, and the days I spent imprisoned with Birch in the clouds, I lost six weeks. It felt like six lifetimes—one each for me, my sisters, and my missing father. Being inside the Hollow felt like six times more than that. There weren’t even any windows. “I need to see the sky,” I said. Something else Anise should have understood. She’d been weakened by having her access to the ground cut off inside the Center. I needed to see the sun and moon and stars, not have them reduced to the tingling agony of a ghost limb I could feel but not see or touch. Time had lost all meaning in the Hollow. We slept because we were always exhausted and unable to relax enough to rest. No one knew if it was day or night outside. We didn’t even know how long we’d been there. “You can’t go out,” Jermay told me. “Anise said—” “I don’t care!” A small tremor shook the room. “Sorry,” I said. “But that’s going to keep happening unless I get out of here.” “They’re looking for you.” “Nye was looking for me. The rest of them are licking their wounds. We’re under a tree. What are the chances that someone from the Commission will wander through these woods at the exact moment I step outside?” “About the same chance as you being possible,” Jermay said, more serious. “If you have a flare out in the open, someone could see it.” “Fine—compromise. I won’t go out, but I’m opening the door before I suffocate. If I don’t, I’m liable to literally blow the roof off of this place, and that would be a lot easier to see from a distance than one girl in a random stretch of trees.” “I don’t know, Penn . . .” “I’m going.” I was already getting up to leave. An alarm sounded. My room was suddenly awash in lights and noise. “Wha—” Jermay started to ask, but I shrugged. Unless Anise had wired me with motion sensors in my sleep, the alert had nothing to do with us. We hurried into the hall. Anise ran past us toward the main room and the entrance we’d used to access the Hollow when we first arrived. “Did either of you touch the outer door?” she asked. “Why?” “Did you touch the door?” she shouted. I’d never seen Anise lose her temper or composure. She was the one who kept the rest of us grounded. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good. “We didn’t touch anything,” Jermay said as Birch and Winnie joined us from the back. Klok stomped up the stairs from my father’s workroom. The trapdoor slammed open against the hall rug. “Check the sensors,” Anise ordered him. “Code Blackout. Turn everything off in case they’re skimming for energy signatures.” With entire cities going dark at night out of fear that the Medusae or another otherworldly race might see us, the Commission had devel- oped ways to scan for illegal tech in areas where it was forbidden. All of my father’s work was cutting edge, specifically because it was made for the Commission to buy freedom for our family. Their equipment could pick it up, easy. Klok nodded and disappeared back into the floor. Two seconds later, the room dimmed to a candlelit glow. “What is it?” I asked. “What’s wrong?” “The alert on the outer door. Someone’s coming in.” I reached for Jermay’s arm at the same time he reached for mine. We twined them together with our pinkies interlocked for luck. Maybe some of the old Penn was still in there, after all. A tiny invisible mass latched onto my other side so hard that I almost toppled over. “Birdie!” Anise shouted. “I need to see you, baby.” “I think I’ve got her,” I said. Birdie slipped her hand into mine, slowly bleeding into view without a sound. Her eyes were wide and staring, her whole body shaking. She was barefoot and in a pair of red-checkered pajamas she’d rummaged from one of my sisters’ closets. “Into the basement with Klok,” Anise ordered her. Birdie sprinted for the trapdoor, disappearing again as she went. Someone pounded on the outer door. The tunnel lights went out completely, robbing us of our view, and I backed up with Jermay, farther into the main room. There was only the one exit. We ran into Winnie and Birch so that the four of us formed a line. Standing together had given us an advantage before. Hopefully, there was still safety in numbers. “What if it’s someone from The Show?” Jermay asked. “It could be . . . couldn’t it?” The look Anise gave him over her shoulder wasn’t promising. “Whoever it is, I’ll tell them to leave and forget how they got here,” Winnie offered. She was The Show’s siren in more than appearance, and if she told someone to do something, they did it. “I doubt they’re alone,” Anise said. “They’re not going to give you the chance to speak to each one of them. All of you get into the workroom.” “But—” She wouldn’t let me argue. “Do it, Penn!” she commanded. “If I don’t know the person on the other side of that door, I’m collapsing the tunnel, and then I’m bringing the rest of this place down behind me. You’ll have to make them a new way out.” “I’m not leaving you!” That was how I lost my sisters the first time. They guarded our escape from the train, and in return, they were taken by the Commission. Anise growled, but she didn’t waste time arguing with me. “Winnie, Birch, grab whatever’s worth taking downstairs and tell Klok to be ready to run. We can’t wait for perfection anymore.” “Got it,” Winnie said. She and Birch descended the workroom stairs as the seal on the main door broke with a creak. A new light appeared at the mouth of the tunnel. Something moving. As it came closer, it behaved strangely like a living thing, but it was definitely on fire. It ran the last several yards on padded feet. “Samson!” I cried, relieved. There was no mistaking my sister Evie’s flame-dog once he was close enough to have a shape. I’d seen her summon him nightly for The Show for as long as I could remember. “Evie’s made it! She escaped!” “Penn, wait!” Jermay pulled on my arm, though I could see Evie in the tunnel now. “Look at him.” I turned my attention back to Samson. The usually playful pup stood with his legs braced, twisting his neck against an unseen leash, being forced to go where he didn’t want to be led. “Evie?” Anise called. She kept her hands down, but I could feel her power rooting itself into the ground beneath our feet. She was preparing for an attack. Provoked, she could have a rampaging Kodiak between us and the door in a heartbeat. “If that’s you, say something.” “This is wrong,” Jermay said, shaking his head. “We should—” He lost his voice as Evie stepped into the main room with a hound’s collar around her throat and manacles on her wrists and ankles. She’d lost the glow that had always made her seem to shine. “Run!” she said. Then the ball of flame in her hand leapt from her fingers.
GIVEAWAY! --
Covalent Series
Book One
Libby Doyle
Genre: urban fantasy/paranormal romance
Publisher: Fairhill Publishing LLC
Date of Publication: March 20, 2016
ISBN: 978-0-9972985-0-5
ASIN: B01CCE4U8E
Number of pages: 303 in ePub
Word Count: 117,259
Cover Artist: Damonza
Book Description:
In loving her, he breaks laws that have existed for millennia. In loving him, she overcomes her pain, but to discover his true identity would shred her reality.
He is Barakiel. Warrior. Exile. Hopeless romantic. Barakiel is Covalent, a race of ancient beings who use their great power to keep the elemental forces of Creation and Destruction in Balance. The Covalent Council exiled Barakiel to the Earthly Realm as the price of the treachery of his father, Lucifer, who wages perpetual war against it. Lucifer also relentlessly pursues his son. The Council thinks Lucifer views his sonâs power as a threat, but Barakiel knows his father seeks to destroy even the memory of love.
She is Alexandra âZanâ O'Gara. FBI Agent. Army veteran. Recovering drunk. Zanâs troubled past left her with little interest in men, but she had never encountered anyone like the stunning Rainer Barakiel. Zan believes Rainer is a wealthy businessman with expertise in edged weapons who can help her with a case. From the moment she meets him she wants him more than sheâs ever wanted anything, but her intense attraction is as frightening as it is thrilling.
This is their love story. As Zanâs deepening feelings for Rainer lead her to confront her emotional damage, he struggles to meet the demands of his home world so he will be free to love her, and to reveal his true nature. Through the gruesome crime that first brought Zan to his door, Barakiel learns that his presence in the Earthly Realm has placed some of its most vulnerable citizens in danger. Compelled to protect them, he undertakes a series of duties he may not survive, even as Zan rescues him from centuries of a deadened heart.
Book Trailer https://youtu.be/HGeVs2XgQjo
Excerpt from part one, Vernal Equinox, Chapter 1
The front of the main building had a set of massive wooden double doors and a smaller heavy wooden door to the side with the bell. She rang, and when the door opened she forgot she was supposed to speak. He was gigantic, at least six foot eight, with broad shoulders and a lithe, athletic build. A few strands of his unruly, mid-length blond hair fell over eyes that seemed to be several shades of blue at once. They drew her in with more than their beauty, as if something primeval was hidden in their depths, just barely restrained. He faintly smiled. She knew her face was getting red.
What the hell. Donât be such a fool.
âUm, hello, Iâm Special Agent Alexandra OâGara of the FBI.â She stuck out her hand. âMy office made an appointment.â
âYes. Iâm Rainer Barakiel. A pleasure to meet you.â His voice was rich and deep and he spoke with a slight accent. When he shook her hand, she held it too long. She still felt flushed.
âI, um, I appreciate you taking the time for this, Mr. Barakiel.â
âIâm happy to help.â
God, so lame. He must have to deal with swooning women all the time, but I doubt he expected it from an FBI agent.
Turning gracefully, he showed her through the door. Zan tried not to stare at the way his jeans fit his hips, or the contours of his muscles beneath his gray cashmere sweater. Gripped by a strong urge to run her hands all over him, she was lucky his place was filled with fascinating things to distract her. Antiques and art were arranged tastefully in the open space, among brown leather couches and chairs and colorful woven rugs. Pale sun from high skylights glinted off a sunburst mosaic above the mantle of a huge concrete fireplace. Zan tried to concentrate on her surroundings, at least until her pulse slowed down.
âWhat a fantastic place.â
âThank you.â He dipped his head toward her in an old-fashioned display of manners that she found charming.
âThis whole property is great. What was it used for, before you lived here?â
âThis land was part of the old Rohm and Haas Chemical plant you can still see as you enter. The facility was shut down in 2010.â
âI wish more people would reclaim these abandoned places by the river. Most of it just goes to waste, and meanwhile theyâre developing Chester County farmland.â
âYes.â He looked at her intensely. âI felt good about redeveloping a brownfield. I had to do a lot of remediation, but now itâs an excellent place to live.â
âAll you need now is for the city to buy the front parcel and turn it into a park.â Zan gave him her best sunny smile, with an openness she knew made people trust her.
âThat would be ideal,â he replied, âbut Iâm not holding my breath.â He returned her smile.
My god, youâre beautiful. How are you that beautiful? Why am I here? The knives.
âUm, in the interest of not taking up any more of your time than necessary, these are the knives in question.â Zan held up the case. âDaggers, I think. Did Professor Carson explain where we found them?â
âSuperficially, yes.â
âWell, someone conducted some kind of ritual in Independence National Historical Park. We wouldnât be that concerned with weird people doing weird things at night, but we found a human spleen. We tested the DNA and ran it through the database and discovered that the spleen came from a body found this past winter by the Philadelphia police. All its internal organs had been removed. The police called us because they thought it might involve organ trafficking, but we never found any evidence of it, so we werenât much help. No one ever filed a missing persons report on this man, and Philly PD was never able to identify the corpse, let alone solve the crime.â
âDisturbing,â he said.
âVery. We thought if you could tell us something about the knives it might give us some insight into what this whole thing was about, maybe generate some sort of lead. They look old, and Professor Carson said you are an expert in antique bladed weapons.â
âYes. I collect them. Iâve learned a lot over the years.â
âLetâs take a look,â Zan said. He led her to a massive carved table to the left near the kitchen area. She opened the case and laid the daggers out on a cloth. After he leaned down to scrutinize them, he said they were ceremonial daggers and asked if he could pick them up. Zan told him that because they were evidence, he would need to wear latex gloves. She handed him a pair. He tried to put one on for a minute, then frowned at her.
âIâm sorry. Itâs too small.â
Zan stared at his hands. They were huge, but not meaty. They looked like they could crush a manâs skull, but also assemble a fine Swiss watch.
Or maybe gently touch me.
She felt the heat rise to her face again. He raised an eyebrow.
âYou can use the glove like a handkerchief and just pick it up that way,â she said, fixing her gaze on the floor.
Picking up a dagger, he held it level with his eyes. When he had done the same to all four and they were back in the case, he motioned Zan closer and directed her to lean down. He showed her the intricate motifs and the manner in which the blades were joined to the hilts. He explained that from these features, he could determine that the blades were ceremonial, made in France in the late 19th century. She struggled to listen to what he was saying. That impossible face was so close, and she could smell him. He smelled like a pristine forest in the spring.
âWhat kind of ritual was it?â he asked. âThese daggers would have been used for ceremonies, like the opening or closing of a formal meeting. They are valuable as antiques but they are not real weapons.â
âWe havenât really explored the evidence in terms of the ritual yet, because weâve been concentrating on the spleen.â Zan shook her head. âThat sounds odd, doesnât it?â
âItâs an odd situation.â
âIf I showed you some crime scene photos, do you think you would have any insight?â
He rubbed his chin. âI might be able to say whether the daggers were related to the ritual.â
âThat could be helpful. May I bring them by?â Zan asked, failing to disguise her pleasure at the idea.
âIâm leaving town for a few days tomorrow. Can you come back this evening?â
âYes, I think so.â She paused to consider for a moment. âI need to remind you that you canât discuss anything about this with anyone. Did you read the agreement?â
âYes. I understand that Iâve agreed to keep all this confidential.â
âGood. I should be able to come back around 7:00.â
âIâll be here. In the meantime, if I may take some photos of these daggers, I can send a few emails. My contacts may be able to discover their provenance.â
âThat would be extremely helpful. Just donât reveal that they were involved in a crime.â He nodded and began to snap pictures of the knives with his phone.
âI have to say, Professor Carson was right,â Zan said. âIâm amazed you were able to identify a time period and a use for those in just a few minutes. I would love to have that kind of expertise. I know a lot about guns because it comes with the job, but I love edged weapons. Theyâre so elegant.â
âYes.â He looked at her intensely again. âWould you like to see my collection?â
âItâs here?â
âOf course.â
âIâd love to.â
Just great, OâGara. One handsome face and you toss your professionalism right out the window.
They moved to the left, behind the open kitchen, to an ultra-modern staircase of black and silver and honey-toned wood leading to a mezzanine lined with bookshelves. Zan enjoyed following him up the stairs.
Look at that ass. That ass is perfect.
They walked along the mezzanine to a huge sunny room at the back. Zan stood gaping when they entered. Save for several large windows, every square foot of the stucco walls was hung with bladed weapons: axes, pikes, halberds, and swords, mostly swords, in more styles and sizes than Zan knew existed. Wood and glass cases filled with daggers and other small blades sat at the far ends, with an island of leather couches and chairs at the center, rimmed around a thick Persian rug in velvety red.
âThis is the coolest room I have ever seen,â she said. He chuckled and thanked her.
That was adorable. God. Get ahold of yourself.
âSo, um, Mr. Barakiel, what kind of time span do these weapons represent?â she asked.
âPlease, call me Rainer.â Zan flushed and looked up at him. He still had that adorable look on his face, like a little boy showing someone his secret clubhouse. Before she gave a thought to what she was doing, she had asked him to call her Zan.
About the Author:
Libby Doyle is the pen name of an attorney and former journalist who took a walk around the corporate world and didnât like it. Considering sheâs written an extravagant yarn filled with sex and violence, she thought a pen name would be prudent. She also thinks itâs kind of fun.
Libby grew up on the East Coast of the United States. She attended college in the 1980s and became immersed in the underground music scene. She met talented people and troubled people. She met people who taught her what it means to be your own person. In the 1990s, she went back to school to get a master's degree in journalism. Before beginning work in her chosen field, an attack of wanderlust set her traveling. For all that Libby loves books, she believes nothing compares to the education of travel.
After her wanderings, she returned to her career. For more than a decade, Libby worked as a journalist, until her interests led her to law school. She kept her full-time job while attending law school at night, the most brutal experience sheâs ever had. She cursed her own stupidity countless times as her body and mind became sick with exhaustion, but sheâs glad she did it.
Libby knows sheâs a lucky woman. Sheâs had countless adventures, memories that feed her imagination. She stood atop a hill in Connemara in a cold wind, watching sunlight sparkle off the pristine sea below. She crested a trail after a grueling hike to find the glory of the Continental Divide spread before her. She was followed by a howler monkey in a Mexican jungle, shared the midday meal with Buddhist monks in Korea, and got pummeled by an opponent in a martial arts test in Japan. She trekked for days among the Himalayas, mountains so high and timeless they made her feel completely insignificant.
Sheâs married to a man who is funny and kind and patient enough to listen to her chatter on about her characters. They're not even real, but she feels like they're her friends. Sheâs confident they'll keep you entertained. Through her fanciful tale, she hopes they speak to you.
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