Jessica Andersen hit gold with her idea to use the Mayan Long Count calendar as the concept for her Final Prophecy series. There will be a lot of interest and intrigue during the journey to the earth’s demise, so we’re doing our part in making sure everyone has a good taste of Jessica’s series.

So today we’re giving you a look at excerpts from the books so far in Jessica’s Nightkeepers series.  Check back throughout the day for the next installment. You don’t want to miss a one of them!

First up is Nightkeepers…..

According to the Mayan doomsday prophecy, time ends on December 21, 2012. In Nightkeepers, the last king of an ancient race of magi must team up with a sexy Miami-Dade narcotics detective in order to reunite his scattered warriors and fight the gods of the Mayan underworld. Wielding ancestral blood magic, the king must choose between his duty to avert the 2012 apocalypse and his love for the woman who is the gods’ destined sacrifice.

Summer Solstice, 2008

The blonde leaning over the garden center’s display table of annual flats was wearing a tight pink tank top and no bra. Not that Strike was looking or anything.

“I just love impatiens, don’t you?” She bent over further to select just the right six-pack of flowers, giving him an eye-full.

Hello. He dialed down the water wand he’d been using to fertilize the hanging begonias, and moved around the table. “Impatiens are pretty enough,” he said, pretending to look at the flowers. “But I prefer the full sun varieties, myself. No tan lines.”

She shot him a gotcha look before nodding at his right arm. “Nice ink. Aztec, right?”

He normally wore long-sleeved shirts to avoid just this sort of conversation, especially from people who noticed that his business partners, Jox and Red-Boar, wore similar glyphs. Today was summer-hot, though, and he’d gone with cutoffs and a black t-shirt that bared his marks: the jaguar that symbolized his bloodline and the ju that marked him as royalty.

“They’re Mayan.” He could’ve told her that the Maya had been the only society in the New World to develop a fully-functional writing system, or that it was because they, like the Egyptians two millennia earlier, had been taught by an older warrior culture that went back twenty thousand years or so to Atlantis.

He didn’t tell her that because one, she’d think he was whacked; two, lectures weren’t sexy; and three, the details, like the forearm marks, weren’t relevant anymore. The barrier was sealed, the Nightkeepers unnecessary. In four-plus years, the Great Conjunction would come and go with nothing more than a Michael Bay disaster movie and some empty hype.

Hopefully.

“Very nice,” she said again, and it was clear she wasn’t just talking about the marks.

“Thanks.” Strike was bigger than average- most Nightkeepers were, or had been- and he kept himself fighting fit. Add that to deep blue eyes, shoulder-length black hair worn in a ponytail regardless of trends, and a close-clipped jawline beard, and he had a look that either fascinated women or scared them off, depending.

The blonde didn’t seem scared as she took a long look around the garden center.

The sturdy barn-red store was flanked with plastic-covered greenhouses, with the one- and five-gallon shrubs grouped out front like leafy islands sprouting from an ocean of parking lot. The balled-and-burlapped trees were set around the perimeter, and tables of flowers and veg flats were strategically placed so shoppers couldn’t miss them on the way in. “This place is cute,” she said finally. “Yours?”

In other words, was he an owner, a contract landscaper working out of the nursery, or a schlub who, at thirty-three, watered plants for a living at seven bucks an hour? “Mine and my partners’,” he said, wondering how she’d react if he told her it was a little bit of all of those things.

He was part owner, along with Jox and Red-Boar, because all three of their names were on the Nightkeeper Fund started by his umpteen-great grandfather after he’d sold off most of the old artifacts. Strike also did some landscaping now and then, when he got the itch. And yeah, he was thirty-three, and although he had an MBA from Harvard Biz and used it to manage the Fund, at the moment his career pretty much consisted of watering plants and discussing the intricacies of dried versus composted cow manure.

That, and studying spells that hadn’t worked in twenty-four years.

“Want to give me a behind the scenes tour?” The blonde shot him a look of pure invitation that normally would’ve had his glands sitting up and taking notice. Now, though, his libido sort of shrugged and yawned, which gave him serious pause. Oh, come on. How could he not be interested in getting some of that?

He ought to be. . . hell, he was trying to be, but he was doing the auto-flirt thing- and had been for the past few weeks- all because of some seriously funky, sexed-up dreams that had him waking up horny as hell. He could clearly picture the woman in those dreams: her high-cheekboned face and pale blue eyes, a set of full lips that seemed made to wrap around a guy and hang on for the ride, and white-blonde hair that sifted through his fingers like spun platinum.

He looked at pink-top again to make sure. Nope, wrong blonde. Assuming, of course, there was a ‘right’ blonde. . . which was a serious stretch because even if the barrier was active- which it wasn’t- and he’d gone through the talent ceremony at puberty to get his full powers- which he hadn’t- Nightkeeper males weren’t supposed to be precogs. Which meant the dreams were just dreams, and he should be good to go.

Only he wasn’t.

“There’s really not much to see out back.” He smiled in an effort to soften the brush-off. “Besides, I’ve got to keep working. My boss is a real ball-buster.” There was even a bit of truth to that- Jox might be the royal winikin and thus technically Strike’s servant, but the garden center was his baby, and woe to he who skimped on watering duty.

Surprise flicked across the blonde’s face, along with a hint of temper he figured she was entitled to. “Really? Wow. Guess I called that wrong.”

“My bad, not yours.” He cranked the water wand and hit a hanging pot of salmon-colored begonias. “Enjoy the impatiens.”

As she huffed off and the begonia pot overflowed, a voice from behind Strike said, “What are you, fucking stupid?”

Exhaling and counting to ten backwards, Strike dealt with the water first, shutting it off and dropping the hose. Then he turned and held out a hand. “That’ll be five bucks, Rabbit.”

Wearing low-slung jeans, heavy workboots and a black hooded track jacket even though it was in the high eighties and rising, with the hood pulled up over his shaved-bald head and his iPod buds stuck firmly in his ears, Red-Boar’s seventeen year-old son was dressed to depress, and wore the ‘tude to match.

Smirking, the kid dug in his pocket, pulled out a ten and slapped it in Strike’s palm to pay the “no saying ‘fuck’ on the job” fine they’d been forced to institute when Rabbit graduated high school a full year ahead of schedule, blew off his SATs to joyride down the coast in Jox’s truck, and then emailed all his completed college applications to the US Embassy in Honduras while swearing to Jox and Strike that he’d submitted the apps on time.

He’d probably figured- hoped- that his father would cut ties after those stunts, leaving him free to do whatever the hell he wanted. Instead, Red-Boar- aka the sole survivor of the Solstice Massacre- had surprised all of them by rousing his PTSD-zonked self long enough to ground Rabbit’s ass, cancel his AmEx, julienne his license and order the kid to work at the garden center all summer, where he’d promptly started cussing out the customers. Thus, the fuck fine.

Strike pocketed the ten. “You want change?”

“Put it on account.” The kid’s eyes, so light blue they were almost gray, followed the blonde into the store. “But seriously. How can you not want a piece of that?”

“I take it you’re done pruning out back?”

Jox and Strike did their best to keep Rabbit away from the front of the store as much as possible because they never knew what he’d get into next. Sometimes his ideas were brilliant, sometimes terrifying, quite often both. But Rabbit was Red-Boar’s son, which meant he was one of them. It also meant that he was at a serious disadvantage, because his father was a head case and nobody knew a damn thing about his mother except Red-Boar, who wasn’t talking. So Strike tried to cut the kid some slack. In the end, the four of them were a family, albeit a seriously dysfunctional one.

Rabbit lifted a shoulder, still focused on the front of the store even though the blonde was long gone. “Why don’t you check on the pruning for yourself, Strike-out?”

“In other words, no.” Strike rubbed absently at his wrist, which had started aching early that morning, along with most of the rest of his body. He was tired, and vaguely pissed off for no good reason. There was nothing wrong, but there was nothing particularly right, either.

He was used to living with Jox, Red-Boar and Rabbit in a strange bacheloresque symbiosis that was part necessity, part history, but it wasn’t the life he would’ve picked. Four and a half more years until the world doesn’t end, he reminded himself. You’ve just got to hang on until then.

“Delivery’s here,” Rabbit said, shifting his attention as an eighteen-wheeler turned up the driveway. “I’ll sign for it.”

“No way.” Strike grabbed Rabbit by the back of his hood, knowing the kid was just as likely to blow straight past the truck and down the street to the liquor store, bucking for another shoplifting conviction. He headed the teen toward the greenhouse with a shove. “Prune. Now.”

“Fuck you.”

Strike patted his pocket, where he’d stuck the ten. “We’re even.”

He signed for the delivery- more cow shit- and headed into the store, which was functional and homey without being unrelentingly cute.

The walls were lined with shelves and bins holding everything from fifty-cent peat cakes to three hundred dollar customized bird feeders, complete with advanced squirrel deterrent systems that made no sense to Strike because, hey, squirrels were people, too. Rows of freestanding shelves held the seeds and chemicals, and twenty-pounders of fertilizer, crabgrass killer and Slug-B-Gone were stacked neatly in a row headed for the check-out area, where books and magazines competed for space with other point-of-purchase doodads. The counter was paneled in rustic wood like the rest of the shop, and the high-tech cash register was disguised to look like something out of the forties.

Behind the counter, Jox was perched on a barstool chatting with the blonde, who he’d apparently talked into a pink ceramic pot for her impatiens, along with a bonsai money tree.

The winikin was wearing khakis and a green long-sleeve jersey that covered the two jaguar glyphs on his arm- one for Strike, the other for his sister. Anna might’ve renounced her magic and taken off, but the bloodline connection remained unbroken. Jox’s dark skin was relatively unlined for his fifty-seven years, his close-cropped hair shot through with silver. He looked relaxed enough, but his expression was edged with the same tension Strike felt in his own gut, the same sense of dread mingled with anticipation.

The thirteenth prophecy spoke of the final five years before the Great Conjunction, when a great sacrifice would be required to keep the Banol Kax from coming to earth and precipitating the big Game Over. Thing was, King Scarred-Jaguar’s attack on the intersection twenty-four years ago had sealed the barrier, preventing the few surviving Nightkeepers- i.e. Strike, Red-Boar and Anna- from using their powers. The seal also prevented the Banol Kax- and the gods, for that matter- from even communicating with the earthly plane, never mind reaching through the barrier to posess a willing- or unwilling- host. In all those things, Scarred-Jaguar’s vision had proven true, though it had cost him the Nightkeepers.

Had it been worth it? Strike didn’t know, and a whole hell of a lot of the answer depended on whether the barrier stayed sealed through the final five-year countdown.

With her purchase concluded, the blonde wiggled out, winking at Strike. “Your loss.”

“No doubt.” He watched her go, thinking that Rabbit was right. He was an idiot. Scratching a red patch on his inner wrist- he must’ve gotten nailed by a spider or something- he told Jox, “Your shit’s here.”

“Thanks.” The winikin skirted the counter and headed for the back, where a set of swinging doors led to the warehouse and loading dock. “Watch the register for a few minutes. I want to make sure they didn’t send me broken bags again.”

“Ah, yes. A smell to remember.” Strike took Jox’s customary place on the barstool behind the counter, swallowing hard against a sudden, unexpected surge of nausea.

A glance around the storefront showed a few browsers, but nobody who looked like they needed immediate attention. Which was a good thing, because all of a sudden he wasn’t feeling so hot. His wrist was burning like a sonofabitch, and when he looked down he saw three right hands where there should’ve only been one. A quick grab told him he hadn’t sprouted extra limbs; he was seeing triple. He was also sweating like a pig, and the idea of sticking his head in the john so he could barf in peace was sounding real good.

Narrowing his eyes to cut the spin, he groped for the phone to buzz Jox out back, and came up with a utility knife instead. This’ll do, he thought out of nowhere.

Moving without conscious volition, he flipped the knife open and sliced the blade across his right palm. Blood spilled over, tracking down his wrist and across his glyph marks. Then the pain hit, first from the cut, and again when he slithered off the barstool and landed hard on his knees. His head spun and the nausea increased, but it was more like a pressure in his throat, a burning compulsion to say- what?

Jesus, what the fuck’s going on? he thought, but the acid burning at the back of his throat told his head what his heart already knew. It was the summer solstice, one of the four days each year that the barrier used to be at its thinnest, when a Nightkeeper’s powers had been strongest.

The barrier- and his powers- were coming back on line after all these years.

Panic mingled with excitement as blood dripped onto the floor, pooling near his right knee. The warm smell touched his nostrils, tangy and sweet and calling to something inside him, something that ripped at his chest like fear. Like heartache.

“Pasaj,” he whispered. The word was the basic command for a Nightkeeper to open a connection to the barrier, to his ancestors, and it hadn’t worked since the massacre. Except that now, gray-green mist filled his brain and the world started to slide sideways beneath him. “Pasaj!” he said again, louder. “Are you out there? Talk to me, damn it!”

He heard distant voices, a woman’s cry of alarm. “He’s bleeding! Someone help!”

Inside his head, though, there was nothing beyond the spin, and the terrible, awful pressure in his throat. Then he saw something in the grayness behind his eyelids. A single slender thread of yellow in the fog. Holy crap. Acting on instinct, he reached out with his mind and touched the thread, grabbed onto it, and whispered the second word of the barrier spell. “Och.” Enter.

And the world around him vanished.

JenB’s the lucky one to read Kathryn Smith’s latest, the second book in her Nightmare Chronicles series.  But the rest of us are not totally left out! Take a gander at this exclusive excerpt of Dark Side of Dawn and then tell me you won’t be running down to your local bookstore. I dare you!

Life can be a Nightmare – literally…

Dawn Riley saved herself and her boyfriend Noah from a Night Terror bent on crossing over into the real world. You’d think she would be safe now, but now there’s a price to be paid. The Nightmare Council claims she’s broken their laws and is threatening to have her ‘unmade’ And as if that’s not bad enough, there’s a real world villain whom Dawn needs to find before he finds her. At this point the best Dawn can hope for is not to die in her sleep.

The Warden had cold green eyes, complete with black rims, but instead of being spidery, the line was thick and bold, as though someone had drawn it there with a magic marker. Weird. Her hair was bright copper, and hung down the back of her violet robe like a ripple of flame.

She was scary, and she knew it. I lifted my chin as she joined us at the table and fixed me with a cold gaze. I held her attention, and though I wanted to look away, I refused to give in.

“So you are the one named after Eos,” she half asked, half accused in a tone that was as scorching as her hair. “The daughter of Morpheus and a human.” She said human like it was some kind of disease.

“Yes,” I answered with a slight incline of my head – all the acknowledgment she would get from me. I’d be damned if I’d be ashamed if what I was.

The Warden’s peach lips thinned. She could have been a beautiful woman were it not for the bitterness etched in every feature, every aspect of her being. “You have been brought before this council on charges of willful endangerment of the realm, wanton disrespect for our rules and reckless disregard for the safety of our kind.”

I scowled. Hell, I glared. “I haven’t done any such things!” The only way I could have sounded more indignant would have been if I’d had an English accent.

Clearly the Warden didn’t like being talked back to. She drew up to her full height – which was a little taller than my own – and shot daggers at me with her eyes. Thankfully, she didn’t try to conjure real daggers. “You endangered this realm by bringing a human into it. A human who was fully aware of this world and totally cognizant of his time in it.”

That was Noah. I had brought him through a portal into the Dreaming when we’d realized Karatos had stolen his ability to dream. “I didn’t know it was wrong,” I replied. “I only wanted to help him.”

She was unmoved. “Your ignorance only proves your disrespect for our customs and rules. Had you taken the time to learn these things, you would have known better, but apparently twenty plus years of knowing what you are hasn’t provided you with adequate motivation.”

She was such a bitch. I managed to keep my mouth shut, even though I wanted to defend myself – and tear a strip off of her. Nothing I could say could change the fact that she was right. I should have learned more about this world. If I hadn’t turned my back on what I was and what it meant, I would have known that it was wrong to bring Noah into this realm.

I would have known that I shouldn’t be able to bring Noah into this realm, which was really what this was all about. I scared them. Well bully for them. They scared me too.

“And your involvement with that same human put him directly in harm’s way,” the Warden continued. “Something every Nightmare has sworn not to do.”

I knew that harming humans was against what the Nightmares stood for. We were protectors. “I haven’t sworn anything,” I retorted, ignoring my father’s shaking head. “I never asked to be half of this world and half human. I never asked to be a freak. I may have broken your rules, but it wasn’t my involvement with Noah that got him hurt, it was the fact that a Night Terror, working for people in this realm, decided it wanted to cross over into the human world and chose Noah to be his body. If I hadn’t stopped that Terror, you’d have bigger problems right now than me.”

I was mad – nostril flaring mad – and the Warden looked at me like I was a bug on her shoe. “You claim that the Terror called Karatos acted on the orders of another?”

I took a deep breath, forcing my temper down. “I don’t claim it. Karatos told me him…itself.” I had to remind myself that the thing that had tried to kill me and Noah wasn’t human.

The Warden lifted her chin defiantly. “Did the Terror reveal the name of his benefactor?”

That was an odd way to put it, since there had been nothing good about what Karatos had done. “No.”

She looked far too pleased. “Then you have no proof.”

I lifted my chin as well. “You don’t have any proof that I acted out of disregard for this realm either.”

I had her there, and from the dislike shining in her creepy eyes, she knew it.

“Indeed,” she replied frostily. “And so we have this inquiry into your actions. The council plans to watch you closely, Lady Dawn, and discuss your past behavior. If you are found to have acted out of good intent, without lasting effect on this realm, then you will be found innocent and no further action will be taken against you.”

Okay, so this didn’t sound so bad. I hadn’t done anything wrong, so there shouldn’t be any ramifications. So why did I have this sinking feeling in my gut?

“However,” the red-headed witch continued, “if it is determined that you acted willfully, with the intention of harming this realm and what it stands for, then I will have no choice but to pass judgment upon you and see that punishment is carried out.”

“P…punishment?”  I sputtered like a stuttering kid on a bad sitcom. “What kind of punishment?” And why did Morpheus look so pale? He was king here, damn it, and I was his daughter! I don’t care how spoiled I sounded, but I was this realm’s Paris Hilton, and the worst punishment I should get was a few days without cable.

The Warden actually smiled at me, but there was no warmth in it, just the opposite. “To disregard the rules of this world is akin to treason.  And the penalty for treason is unmaking.”

Thank God Verek chose that moment to take my arm again, because I might have fallen flat on my ass at that moment. Oh shit. I was in such trouble.

The equivalent to unmaking in the human realm was death.

I’ve been a fan of C.L. Wilson’s Tairen Soul series since the very first book. I was lucky enough to get an ARC of that book, Lord of the Fading Lands, a couple of months before its release date back in 2007.  I was instantly enraptured by the story, the romance, and most of all by Ms. Wilson’s writing. The complexity of the world she’s built, the richness of the writing that flows from her imagination, and the emotions she evokes from her characters are all, simply put, beautiful.

The first deadly battles of the new Mage Wars have been fought, and victory has been won a terrible price. As the toll of an unfulfilled matebond and the torment of war begins tips Rain towards madness, knows if she cannot find a way to defeat the darkness growing inside her and complete the truemate bond, Rain will die she will become the prophesied monster Vadim Maur uses to destroy the Fey and enslave the World.

A warning: Below is the entire first chapter of Queen of Song and Souls, so it’s lengthy. But to get the full effect of that richness, the world, and those characters, what better way to experience it. Especially if you’ve not read Ms. Wilson’s work before. If you’re a fan of the series and have yet to pick up Queen, enjoy!

Prologue

Celieria ~ the Garreval
She was only nine years old, and she was going to die.
Lillis Baristani clung to her beloved friend, Earth master Kieran vel Solande, and showered his throat with frightened tears.
Around them the world had gone mad. Magic, blades, and barbed sel’dor arrows filled the air. Blood ran red on the ground. Below, at the base of the Rhakis mountains, dozens of vile, snarling, monstrous wolf-beasts called darrokken were charging up the slope towards the small, fleeing party while the creatures’ evil masters flung globe after globe of blue-white Mage Fire to cut off all chance of escape.
Whatever the Mage Fire touched disintegrated on contact…not dissolved …simply disappeared. Entire chunks of the mountain evaporated in an instant, and the ground was shifting and shaking beneath Kieran’s feet.
“Kieran!” his friend Kiel shouted, pointing uphill. “The mountain!” Another frightful barrage of Mage Fire had dissolved half the peak above their heads. The remaining rock and stone gave a rumbling shriek and collapsed, sending a wall of dirt, stone, and wood rushing towards them.
“Hold tight, little one,” Kieran whispered. Lillis tightened her arms around his neck, pressing so close that her kitten, Snowfoot, mewed a protest and squirmed in the sling tied round her neck. Kieran turned to raise both hands and she felt the electric tingle of his gathering magic. It danced across her skin like crackling sparks of green light. Inside her, Lillis’s own magic rose in response.
She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face to his throat. Bright Lord, please help Kieran, she prayed. I don’t want to him to die. Or Papa, Lorelle, Kiel, or me either.
She felt the vibrations of Kieran’s throat against her lips as he shouted defiantly and flung out his weaves. The magic left him—and her too—in a great rush. Please, gods, please gods, please, gods.
Incredibly—or, perhaps, miraculously—the crumbling mountainside froze. Lillis risked a glance up to confirm that they were not about to be crushed flat as a griddle cake, then squeezed her eyes shut again.
“Five-fold weaves, my brothers!” Kieran shouted. “Keep that scorching Mage Fire off us!” Suddenly, he gave a grunt of pain, and Lillis felt him falter. Her head lifted, and though the battle raging all around terrified her, she forced her eyes open.
Kieran was arrow-shot. The sight of the ugly black, barbed metal arrow puncturing his thigh made her belly lurch.
**Get down, Lillis,** his voice murmured in her mind. **Run to your father. Kiel and I will hold them off.**
**But what about you?** It was the first time she’d ever spoken to him mind-to-mind. **You’re coming too, aren’t you?**
**In a chime …once Kiel and I deal with these Eld rultsharts.** From a face too handsome to be mortal, his normally laughing blue eyes regarded her with unsettling solemnity, and then she knew what he would not say. He turned his head to press a kiss to her face, then another to the thin arms wrapped so tight around his neck, and though he did not release his hands from his weave, she felt the tug of Spirit fingers prying her grip loose. She fought to cling, but her childish muscles were no match for his magic. Her hold on him lost, she slid to the ground. **Go, kitling. Quickly.** Another nudge from invisible hands shoved her towards Papa.
“Master Baristani,” Kieran cried aloud to her father, “take the girls. Go with the shei’dalins into the Mists! Run!”
Clutching Snowfoot to her chest, Lillis stumbled across the uneven ground towards Papa’s outstretched arms and the small knot of scarlet-gowned healers. Before she reached them, a darting flash of darkness caught her eye and a foul odor filled the air. She turned to find a darrokken rushing towards her, its red eyes glowing like the Dark Lord’s flames, venomous saliva dripping from its yellowed fangs. All over the foul wolflike creature’s scaly back, sores oozed green, odorous slime. She turned to run, but her foot caught between two rocks and she went down. Snowfoot still clutched to her chest, she hit the ground hard. Knees and elbows took a nasty crack, and she bit her lip so hard her mouth filled with the salty, metallic tang of blood. She jumped to her feet, but pain shot out from her ankle, radiating halfway up her shin. With a cry, she fell down again just as the darrokken lunged.
One of the Fey warriors made a sprinting leap towards her, and scarlet-hilted Fey’cha daggers flew from his hands. The razor-sharp blades cut through the monster’s tough, leathery hide, and the darrokken dropped dead in its tracks.
“I’ve got you.” The warrior who’d killed the darrokken reached for her arm, but before he could grab hold, another of the monstrous beasts was upon him. Its fangs sank into his leg, and the Fey toppled, rolling over as he fell and landing with unsheathed blades in his hands. “Run, child,” he cried.
Those were the warrior’s last words. He bared his teeth in a snarl and plunged his red Fey’cha into the vulnerable belly of the beast just as the monster snapped its sharp yellow fangs around the warrior’s throat and ripped. Blood sprayed across Lillis’s face in a hot, red rain. Fey and beast died together, fighting, tearing, and slashing until the last breath of life left their bodies.
“Lillis! Get up! Run!” Kiel cried. His blue eyes were filled with fear, his blond hair spattered with dirt and blood. Two black arrows stuck out of his shoulder like grotesque spines. “Run for the Mists. Lorelle, Master Baristani—go!”
One of the shei’dalins in their party rushed forward to grab Lillis. A rapid healing weave spun out in golden-tinted waves of color, and the pain in her ankle subsided. The woman helped Lillis to her feet while another took Lorelle’s hand and began to run towards the shifting, sparkling clouds that guarded the Fading Lands. More darrokken rushed up the mountainside and dove into the middle of the small group. Lillis shrieked as the monstrous wolf-beasts slaughtered half a dozen more Fey and drove three of the shei’dalins back down the mountain towards the waiting Eld.
When she reached the edge of the Mists, Lillis turned back to watch the battle below. The remaining warriors guarding their escape were falling fast to the ferocious maws of the darrokken, while the Mages continued bombarding the mountainside with their devastating magic. A tide of Fey warriors burst from the Mists-filled pass of the Garreval and raced across the ground at lightning speed, swords flashing silvery bright in the sunlight.
Black Eld arrows turned day to night, and hundreds of Fey went down. Kieran fell with them.
“Kieran!” Lillis shrieked as she watched him fall. “Kieran!” She started to rush towards him, but the shei’dalin grabbed her and held her fast.
“Nei,” the veiled woman whispered. “You cannot go to him. He would not want it. He dies so you may live.”
With unexpected strength, the shei’dalin shoved Lillis towards the shifting radiance of the Faering Mists. “Quickly, into the Mists. It’s our only chance.”
Lillis struggled against her hold, squirming and flailing as the tears poured down her face. She screamed Kieran’s name again and again as the shei’dalin dragged her away. Before they’d gone more than a few steps, the mountain gave a groaning rumble that escalated to a deafening roar.
Kieran’s Earth weave collapsed and the entire mountaintop caved in,
sending shards of shattered rocks, splintered trees, and a wave of earth crashing towards the valley below. The ground beneath Lillis’s feet fell away, and with a wail she toppled back into the shining white abyss of the Faering Mists.
Her last sight was of Kieran, screaming defiance as the avalanche enveloped him.

Chapter One

Fading Lands, Faering Mists. Fey warrior, champion of Light. Fading Lands, Faering Mists. Leading a never-ending Fight. Tairen Soul: Singing, soaring high. Tairen Soul: Thundering, roaring cry. Fading Lands, Faering Mists. Fey warrior, fiercest of Fey. Fading Lands, Faering Mists. Alone, leading the way.
~ Fiercest of Fey, by Corvan Lief, Celierian Poet

Celieria ~ Orest
Two weeks later

Ellysetta Baristani plunged her hands into the gaping cavity of the dying boy’s chest. Her fingers closed around his heart, pumping the still chambers with desperate force as a blaze of powerful, golden-white magic poured from her soul into his.
The fading brightness of his life force tasted warm and tart on her tongue, like a sun-ripened peach plucked too soon from the tree. So young. So innocent. He couldn’t have been more than fourteen. Too young for this. Too young for war. Too young to die.
Just like her sisters, Lillis and Lorelle, who’d been lost in the Faering Mists during the battle of Teleon.
“Please, my lady. Save him. Please, save my Aartys. He’s all I’ve got left.” The mother of the dying child stood sobbing beside the table, her eyes swollen and red rimmed, chapped hands twisting the hem of the blood-soaked apron tied around her waist. Her desperation and grief-induced terror pounded at Ellysetta’s empathic senses like hammer blows.
Not that a few more hammer blows made much difference in the emotional din swirling around the scarlet healing tents that had been erected on the mist- and rainbow-filled plazas of Upper Orest. As always when a battle raged nearby, the sheer numbers of wounded and dying warriors made it impossible for the dozen scarlet-veiled shei’dalin healers to weave peace upon them all. Not even the roar of the great Kiyera’s Veil waterfalls could drown out the screams of pain and pleas for mercy.
“I’ll do my best, Jonna,” Ellysetta vowed. She wanted to promise to save Aartys, but the last weeks here on Celieria’s war-torn northern border had taught her too well. Death, once a stranger, had become an all-too-familiar acquaintance.
Ellysetta looked up and met Jonna’s eyes over the boy’s limp body. The weeping mortal woman was one of the hearth witches who tended the wounded and dying. She knew death as intimately as Ellysetta now did, but that didn’t stop her from fighting against it with every ounce of strength she possessed—or from begging for a salvation she knew was beyond the capabilities of all mortal healers …and all but one of the Fey shei’dalins.
Ellysetta bit her lip. Aartys shouldn’t be here on her table—and she couldn’t help feeling partly to blame. After all, if not for her, the Fey might never have engaged their ancient enemy in this new Mage War. If not for Ellysetta, her truemate, Rainier vel’En Daris, would never have blown his golden horn this morning to call his Fey warriors and the mortal men of Orest to battle. And if he’d never blown that blast, the sound would never have spurred Jonna’s young son to snatch up his dead father’s sword and rush to fight alongside the men of Orest and his heroes, the immortal Shining Folk of the Fading Lands.
Yet those things had happened. And now, here they were, a child maimed and dying, his mother weeping and pleading for his life, both utterly dependent on Ellysetta and her magic to snatch his life from the jaws of death.
“Hold his hand, Jonna,” Ellysetta commanded. “Feed him your strength. Call to him. Don’t stop until I tell you.” And then, though she shouldn’t have vowed it, she did: “If there’s any way to save Aartys, I will.”
“Oh, my lady.” Jonna’s lips trembled and tears flooded her eyes. “Oh, thank you, my lady. Thank you.”
She started to come around the table, but Ellysetta stopped her. “Hold his hand, Jonna.” The command came out more curtly than usual. She didn’t want this woman kneeling at her feet, kissing her hem as other Celierians had done when pleading for her to save a loved one. She wasn’t a goddess to be worshiped.
“Teska, Jonna. Please,” she urged more gently. “Hold your son’s hand. There isn’t much time.” And because there truly wasn’t, she infused the words with a spider-silk-thin filament of compulsion, woven from shining lavender Spirit magic.
Jonna instantly snatched up her son’s hand.
“And pray, my friend,” Ellysetta said, adding silently, For all our sakes.
The words to the Bright Lord’s devotion tumbled from the mortal healer’s lips.
Ellysetta flicked a glance at the tall, grim Fey warrior standing near the corner of her healing table.
Without a word, Gaelen vel Serranis stepped forward to lay a hand upon her shoulder. Crackling energy flooded her veins as the most infamous of the five bloodsworn warriors of her quintet surrendered his immense power for her use. The sort of healing she was about to do would take more than her own vast stores of power, and though usually a shei’dalin would rely on her truemate to supplement her strength, Rain was on the battlefield, where the king of the Fey belonged, rather than at her side.
Ellysetta closed her eyes, shut out the world, and gathered her magic. Power came to her call, a dazzling golden-white brightness the Fey called shei’dalin’s love, a healing gift Ellysetta Baristani wielded with a strength the world had not seen since the dawn of the First Age.
Against her closed lids, the pulsating vibrancy of Fey vision replaced physical sight, darkness teeming with the glowing threads of energy that made up all life and substance. Her consciousness traveled down the blinding-bright conduits of her arms, into Aartys’s dying body, then sank deeper. Moving with swift purpose, she followed the threads of her healing weave and descended into the Well of Souls, the blackness that lay beyond and beneath the physical world, the home of demons and the unborn and the dead waiting for passage into their next life.
There, she could see the fading light of Aartys’s soul as he sank into the long, silent dark of the Well. When his light disappeared, he would be lost. Determined not to let that happen, she plunged after him, her presence a dazzling incandescence that lit the shadowy world of the Well like a golden-white sun.
**Aartys.** She wove Spirit, the mystic magic of thought and illusion, hoping to make him feel his mother’s grief and fill him with an urgent need to return to her. **Fight, Aartys. Fight to live.** Death, ultimately, was like drowning. Once the initial terror passed, the dying embraced the numbness and simply let themselves fall, like wrecked ships sinking to the bottom of the sea. **Do not surrender. Reach for my Light. Let me bring you back to your mother. She needs you. She will be lost without you.**
Her weave was strong, her command of Spirit as exceptional as her command of the potent healing magic of the Fey. Yet still he fell.
So tired, his fading spirit whispered. Tell Mam I …His voice trailed off and the pale light of his soul began to sputter.
**Aartys!** Ellysetta dove after him. The threads of her weave stretched to the breaking point as she followed him deep into the Well, deeper than any other healer dared to go, deeper than she should have gone without Rain to anchor her.
**Take my magic, kem’falla,** Gaelen said. **Use what you need, and quickly. You have been gone from yourself too long.**
**Aiyah.** She seized the magic Gaelen had offered for her use—the dark black threads of magic that throbbed with red sparks. Azrahn, the forbidden soul magic.
Ellysetta worked quickly, reluctant to put Gaelen at risk by making him hold his weave for more than a chime or two. Though Gaelen considered the chance to save Fey lives well worth the risk of wielding Azrahn, they both knew how dangerous the magic was. She plaited the cool, dark threads of his Azrahn into her flows of shei’dalin’s love, weaving the strands of icy shadow and warm, healing light together.
The new weave—amplified by her powers as well as Gaelen’s own—let her descend much farther into the Well. But as deep as she went, Aartys remained out of reach.
**Enough, kem’falla,** Gaelen said. **We’re out of time.**
**Just a little farther.**
**Nei. You’ve been gone from yourself too long. If you cannot save the boy now, you must let him go. Your life is too important to risk so needlessly.**
Anger bubbled up inside her. **Needlessly?**
**You know what I mean.**
**Every life is precious, Gaelen.** She’d held too many dying men in her arms, comforted too many stricken loved ones, seen her own mother beheaded by the Eld. She could not bear the thought of one more lost, wasted life—especially not this beautiful boy, whose bright eyes and sunny smile had reminded her of her own young sisters.
Nei, she could not—would not—lose another soul today. Not to magic, not to war, and not to the thrice-flamed Well of Souls!
Cold whispered through her veins. Azrahn surged up from the great, deep source inside her, summoned by her anger. An almost sentient eagerness pressed against her will, as if the Azrahn inside her wanted her to weave it
wanted her to embrace its dark, forbidden power.
For her, giving in to that temptation would come with a terrible price. She bore four Mage Marks, placed upon her by the High Mage of Eld, and each time she spun Azrahn, she risked receiving another one. Two more and her soul, her consciousness, her entire being, would be his to command.
Still, the lure was tremendous. Gaelen’s threads didn’t contain a fraction of the power her own did. She could weave just a little …just enough to save the boy. Perhaps she could even spin it quickly enough that the High Mage wouldn’t have time to sense it and Mark her again.
Yes …yes, just a little, and quickly. Such a small thing. Surely he would miss it.
The siren’s call whispered in her ear. Dimly, she heard someone say her name, as if calling from far away, but the voice was soon was silenced. Forbidden power throbbed in her veins, and all around her, the darkness of the Well of Souls pulsed to the same beat. Her ears filled with muted susurrations, a rhythmic ebbing and flowing, as if she were a child in the womb, listening to the blood rushing through her mother’s veins. The sound was hypnotic …entrancing….
She reached for her Azrahn, let its cold sweetness fill her.
**Ellysetta!** A furious and all-too-familiar voice roared her name. Power rushed into her body, and deep within the Well, her Light flared like an exploding sun.
The jolt sent her weave spearing wildly into the Well, so deep it passed the fading light that was Aartys’s soul. Stunned, she had just enough time and presence of mind to close her weave around Aartys and cling tight before her soul was yanked from the Well and slammed back into her own body.
The shining brilliance of Fey vision faded to darkness. The tranquillity of the Well gave way to a murmur of voices, muted screams of men in pain, the smells of blood and sweat and suffering. Her eyes fluttered as her senses gradually returned to her body.
She was clutched in a hot, hard, golden embrace, but neither that nor the blazing heat of two burning purple suns glaring down upon her could stop the icy shivers racking her frame. She blinked up into the achingly beautiful, utterly furious face of her truemate.
“Rain, I—”
His eyes flared tairen-bright. Pupils and whites disappeared, leaving only spark-filled whirls of lavender that glowed so bright they could have lit a dark room. “Do. Not. Speak.” His nostrils flared, and even the long, inky black strands of his hair crackled with scarcely contained energy. “Just …be silent.” He was so angry, his temper bordered on Rage, the wild, ferociously lethal fury of the Fey.
A choked sound snagged her attention. “Aartys!” she cried.
Powerful arms encased in heavy, golden, tairen-forged steel tightened their grip around her and held her fast. “Is alive and does not need your help.”
She turned her head, but she couldn’t see the boy. Scarlet-veiled shei’dalins surrounded the table where he lay, and the glow of concentrated healing magic shone so bright even mortal eyes could see it.
“Beylah sallan,” she breathed. Thank the gods.
That remark was the feather that broke the tairen’s back. Rain plunked her on her feet, gripped her arms, and gave her a shake strong enough to rattle her teeth. “Thank the gods? Thank the gods?” His Rage blazed so hot, flames nearly shot from his head. “Thank Gaelen for having the belated sense to call me when he realized what was happening.” He shook her again. “Idiot! Ninnywit! Reckless, rock-headed dim-skull! How many times are you going to put yourself in such danger?”
Her brows snapped together. “Me?” she shot back. “That’s a bit of the sword calling the dagger sharp, don’t you think?” She yanked herself out of his grasp and returned his glare with her own. “Do I berate you for all the risks you take in battle?”
He drew himself up to his full height, and with his golden war steel adding significant breadth to his already broad shoulders, he loomed over her. “Don’t try to turn this on me. I am the Defender of the Fey, and we are at war. It is my duty to lead our warriors in battle.”
“And I am a shei’dalin,” she retorted. “The most powerful healer we have. It is my duty to save every life I can!”
“Not at the risk of your own! You were about to weave Azrahn, Ellysetta! Despite the danger—despite your sworn oath never to weave it again unless we both agreed.”
The pain in his voice—even more than the frightening truth of his words—deflated her defensive ire. She had made a vow and nearly betrayed it—nearly betrayed him. Her shoulders slumped and she lifted a shaking hand to her face.
He was right, but before she could admit it and apologize, Jonna gave a short cry. Rain and Ellysetta both turned to the table where Aartys lay. The shei’dalins had extinguished their weaves and were already departing. The boy was sitting up, the gaping wound in his chest gone without a trace, even the dried blood and grime of war washed away by shei’dalin magic. His mother had her arms wrapped tight around him, and her shoulders heaved with sobs of relief and joy.
“Thank you.” Jonna wept, tears raining from her eyes. “Thank you for my son. Light’s blessings upon you!”
Ellysetta found Rain’s hand. He’d removed his gauntlets, and her fingers curled into the broad, warm strength of his.
His eyes flashed a warning at her, but to Jonna he offered only gentle understanding. “Sha vel’mei, Jonna,” he said, his voice a deep, rough velvet purr. “You are both welcome. And you, Aartys . . .” He leveled a stern look on the boy. “I do not want to see you on the battlefield again. Your sword is sharp and your soul is brave, but I need you most here, guarding your mother and the Feyreisa.” He clapped a hand on the child’s shoulder. “There is no more honorable duty for a warrior of the Fey than to protect our women. Do you accept this great honor?”
“You want me to help guard the Feyreisa?” The boy’s eyes went big as coins. He cast a dazed glance at Ellysetta before turning back to Rain. “Aye, my lord Feyreisen,” he agreed. “I do accept.”
“Kabei.” Good. “Then it is decided. Sers vel Jelani and vel Tibboreh”—he tilted his head towards two of the grim-eyed Fey posted at the corners of Ellysetta’s healing tent—“will explain your duties to you. For now, go with your mother and get some rest and a change of clothes.”
“But the Feyreisa—” Aartys began.
“—will not need your protection at the moment, as she will be coming with me.”
* * *
Eld ~ Boura Fell

Vadim Maur, the High Mage of Eld, shook off the flicker of awareness that had brushed across his senses and withdrew the part of his consciousness he’d sent into the Well. If the brief touch had been the girl, she was gone now, and the protections that barred him from her mind were firmly back in place. He could still sense her existence, but that was all.
“Master?” The timid, subservient voice near his left shoulder broke the silence. “What should I do with him?”
Vadim tightened his lips in irritation, then just as quickly relaxed the pressure when he felt the flesh split and warm liquid ooze down his shrouded chin. Wordless, he dabbed the edge of his deep purple hood against his mouth. His body had grown fragile these past weeks. The Rot had him firmly in its grip, and not even the ministrations of his powerful shei’dalin captives could hold it back any longer. Soon, the truth already suspected by most of his council would be impossible to hide.
His time was running out.
He gazed through the observation portal into the sel’dor cage with its wild-eyed inhabitant: a young man, the last of the four magically gifted infants to whom he’d tied the souls of unborn tairen seventeen years ago. The boy had shown full mastery in four of the five Fey magics, but only a middling level three in Spirit, so there’d never been any possibility of his becoming a Tairen Soul capable of summoning the Change. But his bloodlines were strong, and he’d proven quite adept at wielding Azrahn even in early childhood.
Vadim had been using him as a breeder, but recently, with the Rot advancing through Vadim’s flesh and Ellysetta Baristani still so stubbornly elusive, he had seriously considered using the boy as the vessel to house the next incarnation of his soul. At least as a stopgap until the much more powerful Ellysetta finally found her way back into his keeping.
That plan was scuttled now. The boy had gone mad, just like the thousands of others to whom Vadim had grafted tairens’ souls over the centuries. The madness usually began after adolescence, starting with voices only the afflicted could hear, then progressing to bouts of Rage, and finally complete savagery and destructive madness and death.
Of all the children to whom he’d bound the soul of a tairen, only Ellysetta had survived twenty-four years without a hint of insanity. That made her an invaluable prize, not only as a powerful vessel to hold Vadim’s incarnated soul, but as the key to his long centuries of experimentation. .
In the cell, the boy put his hands to his head. Shrieking unintelligible gibberish, he pulled great tufts of hair out by the roots and spun around the room, slamming his body against the wall and ripping at his own flesh.
Vadim’s fingers curled in a fist. “Restrain him before he damages himself more. Continue to breed him as long as you can.” Too many centuries had gone into the crossbreeding of magical bloodlines to throw the boy away without squeezing as much benefit from his existence as possible. “If he endangers the females, send him to Fezai Madia.” The leader of the Feraz witches had been complaining lately over the quality of the slaves he’d been sending for her sacrifices to the demon-god Gamorraz. Insane this boy might be, but there was no denying the strong magic in his blood.
Leaving the observation room, he passed through the nursery and paused to glance into the two cradles resting against the wall. Two infants with bright, shining eyes stared up at him. Both boys, both already showing promise of mastering all Fey magics. Each had the soul of an unborn tairen grafted to his own. Would they go mad, too? Or had Vadim finally discovered the secret to successfully breeding Tairen Souls of his own?
Only time would tell. For now, they represented another generation of possibility, another opportunity to succeed in case Ellysetta Baristani continued to elude him …
…or in case she fell prey to the same lethal insanity as her predecessors.

* * *
Celieria ~ Orest

“Where are we going?” Ellysetta asked as Rain dragged her away from the healing tents. Her quintet had started to follow, but one hot look from Rain had stopped them in their tracks.
“Someplace I can keep you out of trouble.”
There was still a snap in his voice, so she offered a small peace offering. “You were good with Aartys.”
He gave her a withering look, and her olive branch went quietly up in flames. “Do not attempt to soothe this tairen, shei’tani. You nearly died—or worse—and I will not overlook that.”
She bit her lip. He was right. She’d gone too far into the Well, and something had been quite successfully pushing her to use her most dangerous magic. Still …this double standard her truemate imposed on her had gone on long enough.
“Why do you get to be angry, and I do not?”
He glared. “What do you have to be angry about?”
She stopped stock-still and yanked her hand from his grip. “Are you serious? I’m your shei’tani—your truemate—and you can actually ask me that?” She didn’t wait for him to reply. “How many times have you barely made it back to Orest alive? How many times have you crashed into Veil Lake, bloody and half-dead, limbs broken, flesh shredded, enough sel’dor arrows in you to supply an entire company of archers? Yet you expect me to patch you up and send you back to battle time and time again. You and every other warrior who ends up on my table.”
“You are a shei’dalin. That is what shei’dalins do.”
“Precisely! You fight out there.” She jabbed a finger towards the scorched and still-smoking southwest corner of Eld. “Well, that is my battlefield.” She turned and jabbed her finger back at the healing tents. “And I’m every bit as determined to win my war as you. If that means I occasionally have to take risks—just like you do—then, by the gods, that’s exactly what I’ll do!”
“Over. My. Rotting. Corpse.” His teeth snapped together with an audible click. He grabbed her wrist again and put on a burst of speed that forced her to jog to keep up with him.
The collection of bloodsworn black Fey’cha daggers strapped across her chest and around her hips slapped against her steel-embroidered scarlet robes as she ran, and the feeling of being a chastised child dragged along beind an irate parent only chafed her more.
“You’re being unfair!” she exclaimed. “I may not have my wings yet, but I’m a Tairen Soul, too, Rain. I feel the same need to defend our people as you do. Just because the only enemy I can defend them against at the moment is death, that doesn’t mean my efforts are any less vital than yours!”
His eyes glowed so bright they nearly shot purple sparks. “Have I ever suggested they were? Have I not let Gaelen weave the forbidden magic for your use so you could save lives that would otherwise be lost? I do not object to your saving lives. But I will not allow you to risk your own in the process!”
“But—”
“Enough!” he thundered. “You don’t have to like it, Ellysetta, but I am the Feyreisen—both your truemate and your king—and on this matter, I will be obeyed!”
Ahead lay the open plaza near Veil Lake that Rain and the tairen used for launching and landing. Four majestic winged cats, each the size of a house, crouched on the manicured grass at the lakeshore. Their heads were extended as they lapped at the cold waters fed from Kiyera’s Veil, the gauntlet of three-hundred-foot waterfalls that tumbled down from opposing mountainsides at the lake’s western shore.
When they reached the plaza, Rain slowed his pace. Ellysetta yanked her wrist from his grip a second time, marched to the mossy edge of the bricked space, and presented him her back. She pressed her lips in a thin line, angry at his high-handedness. For a woman who’d spent the first twenty-four years of her life as the shy, obedient daughter of a poor woodcarver and his wife, Ellysetta had become mulishly resistant to Voices of Authority. Even when those voices belonged to kings, wedded husbands, and beloved truemates. If Mama were still alive, she would shake her head in despair of her adopted daughter’s willful ways.
By the lakeshore, the largest of the tairen, a great white beauty with eyes like glowing blue jewels, lifted her snowy, feline head and turned to pad towards them. Her long tail slapped against several tree trunks as she walked, bringing a shower of leaves raining down in her wake. When she reached the plaza, she spread her wide, clawed wings and reared up on her hind legs to shake the debris from her fur. A deep, throaty purr rumbled in her chest, and she tilted her head down to pin Ellysetta with a whirling, pupillesss blue gaze.
**You worried your mate, kitling,** admonished Steli, chakai of the Fey’Bahren pride. The musical tones of the tairen’s speech danced in the air like flashes of silver and gold and carried with them feelings of panicked fear and images of Rain whirling in the sky and rocketing towards Upper Orest. **You should not alarm him so. Tairen frightened for their mates are dangerous—especially to beings as breakable as mortals.**
“Not you, too, Steli!” Ellysetta crossed her arms, feeling immensely put out. “You think I’m not afraid when he’s out there getting maimed by arrows and bowcannon?”
Steli’s ears flicked and her tail lashed the earth. **Ellysetta-kitling would not scorch the world. Rainier-Eras already has. Without you to anchor him, he would again.**
That simple, inescapable truth deflated Ellysetta’s temper as nothing else could. A thousand years ago, after the death of his first mate, Sariel, Rain Tairen Soul had scorched the world in the blaze of tairen flame, killing thousands in mere instants, millions in a handful of days. He’d paid for that act of Rage with seven hundred years of madness and another three centuries spent battling his way back from the abyss.
**Rainier-Eras is proud,** Steli continued, **and he does not wish to frighten his mate. He does not tell Ellysetta-kitling that each day becomes harder. That each battle weakens what took him so long to rebuild.**
Ellysetta cast a troubled gaze over her shoulder. Rain stood a short distance away, shoulders hunched, pinching the bridge of his nose as he expended visible effort to calm himself. She’d frightened him badly, and his control hung in tatters. Untruemated Fey warriors absorbed the torment of every life they took—the pain, the darkness, the sorrow of lost dreams hanging like burning stones around their necks—and Rain bore the weight of millions on his soul. Mental and emotional discipline was the only thing standing between him and insanity, and her nearly fatal trip into the Well had stripped those protections threadbare. Shame washed over her.
The tairen bent her head and nudged Ellysetta. **Go to your mate, kitling. He needs you. Now more than ever.**
Ellysetta crossed the short distance to Rain’s side. Moss grew green and thick along the edges of the plaza’s mist-dampened bricks. Winter would be upon them soon, and the spray off the Veil would turn to flurries of ice crystals. The nights would grow longer, the Eld Mages more powerful. Despite the brave efforts of Lord Teleos’s soldiers, Celieria stood no chance of surviving the winter as a free land without the help of the Fey. The might of the tairen was the only power Mages truly feared.
Until Ellysetta found her wings, Rain was the only living Tairen Soul capable of Changing to his tairen form and leading the pride into battle. As such, he would have to fight—again and again and again—and the torment of his soul would grow more unbearable with each engagement. Ellysetta hadn’t been thinking about that when she’d made her decision to save Aartys. She hadn’t been thinking about Rain at all.
“I’m sorry, shei’tan,” she apologized sincerely. “I should have been more careful—for your sake if not my own.”
“That’s what you always say,” he replied in a low voice, “but it never stops you from doing what you know you should not.”
She rubbed her forehead, where a headache had begun to throb. “I never meant to go so deep into the Well, but he was a child, Rain. Not much older than Lillis and Lorelle. I couldn’t let him die. Can’t you understand that?”
He sighed. “I do understand, shei’tani. Better than you think.” He turned to face her. “But saving that boy or even a thousand more like him won’t bring Lillis and Lorelle back.” He crossed to her side and took her shoulders in a firm grip. “You’ve got to stop risking yourself this way, Ellysetta. You’re no good to your sisters, or your father, or anyone else for that matter, if you’re dead or lose your soul to the Mages.”
“I know that. I do. It’s just that—” Her voice broke off. She could feel his fear, his love, his guilt for bringing her into the dangers of a Tairen Soul’s life, his terror that he might not be strong enough to hold himself in check the next time she came so close to death.
“Oh, Rain.” She leaned against him, resting her forehead against the unforgiving golden steel of his tairen-forged war armor and laying the palm of one hand against the smooth warmth of his jaw. Though they could not read each other’s thoughts until their bond was complete, they could, when they touched skin-to-skin, feel each other’s emotions as clear as day.
Because he was the strongest of the Fey, the most powerful Tairen Soul in living memory, it was so easy to forget how fragile he truly was, how narrow the band that kept him from plunging into madness.
**Sieks’ta, shei’tan.** I’m sorry, beloved. She wove the apology into his mind on a thread of Spirit, not reading his thoughts, but offering him one of hers. With her hand against his face, her skin touching his, she knew he could sense her sincerity and the great love she bore him just as she sensed his agitation drain away, replaced by regret and weariness.
He turned his lips into her palm and pressed a kiss there. “As am I,” he said. “I know my fear for you is a burden, and it shames me that you must bear it. You are a Tairen Soul, which means you are fierce, born to fight and to defend those in your care; but you are also my shei’tani. I thought I would be strong enough to let you embrace the warrior’s side of your nature. I know now I’m not. I cannot allow you to be harmed—not even by your own actions.”
Ellysetta forced a small smile. “Perhaps when our bond is complete, things will be different.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed without conviction.
Steli’s wings flapped. The white tairen nudged them with her nose. **Time to fly, Rainier-Eras. The day grows late.**
“Aiyah.”
“Where are we going?” Ellysetta asked.
“Crystal Lake,” he admitted.
“The Source in the mountains? But that’s bells away—” She broke off and her brows drew together in concern. Every great city in the Fading Lands had a Source at its center, and the Fey drank the water of those Sources to bolster their strength and replenish flagging magical energies. The only Source that existed outside the Fading Lands was Crystal Lake, and its magic-infused waters fed one of the tributaries that flowed into Kiyera’s Veil and the Heras River.
If the diluted Source waters of the Veil were no longer powerful enough to replenish Rain’s magic or rejuvenate his strength . . .
“It’s more precaution than need,” Rain reassured her, reading her expression. Fey didn’t lie, which meant he was telling the truth—or at least a version of it. “Besides, how long has it been since we’ve managed to do more than snatch a few bells’ sleep together? I thought you might like some time away from the battlefield and the healing tents.”
“I would.” The other shei’dalins slipped back through the Mists every few days to restore themselves in the peace of the Fading Lands. Banished and Mage Marked as she was, Ellysetta didn’t have that luxury. “I suppose we could both use a visit to the Source,” she said, stepping back to give Rain room for the Change.
He waited for her to get clear before closing his eyes and summoning his magic. Flows of power gathered and swirled around him, darkening to a gray mist that sparkled with rainbow lights. The crackling energy of his magic poured over Ellysetta in hot, electric waves. She gasped and closed her eyes on a shudder of shared pleasure as Rain’s Fey body was unmade—his flesh and consciousness flung out into the mist of the Change—then re-formed in a staggering rush into the great, sleek body of his tairen self.
When the magic of the Change cleared, Rain Tairen Soul crouched where Rain the Fey had stood: a magnificent, kingly creature, like one of the sleek black jungle cats Ellysetta had seen in illustrated books of faraway lands, except that a tairen stood easily half as high as a fully grown fireoak, and great, batlike wings sprouted from his back. Even by tairen standards, Rain was an impressive male, with fur a glossy, unrelieved midnight black, a vast wingspan, and radiant, pupillesss eyes that glowed like lavender suns.
He lowered his head to pin Ellysetta with that bright, whirling gaze and rumbled a throaty purr. Her body clenched like a fist, every nerve abruptly sizzling with a rush of pure, primitive heat. She might not yet have found her wings, but the tairen in her soul recognized its mate—and yearned for him with staggering force.
She wet her lips and tried to compose herself while Rain purred deep in his throat and nosed her with unmistakable interest. “Stop that.” She laughed, giving him a shove. She summoned an Earth weave that transformed her gown into steel-studded scarlet leathers, with Fey’cha belts crossed over her chest and her quintet’s daggers sheathed in the belt slung around her hips. A subsequent weave summoned a burst of powerful silvery Air magic that lifted her body up and deposited her into the cradle of the leather saddle that Rain wove for her on his back. She anchored herself in place with the saddle’s leather straps. “I’m ready.”
**Then spin the weave, shei’tani. Around Steli as well as us.**
Ellysetta nodded and reached once more into the well of power that lay within her. Lavender Spirit, the mystic magic of consciousness, thought, and illusion, surged up in a rush and she wove the dense threads of energy in a pattern Gaelen vel Serranis had taught the Fey only a few months ago. She flung the weave out like a net, first around Steli—who promptly winked out of sight—then around herself and Rain, rendering them invisible to both mortal and magic eyes.
The other tairen had left the waters of Veil Lake and padded over to the plaza. They leapt into the air seconds before Rain crouched down on his haunches and sprang skyward, and their presence provided cover for the rush of wind that might have betrayed Rain and Steli’s otherwise invisible launch.
Ringed by the pride and sheathed by invisibility, Rain, Ellysetta, and Steli soared high over the Rhakis mountaintops into the thin, crisp chill of the autumn sky. A dusting of snow capped the high, jagged peaks to the north. Below, just across the Heras River, the southwest corner of Eld still smoldered from the fiery aftermath of the recent battle. What had two weeks ago been a fortified village was now a scorched plain, razed to the ground, every living and dead thing in a twenty-mile radius reduced to ash. Yet still, the Eld came to battle the legions of Orest with relentless determination, wearing them down bit by bit, retreating back into the dense forests of Eld, where, thanks to the batteries of bowcannon trained on the skies, not even the tairen could follow.
To the west, the billowing wall of mist that marked the borders of the Fading Lands rose up from the mountaintops. Rain flew close enough that Ellysetta could feel the tingle of magic from the Mists, and her fingers tightened on the pommel.
From the valley floor, the Mists looked like a line of thunderclouds hugging the crests of the Rhakis mountains. From the sky, however, they looked more beautiful than foreboding, like a radiant veil of shifting rainbows that stretched upward as far as the eye could see.
Ominous thunderheads or shimmering veil, Ellysetta recognized the Faering Mists for what they truly were: a deadly magical barrier meant to keep the enemies of the Fey from entering the Fading Lands.
It was true that many an innocent shepherd had wandered by accident into the Mists, only to emerge again, decades later, unharmed, not aged a day, carrying tales of being feted by the Fair Folk in misty forest palaces. To the not-so-innocent, the Mists were far less kind. Entire armies had been swallowed up, never to be seen again.
Ellysetta’s body tensed with remembered pain. She knew, firsthand, the torments that lay within those shifting clouds. Thanks to the four Mage Marks she bore, the Mists were now more dangerous to her than the Well of Souls, and the last time she’d entered, she’d very nearly not made it back out again alive.
If it were otherwise, she would not be here in Orest, weaving her magic to save lives. She would be in the Mists, searching every gods-cursed fingerspan of the magical barrier, tearing it apart thread by scorching thread if she had to.
Because somewhere in that veil of shifting mist, the last members of her family had been trapped; and she could not reach them …or even tell if they were still alive.
* * *
The Faering Mists

“Lorelle! Papa! Can you hear me? Where are you?” Lillis Baristani’s voice was hoarse from shouting, and the ocean of tears she’d shed had left her eyes swollen and burning.
She turned in circles and squinted in a vain effort to pierce the suffocating veil of shifting whiteness around her. She’d been in the Mists a long time—bells, certainly, maybe even a day or more, though it was hard to tell time when the vapor was eternally lit by its own magical glow. In any event, she’d not seen or heard another living being since the moment the mountain had shuddered like a wild, angry beast and she’d lost her footing and fallen back into the Faering Mists.
Never in all her life had she been so alone. Always, someone had been with her: her twin, Lorelle, or Mama or Papa or Ellie.
Alone was frightening. Almost more frightening than the terrible, monstrous darrokken or the evil Eld soldiers that had attacked Teleon. Almost more frightening than even the sight of Kieran screaming as he disappeared beneath an avalanche of dirt, rock, and toppling trees.
“Kieran?” she cried. “Kiel? Anybody?”
There was still no answer.
Lillis blinked back tears and clutched her small kitten to her chest. “They’re not coming, Snowfoot. I don’t think anyone’s coming.” In the sling tied around her neck, her black-and-white kitten mewed and squirmed and sank its tiny sharp claws into the wool jacket covering Lillis’s pinafore.
Papa had always told Lillis, “If ever you get lost, kitling, stay right where you are. Your mama and I will come to find you.” But Mama was dead—killed by the same evil people who had attacked Teleon—and Lillis had waited long enough in the white blindness of the Mists to know that either no one was still alive to find her or they were looking in the wrong place.
Either way, she couldn’t stay here.
She stroked Snowfoot’s soft fur and hummed a little song Ellie had always sung to Lillis and Lorelle when they were frightened or upset. The tune didn’t soothe Lillis like it did when Ellie sang it, but Snowfoot stopped his anxious mewing.
“I’ll bet you’re getting hungry and thirsty, aren’t you?” Lillis murmured to the kitten. “I know I am.” She wrapped her thin arms around the tiny feline, cuddling it closer and pressing her face to the soft fur at the top of its head. “Come on, Snowfoot,” she said. “Let’s go find Papa and Lorelle.”

We continue with the second excerpt from Holiday Seduction, from To-Do List by Lauren Dane.

First Excerpt: From Unwrapped by Jaci Burton

Excerpt

Belle shivered as Rafe’s mouth touched her neck. A sense of total and utter unreality stole over her. Here she stood, in the dark, wrapped around the guy she’d had a major crush on since she’d been twelve years old. Hell, that very morning, she never even imagined he’d thought of her this way.

“You taste good, Belle. Delicious and sweet with just a little spice.” The low vibration of his voice echoed up her spine. The warmth of his hands at her hips, just barely touching the bare skin peeking below the hem of her sweater and above the waist of her trousers sent waves of pleasure through her.

Even as she searched for words, his tongue made its way, slow and sinuous, up her neck and to her ear. His breath stirred tendrils of hair that’d escaped the barrette holding it back from her face.

“I think I’m going to need to kiss you, now. I’ve been wondering all night long if that lip gloss is flavored. Are you old school like that?”

Holy sweet baby Jesus on a skateboard. How on earth was she supposed to answer him when he said stuff like that? When he pressed against her, his body work-hard and strong. His cock a solid, hot weight against her belly.

“Watermelon,” she managed to gasp.

“Well now, I definitely need a taste of that.”

He angled his head and his mouth moved to hers, his clear, sleepy brown eyes seeing right straight through her.

And when he kissed her, her entire body went boneless as she held on, her fingers digging into the material of his coat. His mouth was softer than she’d imagined, hot, wet, he tasted of coffee, salt and something else she couldn’t identify but wouldn’t ever forget.

His kiss was slow and heady. He took his time like a man who knew what he was about. Like a man who knew she wasn’t going to bolt. He explored her mouth, his teeth catching her bottom lip, his hands firming their hold, settling beneath the sweater, fingers splayed against the sensitive, bare skin of her hips. His thumbs slid slowly back and forth, back and forth in the hollow of her hip bones.

Her nipples throbbed in time with the slide of his thumbs, shooting straight to her clit.

“Belle? Rafe? You guys there?” Brian called from the other room and Rafe stood back, breaking the kiss. At least his chest heaved and he appeared to be as affected by the kiss as she had been.

Cripes, she wasn’t sure when the last time a kiss had nearly made her come, or even if a kiss had ever so aroused her.

“Yeah. I’m just helping Belle bring her suitcases in,” Rafe answered Belle’s oldest brother without moving. He grinned at her slowly and dragged his gaze up above her head. She followed and noted the mistletoe.

“Oh!” She blushed, mortified. Here she’d thought he was on fire for her and it was just the damned mistletoe? “Duh.”

He reached and took her chin in his fingers, shaking his head. “No, Belle. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a very long time, the mistletoe just gave me an excuse. But now that I’ve felt your nipples as you kissed me, now that I know your taste? I’m going to kiss you as often as I can.”

“Oh,” she sighed again. Yeah, it was totally obvious she was a powerful attorney who made her living with her ability to speak coherently.

He chuckled and grabbed her suitcases. “I’m going to put these in the guest room and then we can get on over to your parents’ for dinner.”

Belle heaved a sigh as she leaned against the wall to keep from melting into a puddle of goo. Raphael Bettencourt had just laid the hottest kiss of her entire life on her. Rafe.

The object of many a fantasy and he’d…his mouth…it was…oh wow!

Copyright 2007, Lauren Dane
All Rights Reserved, Samhain Publishing

*****

And don’t forget, I’m going to give a copy of Holiday Seduction, along with The Perfect Gift (by Annmarie McKenna , Maya Banks , MacKenzie McKade , Kate Davies and Stacia Wolf), to two commenter’s on today’s excerpts.

I’ve grown quite enamored of holiday anthologies this year. Just long enough to give you a dose of Christmas cheer and romance during your down time from the torture preparations for various festivities.  Today we have excerpts from the anthology Holiday Seduction, featuring stories from two beloved authors of erotic romance, Jaci Burton and Lauren Dane.  The first excerpt is from Unwrapped by Jaci Burton.

UNWRAPPED: Amy’s kind of fantasies wouldn’t cut it in the straight-laced law firm where she’s fought her way to partnership. And she refuses to let a younger man use her to advance in the firm. Justin might be brilliant, gorgeous and sexy, but he’s firmly implanted in the look-but-don’t-touch realm. Until a corporate acquisition in Hawaii over Christmas gives Justin the opportunity to show Amy he’s interested in her as a woman. And he has the ideal plan to help unwrap the perfect Christmas gift for Amy.
TO DO LIST: Since she could pick up a pencil, Belle has used lists to map out her life. But now, she realizes the life she thought she wanted exacts too high a price. Exhausted, she heads home for Christmas to make a new to-do list. She didn’t factor in Rafe, her brother’s best friend kissing her under the mistletoe! Belle finds herself with a whole new set of goals to balance with what she thought she always wanted. Rafe’s plan is to seduce Belle back home where she belongs.

Excerpt

As always, Amy felt like an unwanted third whenever she and Justin met with Mitch. Justin had apprenticed for the legal department of one of Mitch’s corporations while in college before coming to work for McKenzie and Shoals. They were close, almost like brothers, even though they weren’t close in age. But their easy, relaxed camaraderie was always a bit disconcerting. She wasn’t used to sitting back and being quiet. That wasn’t her style at all.

The Tiki Lounge stood high on a deck overlooking the ocean. The swirling breeze provided a cooling respite from the humidity as they walked outside and were seated at a table cornering the outdoor restaurant.

“Mai Tais,” Mitch announced to the waitress, holding up three fingers before turning his attention on Amy. “Hope you don’t mind eating here. I hate being stuck inside the offices or the suite. Nothing like fresh air and a Hawaiian sunset to relax after a hard day. Besides, if I know you, you haven’t been outside much yet.”

“I spent the afternoon at the gift shop.”

“There’s a surprise,” Justin said. “I thought you’d spend it working.”

If she hadn’t needed clothes, she would have. “I’ll work later tonight.”

Their drinks arrived and when Amy took a sip, she grinned at the tangy, fruity flavor. “Oh, this is good.” She’d always been a sucker for a sweet drink. It was like having a forbidden dessert.

Their business was discussed over drinks, all the last minute details ironed out. They had only to go over the documents tomorrow to finalize everything and make arrangements for the transfer of assets to complete the deal.

Amy spied a couple strolling along the water’s edge, the woman wearing a simple white shift, a row of flowers in her hair. She held a bouquet. The man had on a white linen suit.

“Newlyweds,” Mitch said with a grin. “Lots of people come here to get married. You’ll see a ton of them.”

Amy nodded. “Uh-huh.” She really should have bought a new vibrator.

“Hawaii is all about sex and romance, you know,” Mitch said. “Must be something in the air.”

Amy shifted and squeezed her legs together, determined to quell her libido. She would not think about sex. “So, Mitch, are you satisfied with the arrangements for the acquisition?”

Mitch laid his hand over hers. “Amy, relax. The acquisition is fine. There’s nothing left to do but paperwork.” He gave her fingers a light squeeze. “You really need to let loose and enjoy yourself, breathe in the Hawaiian air, have another Mai Tai.”

Let loose? “Mitch, I appreciate the sentiment, really. But Justin and I are here to work. For you. We’re not on vacation.”

“There’s not much paperwork left to do except going over the finer details and making sure everything’s signed,” Justin said. “Mitch is right, Amy. Have fun while you’re here and relax.”

Easy for him to say. He took everything lightly, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Amy was serious about her job, her career, advancing up the corporate ladder. This acquisition had to go down perfectly.

“Don’t you ever unwind?”

“Of course I do.”

Mitch leaned back in his chair. “Really. And what do you do for fun?”

“I work out at the gym.”

Justin snorted. Amy shot him a glare.

“That’s relaxing to you?” Mitch asked.

“It releases the tension and keeps me in shape.”

“Well, there’s no doubt you’re in shape, but there are much better ways to release tension.”

Oh, God. She didn’t even want to think of all the “better” ways she could release tension, and she wasn’t about to discuss the other ways she released, especially in the privacy of her bedroom. And she especially didn’t want to start thinking about said release while in the company of two very sexy men. Her fantasies were vivid enough without sending her mind into overdrive.

She took a long swallow of her drink. It was sweet, so she took another, quenching her thirst until the glass was empty. At least one of her thirsts, anyway. Mitch signaled the waitress and in short order she had another full drink. Yummy.

“Damn, Mitch, I should have never left your side,” Justin said, tipping his glass toward him. “You’ve made one hell of a life for yourself.”

“Thanks. So much a life that I have to unload some of the business side of it so I have a chance to enjoy a few of the fruits of all the years of labor.”

“That’s why you have us,” Amy said. “To help you divest some of your hard work. It’s time for you to relax a little and unburden yourself.”

Mitch laughed. “I’m hardly ready to head out to pasture yet, Amy.”

Amy sat straight in her chair, realizing her blunder. “Oh. Of course not. That’s not what I meant at all. I mean, for someone your age you’re in phenomenal shape. Most guys half your age don’t look as good as you.”

She realized she was babbling, and in a really inappropriate way. Why didn’t she just crawl into his lap, lick him all over and just complete the humiliation?

Her cheeks flushed hot, her eyes widened, and Mitch grinned.

Jesus, could he read her mind?

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Long flight, not much sleep and…what’s in these drinks anyway?” She pushed the offending cocktail to the center of the table.

Mitch pushed it back in front of her. “Amy, chill. I’m the last person to be insulted. I want you and Justin to have a good time here. I’m a pretty laid back kind of guy. You can say, or do, anything you want.”

He wasn’t helping by saying things like that.

“Now that’s a tempting offer,” Justin said, slanting his gaze to Amy. “And Mitch is right, Amy. You do need to unwind.”

Amy’s gaze shifted back and forth between Justin and Mitch, and her fruity-drink-addled brain went foggy.

Oh, yeah. That could be fun and a fantasy come true. Sexy, forbidden Justin, the man who’d fueled her fantasies for years, and rugged, outdoorsy Mitch, older, experienced…

And for more holiday cheer, I’m  going to give a copy of Holiday Seduction, along with The Perfect Gift (by Annmarie McKenna , Maya Banks , MacKenzie McKade , Kate Davies and Stacia Wolf), to two commenter’s on today’s excerpts.

Today’s Bigtime excerpt is also from Hot Mama by Jennifer Estep. In this excerpt, the heroine, Fiona Fine meets her hero. At the end of the excerpt, you can find the information for our Bigtime Contest! Enjoy!

Excerpt

My eyes scanned the glittering crowd. Joanne and Berkley. Carmen and Sam. Henry and Lulu. Even my father was dancing with one of Bigtime’s rich, lonely widows. Couples, couples, everywhere. But no Travis.

No Travis.

The happy society scene and all the couples burned me out. I needed some peace and quiet. Now.

I shoved through the crowd, wrenched open a side door, and stomped inside the manor. The usual rich, shiny trappings greeted me, but for once, I didn’t pay attention to them. Sam wouldn’t like it if I accidentally melted some ancient knight’s suit of armor or fried another one of his Monets. The mood I was in, they’d go up like dry newspaper.

The music and laughter and happy sounds faded away, replaced by the thwack of my heels on the hardwood floors. I walked into one of the many game rooms that populated the manor and sank down onto the smooth leather couch. A big-screen TV took up one wall, while a pool table crouched in the middle of the floor. Dart boards and various other sportslike contraptions filled the rest of the area, but I didn’t really see them. I didn’t see any of it.

I twisted the ring on my finger. It wasn’t nearly as big as Joanne James’s was, but it meant the world to me, even now. Travis. My heart squeezed like a dishrag being wrung out.

“A beautiful bridesmaid alone by herself. What a sad, sad cliché,” a low, cultured voice called out.

I looked up. A man stood in the doorway. He topped out at just over six feet, with a mane of tawny blond hair that curled around the collar of his impeccable tuxedo. Flashing green eyes contrasted with his golden skin, making him look like a sleek lion in the gathering shadows. He strode into the room, his black suit flowing with easy grace around his perfect figure. It fit him well. Then again, just about anything would have looked good on him.

My eyes widened. If Sam resembled a male model, then this guy was the Goliath of male models. Yummy.

The man stared at me, and his eyes crinkled in amusement. The merriment dancing in his sharp gaze made him look that much better, even if he seemed to be making fun of me. I didn’t like people making fun of me, and I especially didn’t like being looked down on. I got to my feet and tossed my long hair back. With my stilettos, he only had half an inch on me.

“I’m not a cliché,” I snapped.

“Really? You were one of the bridesmaids, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sitting here all alone.”

“Yes.”

“And you certainly are beautiful.”

“Oh, yes.”

Modesty is another one of my nonexistent virtues. On a scale of one to ten, I’m a solid eight and a half. With my blond hair, blue eyes, and up-to-there legs, I’ve got the Barbie look men love down pat. The only problem is they think I’m as dumb as one of the plastic dolls. The same thing goes for my alter ego, Fiera. But more than one ubervillain had gotten badly burned by underestimating me.

Still, the compliment pleased me. Every woman likes to be told she’s beautiful, but coming from Mr. Model, it sounded . . . better. Truer. Sexier.

“If all that’s not a cliché, then I don’t know what is.” His voice was deep with a hint of an accent I couldn’t quite place. White teeth gleamed in his tan face, adding to his already staggering sex appeal.

I crossed my arms over my chest and flipped through my mental Rolodex of Bigtime society players. No match. He must be new in town. I certainly would have remembered him. My eyes drifted over his suit, which draped perfectly over his broad shoulders and chest. Oh yeah. I would have remembered him.

I suddenly realized that I was twisting the ring on my finger. Bloody hell. I’d gone from pining over Travis to ogling a complete stranger in the space of a minute. I really did need to get lucky before my hormones made me have a total meltdown. Literally.

The man continued. “You certainly looked sad and lonely sitting there, staring into space.”

“I was doing nothing of the sort.”

I couldn’t tell him that I’d been looking at the ring my murdered fiancé had given me before he’d died. My pain was my own. I didn’t go blabbing about it to strangers. Besides, no one except the Fearless Five had even known Travis and I were engaged. It was another little secret we’d decided to keep to ourselves.

“I was just taking a break from the festivities,” I replied in my best, cool, bored society voice. “All that happiness can be a bit grating after a while.”

“Really? You know we could create our own festivities, you and me.”

I stifled a laugh. That was one of the lamest lines I’d ever heard. “Really? And how could we do that?”

“Let me show you.”

He flashed me a devilish grin, pulled me into his arms, and planted his lips on mine.

For a moment, I couldn’t believe it. Who the bloody hell did this jerk think he was, kissing me? I was Fiera, for crying out loud. Superhero du jour. Protector of the innocent. Defender of democracy. I could snap his neck like a pretzel stick. I could light his ass up like a firecracker with a mere thought.

I thought of doing bothat the same time. Then, something strange happened.

I realized that I liked kissing him.

A lot.

A whole lot.

He had fantastic lips. Soft, firm, smooth. He tasted like fizzy champagne and smelled of some subtle, spicy soap. The combination made my head spin more than the three drinks I’d just had.

At five-foot-nine, I’m no small, petite thing, but I felt dwarfed by him. His sculpted chest felt like sun-warmed stone under my hands, and his heart thumped under my clenched fingers. His arms held me securely in place. I opened my mouth to tell him something, I wasn’t quite sure what, and he dipped his tongue in. The taste of him, the feel of his mouth, his tongue on mine overwhelmed my senses. I felt like I’d been zapped with a couple dozen stun guns—all weak and twitchy.

He plundered my mouth like a pirate seeking buried treasure. Nibbling my lips. Skimming my teeth. Probing with his tongue. I couldn’t resist him, and I didn’t really want to. I’d been thinking about having a one-night stand. Let’s see how Mr. Model measured up.

So I opened my mouth wider, and my tongue met his. Then, I went on the offensive. Nibbling on his lips. Skimming his teeth. Probing with my tongue. He pulled me closer until I thought we would melt into each other. I certainly felt like I was on fire in more ways than one.

His fingers skimmed my neck and traced down to the tops of my breasts. He slid his hand inside the scooped neckline and stroked my chest. My nipples sprang to attention. His other hand went through the slit in the side of my dress and moved up my leg with quick, sure purpose. Damn, he didn’t waste any time. Smooth, sexy, and bold. I loved it. Absolutely loved it.

A warm, pleasant tingling started between my thighs and spread throughout my body. My stomach quivered the tiniest bit, and my breath came in soft gasps. My hormones had already kicked into overdrive. If he kept this up much longer, I’d have to throw him onto the couch instead of through the wall. Or on the floor. Or maybe on the pool table. It looked sturdy enough—

“Ahem.”

A cool, feminine voice dampened the liquid fire burning inside me.

“Ahem.”

The man sighed in disappointment against my mouth. He pressed his lips to mine once more, withdrew his hands, and stepped back. I tried not to stagger. I felt like I was drunk. And I never got drunk.

“Hello, Bella,” the man said. Regret tinged his deep voice, and his hot green gaze burned into me.

The intensity of his stare made me shiver, a rare thing for me.

I turned my head. Bella Bulluci hovered just inside the door. A forest-green dress of her own design clung to her curvy body, while a simple silver necklace accentuated her graceful neck. A small pair of angel wings dangled from the end of the chain. Bella’s foot tapped out a rapid pattern, smacking onto the wooden floor.

“Fiona.”

“Bella.”

I not-so-discreetly yanked the bodice of my dress back into its proper place. It didn’t have far to go, really.

Bella’s hazel eyes flicked to the man beside me. “Well, I see you’ve met Johnny.”

“Johnny?” So that’s what his name was.

“Johnny Bulluci. My older brother.”

“Your brother?”

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.” Johnny strolled over to his sister and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.

My eyes zipped back and forth between them. Side by side, the resemblance was obvious. Same tawny hair, same golden skin, same killer cheekbones. The only difference was their eyes. Bella’s were a soft hazel while Johnny’s were as green as polished jade. Johnny also had almost a foot on his sister. Bella was a bit on the short side.

Bella looked at me, then her brother. She shook her head and looped an arm around his waist. “Seducing another unsuspecting bridesmaid, brother dear?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“Make a habit of it, do you, Johnny?” I asked, smoothing down my skirt.

“Only with the exceptionally beautiful ones.” He winked.

I crossed my arms over my still-tingling chest. His sister had just caught us making out like a couple of sex-starved teenagers, and the man still had the nerve to wink at me. Johnny Bulluci had no shame. I rather liked that about him.

“Johnny’s moved back home from Greece,” Bella explained. “He’s been looking after our business interests overseas.”

So that’s why I hadn’t seen him around Bigtime before. It explained the accent too.

“He arrived in town several weeks ago, and I thought the wedding would be a perfect opportunity for him to meet and mingle. I didn’t know he was going to disappear. I should warn you, Fiona, my brother is a notorious playboy. Always has been.” Bella’s voice was light, but there was a hint of disapproval to it. Her foot kept up its annoyed, tapping pattern.

“No harm done,” I said in a cool voice and flipped my hair over my shoulder. “Johnny and I were just getting better acquainted.”

“Indeed,” Johnny said, his eyes catching mine again. “Indeed.”

*****

Now for the contest! Comment on any of the “Bigtime Excerpts” posts: Excerpt #1, Excerpt #2, Excerpt #3, or this post to win a T-shirt and book. One winner will receive a Karma Girl t-shirt and book, and two winners will receive a Hot Mama t-shirt and book. Contest will run through Sunday, September 14 at 9:00am, est. Good Luck! CONTEST CLOSED–WINNERS TO BE ANNOUNCED!

Now let’s turn to Book #2 in The Bigtime Series by Jennifer Estep, Hot Mama (Bigtime #2). After the cut, read Chapter One. And stay tuned for tomorrow’s excerpt and contest!

She can melt steel – and men’s hearts …

By day, Fiona Fine is a successful couture designer, catering to the high society players of Bigtime, New York. By night, she’s Fiera, a superstrong superhero who can create and manipulate fire with her bare hands. Fiera, along with the other members of the heroic Fearless Five, make life miserable for the ubervillains who want to take over the city.

But Fiona’s personal life isn’t so fine. She still misses her fiancé, who was killed by ubervillains a year ago. But men admire Fiona’s smoking assets, and she decides to get back in the dating game – especially after she meets Johnny Bulluci. But this notorious playboy has plenty of secrets to go along with his sexy smile. And, with two new ubervillains in town who are intent on raising hell, Fiona’s love life might just crash and burn …

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Excerpt: Chapter One
My wedding day.

It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. A time of joy and celebration and new beginnings. The day every girl dreams of from the time she’s old enough to play dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

It was exactly that sort of day.

Joy. Hope. New beginnings.

But it wasn’t mine.

Carmen Cole twirled in front of the full-length mirror. Her white satin wedding dress swung out in an arc then gathered back in on itself. Thousands of Swarovski crystals dotted the fitted bodice and full skirt, giving the dress a shimmering, ethereal air. A matching crystal necklace sparkled like a ring of stars around her neck.

“How do I look, Fiona?” Carmen turned her blue eyes to mine.

I hated to admit it, but Carmen looked fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. A rosy flush tinted her cheeks. Excitement brightened her eyes. Even her auburn hair glistened underneath her simple lace veil.

“You look fabulous. After all, you’re wearing a Fiona Fine original.”

Carmen frowned at her reflection. “I know it’s one of your more subdued designs, but I still think it’s a little much.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. An errant spark flew from my thumb and landed on the beige carpet. I squashed it with my stiletto. A little much? Please. If Carmen had gotten her way, she would have worn holey jeans, worn-out sneakers, and a ratty T-shirt with some cutesy saying on it to the wedding.

Luckily, hotter heads had prevailed. Mine. Then again, it was easy to get your way when you had the ability to shoot fire out of your fingertips. Getting my way was one of the prime benefits of being a superhero. My favorite benefit.

Just because I moonlight as a superhero doesn’t mean that I can’t be a little selfish—or enjoy the perks of having superpowers. Usually, I’m perfectly happy just being Fiera, one of many superheroes in Bigtime, New York, fighting evil, cracking skulls, and making life miserable for all those pesky ubervillains who want to take over the city, then the world. But every once in a while, I enjoy showing off my fiery skills, especially when it’s for the greater good, such as making sure Carmen didn’t look like a bag lady at her own wedding.

A knock sounded on the door, the knob turned, and Lulu Lo zipped her motorized wheelchair into the room. A royal-blue dress covered the Asian woman’s slender form, bringing out the smoothness of her porcelain skin and the cobalt streaks in her spiky black hair. Since we were both bridesmaids, I wore a matching gown, but with a few modifications—a lower bodice, a tighter fit, and a higher slit up the side.

“Nice dress, Sister Carmen.” Lulu whistled. “That’ll make Sam sit up and take notice.”

Carmen grinned. Another spark shot out from my thumb. Sam had already taken plenty of notice of Carmen, despite my efforts to the contrary. The two of them were always sneaking off to have wild sex in some corner of the manor house.

“Of course Sam will notice,” I snapped. “I designed the dress. Ours too, if you’ll remember. They’re all fabulous.”

“Well, you do look very hot, Fiona.” Lulu laughed.

I glowered at Lulu. Just because I was a member of the Fearless Five, one of the most esteemed superhero teams in the world, didn’t mean that I didn’t get snarly from time to time—or that civilians like Lulu had the right to poke fun at me.

Of course, none of this would be happening if Carmen, aka Karma Girl, hadn’t insisted that we tell Lulu our secret, superhero identities. Carmen had argued that Lulu deserved to know the truth, since she’d helped save us from the Terrible Triad, a group of ubervillains. Lulu was also the main squeeze of Henry Harris, aka Hermit of the Fearless Five, and he’d wanted to tell her the truth as well. The other two members of the Fearless Five, Sam “Striker” Sloane and Sean “Mr. Sage” Newman, had agreed with Carmen.

So the four of them told Lulu everything, despite my protests. Once the shock wore off, Lulu ingratiated herself with the rest of the Fearless Five. Now, everybody else treated her like one of the gang. She even had her own room in the top-secret, underground compound with the rest of us.

I ignored Lulu whenever possible. It was bad enough that she knew our real identities. I didn’t want to invite her any more into our lives. Lulu was a computer hacker. She did all sorts of highly illegal things, like breaking into the FBI mainframe and swapping corporate secrets, but nobody cared except me. Not even my father, the esteemed police chief of Bigtime, as well as a member of the Fearless Five.

In return for my blatant hostility, Lulu zinged me with heat-related puns whenever we crossed paths. Fiona’s hot. Fiona’s smokin’. Fiona’s on fire. Like I hadn’t heard them all a hundred thousand times before. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Lulu could have at least come up with something original, if she was going to mock me on a daily basis.

My eyes fixed on Lulu’s hair. I could turn those blue streaks red in a heartbeat. Heat pulsed through my body. My fingers twitched. Just one little spark . . .

“Fiona,” Carmen warned. “There will be no flare-ups today. You promised Sam.”

I had promised Sam. And my father. And Henry. And even Carmen. Three times each. I let go of the fire coursing through my veins and banked it deep inside me. It didn’t matter anyway. Carmen would have just done her empathy thing and used the ambient energy in the room to buffer Lulu and herself from my heat. Carmen had the ability to tap into other people and use their own energy against them. I hated her power, mainly because I hadn’t figured out a way to counteract it yet. Most of the time, I either punched or flambéed my way through danger. But I couldn’t do that with Carmen, because she gave just as good as she got.

Lulu smirked at me and motored away. She’d probably max out my credit cards or do some other devious, identity-theft thing as soon as the wedding ended. I didn’t know what Henry saw in her. Maybe he was just glad that he’d finally found someone who understood all the techno-babble he spouted on a daily basis.

Lulu left the door open, and classical music drifted in, along with the murmur of distant conversations. I eyed the clock on the wall. Five minutes to go. Good. The sooner this spectacle was over with, the better. I wasn’t in the mood for a wedding today. Not any day. Not anymore.

Carmen picked up on my dark thoughts and stared at me in the mirror. “I know this has been hard for you, Fiona. The engagement, the wedding, everything. I’m sorry. I wish things were different. I wish Tornado was still here . . .”

Her soft Southern twang trailed off under my hot gaze. Hard for me? She had no idea.

It’d been over a year since my fiancé, Tornado, had been murdered. Carmen had exposed the superhero’s secret identity as Travis Teague to the world, including our arch-enemies, the Terrible Triad. The ubervillains had killed Travis and used Carmen to get to the rest of us. We’d been captured, stuffed in glass tubes, and almost sucked dry of our superpowers, before Carmen had saved us by getting dumped into a vat of radioactive goo and developing superpowers herself.

Sometimes, I couldn’t believe the irony of it. Carmen exposing superheroes, becoming one herself, and now marrying one. Things never seemed to turn out the way you thought they would, especially in Bigtime.

Mostly though, I still couldn’t believe that Travis was gone. Forever. My heart twisted, and the burning fire inside me flickered and dimmed. My eyes dropped to the square, diamond engagement ring on my finger. Travis had given it to me a week before he’d died. I hadn’t taken it off since.

“Fiona? Are you okay?” Carmen asked.

I wasn’t. Not even close. But this was Carmen’s big day, and I didn’t want to ruin it for her.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “In fact, I was thinking that it’s time for me to get out and start dating again. I’ve done the men of Bigtime a cruel, heartless injustice, depriving them of my fabulous company all this time.” I tossed my long, blond hair over my shoulder for effect.

Carmen’s face lit up like I’d just hit her with a fireball between the eyes. “That’s wonderful, Fiona! Just wonderful!”
Her blue eyes grew cloudy and distant, the way they always did when she was listening to the strange whispers in her head. Carmen called them her inner voice, her instincts. I thought she had more than a few loose rocks rattling around in all that empty space.

“Maybe you’ll meet somebody at the reception,” she murmured.

I huffed. Please. I’d been active on the social scene ever since I’d moved to Bigtime some fifteen years ago, and I knew everybody invited to the wedding. There wasn’t a man among them that I’d date, let alone sleep with.

I twisted the ring on my finger. The silver solidium band heated up on my hot hand, and the diamond glowed like a tiny moon. Still, I would like to find somebody. It’d be nice to be part of a couple again. To laugh and talk and have dinner with someone who wasn’t a relative or an employee or a fellow superhero. To find somebody who looked at me the way that Sam looked at Carmen.

Plus, I liked sex. A lot. It sucked to go without.

My hand stilled. Maybe that’s what I should do. Get drunk at the reception, have a one-night stand with some anonymous guy to take the edge off, and then start looking for someone suitable. Someone more long-term. The only problem with my plan was that it would take an ocean of champagne to get me drunk, given my fast-burning metabolism. Well, it was a good thing Sam was richer than almost everyone else on the planet put together. He could afford a couple hundred thousand dollars’ worth of bubbly if it meant me getting lucky.

The music quickened and swelled, and the conversations faded away. The air hummed with energy and anticipation.

“Time to go.” Carmen smoothed down her billowing skirt. Her hand trembled just a bit.

I picked up her long train, careful not to singe the fabric with my fingers. I’d spent too much time sewing the damn thing to ruin it now. Carmen turned and grabbed my arm.

“Do you think this is the right thing to do? Do you think we should go through with it? Do you think we’re ready? You know how badly my last wedding turned out.” Panic filled her blue eyes.

Badly was the understatement of the century. Right before the wedding, Carmen had found her fiancé boinking her best friend and discovered that the two were her town’s resident superhero and ubervillain. That, of course, had set Carmen off on her little mission to expose the identity of every superhero and ubervillain who crossed her path. Which, of course, is how Carmen had met Sam and the rest of us. Karma, she called it. Destiny, kismet, fate. I just thought of it as bad luck on our part.

But I bit back the sarcastic retort I’d been ready to let loose. The nosy reporter had grown on me, despite my best efforts. And she had saved my life and everyone else’s. I owed her for that. Plus, it was my solemn duty as a bridesmaid to support the bride—even if Carmen occasionally made me want to put my fist through a wall.
“Do you love Sam?”

Carmen nodded. Some of the tension left her body. “With all my heart.”

“Then, it’ll be fine,” I said. “Sam loves you, and you love him. You’re going to have a fabulous wedding, a fantastic honeymoon, and a wonderful life together. Plus, you’re wearing a Fiona Fine original couture gown. And what could possibly be better than that?”

Today’s excerpt from Karma Girl by Jennifer Estep is the first face to face meeting between intrepid girl reporter Carmen Cole and Striker, Superhero, and perhaps, her hero. Nothing like a first meeting! Don’t forget to read Chapter One, And stay tuned for a Bigtime contest!

Excerpt

There were no society events scheduled for the evening, so I returned to the Bigtime Public Library. This time, I gathered information on the Terrible Triad. Every newspaper column, every glossy magazine spread, every journal article written about the ubervillains. I copied them all, stuffed them in a trash bag, and headed home.

It was late when I unlocked the door to my apartment and stepped over the threshold. I flipped on the lights, threw my keys down on a nearby table, and walked over to the alarm system. I punched in the code. I shivered and glanced at the thermostat. Sixty-five degrees. I frowned. The thermostat was set at seventy-two. It should be a lot warmer than that in here—

My fingers stilled for a second. Then, I leaned forward and fiddled with the thermostat, pretending to punch in an elaborate command. My eyes scanned what I could see of the living room. One of the windows was open. A cool breeze invaded the room and fluttered the white curtains.

There was only one problem. I hadn’t left the window open. I never did, not since the first time a kid had slipped inside and hidden two pounds of rotten fish under the sofa. Someone had broken into my apartment. Another, more disturbing thought popped into my frantic, confused brain.

He might still be in here.

For a moment, I wanted to scream and bolt through the door. Instead of running, I reached out into the hallway and picked up my garbage bag filled with papers. I knew who had come calling while I wasn’t home. I was just surprised it had taken him this long.

I lugged the bag over to the coffee table and plopped it down. The table creaked under the weight.

“Whew!” I said for the benefit of whoever might be listening and wiped a bit of imaginary sweat from my forehead. “That one was even heavier than the last batch. Time to take a shower.”

I walked down the hall like everything was perfectly normal, even though my heart pounded and blood roared in my ears. I went into the bathroom and closed the door not quite all the way. I stood at the crack, listening. Nothing. Was complete silence one of his superpowers? For once, my memory failed me. My jumbled brain couldn’t recall.

I turned on the water in the sink. The steady hiss drowned out the rapid beating of my heart. I reached under the toilet and yanked off a piece of duct tape. A gun fell into my sweaty hand, along with an extra clip of ammo. It comforted me. I was pretty sure who my intruder was and that he wouldn’t hurt me, but it was better to be safe than sorry. I racked back the slide and stuck the clip in my waistband. My hands trembled.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. Then, I tiptoed to the door and squeezed through the opening. I padded down the hall, as silent as any mouse. I stood in the pool of darkness that separated the hall from the living room and kitchen. I held the gun up, waiting, watching, listening.

Come out, come out, wherever you are …

A long, tall shadow detached itself from the refrigerator and headed for the open window. I raised the gun and aimed at the shadow’s back. I pulled the trigger.

I wasn’t fast enough. The shadow whirled around, sensing my presence. A dart hit the spot where he’d been standing a moment ago. So I fired again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He kept moving. Dart after dart followed him through the kitchen. Glasses shattered and dishes broke as the tiny missiles hit them. Damn, he was fast, even for a superhero. A hollow click rang out, followed by another, then another. Out of ammo.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

I popped out the clip and jammed in the fresh one. Slow, slow, slow! I was moving too slow, like I was underwater. I expected a body to slam into me at any second. Or a gloved hand to yank the gun from my shaky, sweaty grasp. But nothing happened.

I snapped up the gun. The shadow stilled. We stood there in a silent standoff. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he eased forward into the light that spilled in through the window.

Striker.

He looked just the same as he had last night. Black suit. Black mask. Black hair. Silver swords. Gray eyes. But the effect was far more devastating up close and personal. A dark, dangerous air buzzed around him like an electric current. He stood still, sizing up the situation. Striker was a predator. I was just his chosen prey for the evening.
I licked my lips. Hot, nervous sweat trickled down the back of my neck, plastering my hair to my skin. My hands shook. The gun bobbed up and down. I steadied my grip.

Striker pried a dart out of the kitchen wall and held it up by the feathered end. His movements were lithe and fluid and controlled like those of a jungle cat. He seemed unconcerned with me and my gun.

“Tranquilizers.” I answered his silent question. “With enough juice in them to knock out an elephant. Striker, I presume?”

He nodded.

“I assume you know who I am.”

He nodded again.

We stood there in silence. I kept my gun leveled at him. Striker leaned back against the kitchen counter like he owned it. His gray eyes slid over my body in a frank, assessing way that made me tremble from head to toe. I felt like a fattened calf on the auction block being inspected by would-be buyers. I wondered if Striker liked what he saw. The thought startled me. I looked down at my faded, ripped jeans, battered sneakers, and T-shirt that read 0 to Bitch in 7.7 seconds or your money back. Probably not. Ugh.

“How did you know I was in here?” His voice was deep and rough and rich, with an edge of cool sophistication. The sort of voice that made women melt. Including me.

“It was cold.” I, on the other hand, squeaked like a mouse caught in a trap. “You forgot to shut the window.”

“I see.”

More silence.

“So, what do you want?”

Striker blinked. “Excuse me?”

“What do you want? I assume there was a reason you broke into my apartment. Or is it something you do for kicks?”

“You want me to tell you the reason I’m here?”

“Yes,” I said. “Aren’t superheroes supposed to be honest, forthright, and have outstanding morals? Isn’t that part of the job description, along with helping little old ladies cross the street?”

Striker hesitated, as if he didn’t know what to say. “Shut up,” he growled.

“Excuse me?”

“Not you.” He pointed to his ear. “One of my colleagues is listening in on our conversation. He’s laughing at your last statement. Evidently, he doesn’t think I’m very forthright.”

“Oh.” I wondered which one of the Fearless Five was tuning in to our tête-à-tête. Probably Hermit, given the fact that Striker had some sort of listening gizmo in his ear.

The silence gathered around us once more. Striker stared at me with his piercing gray eyes. The dark current snapped and hummed around him like a live wire. The man oozed danger and sensuality. Every part of my body tingled and tightened in response. And in anticipation of something I couldn’t quite identify.

I dropped my eyes from his face. My gaze landed on his fantastic chest and slid down his rippling stomach to his— I snapped my head back up. My cheeks flamed.

“Look, I’ve had a really long day, and I’m tired. I would like nothing more than to take a shower and go to bed, plus my arm is starting to cramp from holding this gun. So, why don’t you just tell me what you want? Who knows? I just might give it to you. You can be on your merry way, and I can get some sleep.”

“Why don’t you put the gun down first, and then we’ll talk.”

I chewed my lip. “Might as well. I imagine you could take it away from me before I could blink if you wanted to.”

Suddenly, Striker moved. He sprang at me like a panther leaping upon a plump little bird. I blinked once before he pulled the gun out of my hand. I didn’t even feel him do it. For a moment, he stood there in front of me, so close that his breath kissed my face, so close that I could see the flecks of electric blue in his hypnotic eyes. My heart slammed against my rib cage.

“I did just take your gun away. Quite easily. But hold on to it if it makes you feel better.”

He stepped back and tossed the weapon to me. Somehow, I managed to catch it.

“Well, there’s no reason to get all cocky about it,” I muttered, trying to hide my intense reaction to him.

I stumbled forward on shaky feet and put the gun on the coffee table. I sank down into the groove on the sofa, kicked off my sneakers, and propped my feet up on the trash bag. I tried to look tougher and stronger and calmer than I felt.

Striker leaned against the entertainment center. “What’s in the bag?”

“Papers.”

“What sort of papers?”

My eyes flicked over the table. “The sort of papers you’ve been going through, judging by the mess you’ve made.”

“More papers on me?” A hard edge crept into his voice. It cut me like a razor.

“Not exactly.”

“Then what sort of papers, exactly?”

“Papers on the Terrible Triad. Malefica, Frost, Scorpion, their various escapades.”

Striker cocked his head to one side, listening to whatever his comrade said. “My friend says you’re telling the truth. That all you’ve been doing all night is making copies at the library. Why are you gathering information on the Triad? Given our … previous meeting, I thought I was the one you were after.”

“Not exactly.”

Striker jerked his head at the table. “Those papers tell me otherwise. You’ve gathered quite a bit of information on me, and I saw you on top of that roof last night. I assume you weren’t there to buy some drugs. Are you trying to uncover my identity? Planning to expose me to the world?”

I hesitated. “Not exactly.”

“Then what are you doing, exactly?”

“I don’t have to tell you that.”

Striker’s hands curled into fists. His gray eyes bored into mine. They glowed with barely suppressed anger.

I shivered under the intense scrutiny. I didn’t think Striker would hurt me. The superhero code of ethics wouldn’t allow him to. Then again, I hadn’t thought Tornado would commit suicide either. Or that Matt would cheat on me. I wasn’t the best judge of character when it came to superheroes.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I mumbled.

“Try me.”

I weighed the pros and cons. Oh, what the hell? I’d probably never get another opportunity to talk face-to-face with Striker. I might as well lay my puzzle pieces on the table.

I rolled up my T-shirt. Two bruises colored my arms in angry purple and garish green. “Your good friend Malefica paid me a visit a few nights ago. Or rather she made me pay her one. Two goons kidnapped me and drugged me. When I woke up, I was in some kind of factory. Malefica was there with Frost and Scorpion.”

Striker’s eyes bored into me like hot laser beams. My temperature shot up about ten degrees. “I’m listening.”

“Frost had some animals that he’d done experiments on. They were … they were …” I took a deep breath to steady my shaky nerves. The memory of those poor creatures made me sick. I could still feel their pain and horror. “He had changed them. Into monsters. Malefica told me that unless I discovered your identity in a month’s time and gave it to her, she would turn me over to Frost and let him do the same thing to me.”

“I see.”

Silence.

“But I have a plan,” I continued.

“A plan?”

“Yes. I’ve been gathering information on you in hopes of uncovering your true identity.”

“And what happens if you do? How does that help you, other than keep you out of Frost’s grasp? Or perhaps get you back in the good graces of the editors at The Exposé?” Striker’s voice could have frozen boiling lava.

“Simple.” I picked up a wayward Rubik’s Cube and fiddled with it. “I use you to lead me to Malefica. I uncover her real identity and give it to you. You and the rest of the Fearless Five go after her, while I slip off into the sunset. You apprehend your greatest enemy, I don’t get turned into a yeti, and we all go home happy, except for Malefica and her boys, who will hopefully get twenty-to-life in a secure facility for insane ubervillains.”

“I see. Why not just concentrate on Malefica? Why drag me into it?” His voice was quiet and calm, but I could hear the anger in it. Striker didn’t approve of my master plan.

“Because I need you to lead me to Malefica. That’s how it works. The superheroes always lead me to the ubervillains, not the other way around.” I slid a row of colors into place. My hands trembled, and I hoped Striker didn’t notice how much he affected me.

“What makes you think I have anything to do with Malefica?”

I looked up at him. “Karma.”

“Karma?”

“Karma.” I got up off the sofa and paced around. I couldn’t sit still. Not when he stared at me like that. “Good and evil always balance each other out. Superheroes and ubervillains are always connected in some way. They’re like magnets, always attracting and repelling each other. It’s fascinating. Malefica is somewhere in your life. She might be a friend, a girlfriend, a business partner, maybe even your wife. You just don’t know it or refuse to see it.”

Striker paused. His eyes turned inward, mentally sorting through every person in his life, trying to figure out who might fit the mold.

“Come up with any suspects? Anybody sneak off in the middle of an important business meeting? Any girlfriends fail to show up for dates? Any so-called friends have odd, unexplainable injuries?”

“No,” he growled.

“Too bad.”

I finished my Rubik’s Cube and put it on the bookshelf.

“So, I’ve told you my plans. How about taking off that mask?” I asked in a bright, cheery voice to hide my nervousness. “I’m sure you’d be much more comfortable without it. I’ve always wondered how you people breathe through those things. They look terribly thick. And I really don’t see how you move around in those leather suits either. Or is yours some sort of special spandex?”

Striker crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a cold look that would have made Frost icy with envy.

I shrugged. “It never hurts to ask. And it would make my job a lot easier.”

He didn’t respond.

“Look, I don’t want to expose you. I’m not going to reveal your identity to anyone. I promise. I’m through with that. For good.”

Striker’s eyes slammed into mine. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because of what happened to Tornado.”

The words just popped out. A muscle in Striker’s clenched jaw twitched. His eyes grew dark and stormy as a thundercloud. I shrank back against the bookcase. I didn’t need my inner voice to tell me I’d just stepped way over the line.

Still, there was something I had wanted to say for a long time, something I needed to say, whether he believed me or not. I turned my back to the superhero, unable to meet his damning, angry gaze. “I’m sorry. I truly, truly am. I never meant for that to happen. If I’d had any idea Tornado would react that way, I never would have written the story. I hope you can accept my apology and sympathy for your loss.”

The silence deafened me. I turned. The apartment was empty.

Striker had left the building.

Tuesday May 13, Lisa Kleypas visited The Good, The Bad and The Unread. Fun things happened like some great questions discussing heroes and point of view and thanks for the great, wonderful, spectacular responses. There were some excerpts from Lisa’s upcoming books, Seduce Me at Sunrise (can I have it now Sybil? Pretty please?) and A Wallflower Christmas. And, of course, Lisa herself was here all day! SSQQQUUEEE!

Honestly, it’s nice to see all the comments and readers come out and discuss the work of a great author. There were some good responses and if you click any of the links below you can continue to discuss these things. Really, ’cause it’s fun.

Discussion Questions:

Question 1

Question 2

Question 3

Question 4

Seduce Me at Sunrise excerpt.

A Wallflower Christmas excerpt.

The contest (sorry it is already closed, but it’s nifty either way).

Thanks everyone for making it a very good day! And thanks millions to Lisa who provided the wonderful material to be discussed.