Blurb:
It's supposed to be a symbiotic relationship: the Shadow serves and protects the human Lumi, the Lumi feeds and cares for the Shadow. But when Damon’s Lumi died young and severed the bond between them, he declined to go with her like a good little Shadow. Yes, it hurts. Yes, he's cold and hungry all the time. And yes, his own people call him an abomination. But for the first time, Damon's life is his own, and he’s never going back.
Or so he thinks, until he meets Naomi, a pregnant college student… and bonds to her as his new Lumi. Which has never happened to a Shadow before.
Naomi has enough problems on her plate, juggling college and a crappy survival job, preparing for a baby, and getting over her cheating ex-husband. The last thing she needs is a dark, brooding fellow like Damon depending on her physically and emotionally, and hating her for it. But a vigilante among Damon's people has his sights set on Naomi – and they both know Damon is her only chance for survival.
About the Author:
Elizabeth Belyeu is 29 years old and lives
in Alabama, where she supports herself, her cat, and her steadily growing TBR
pile as a library assistant. She graduated from Troy University in 2008 with a
bachelor's in English (Creative Writing minor). This is her first novel, but
she has been writing since she could hold a pencil, and plans to continue until
she is too senile to type.
Now available on
Excerpt:
“…hardly
the Dread Pirate Roberts, Dad. Can you really see him ripping someone’s throat
out with his teeth?”
CHAPTER
ONE
Elevator Ghosts
NAOMI
I froze
outside my English professor’s office door, and decided I did not want to
interrupt that conversation. My hand didn’t get the memo and knocked anyway. I
snatched it back and bit it, but it was too late.
From
inside came silence, then Dr. DiNovi’s voice. “Come in.”
I
debated running away instead. Or waddling away, since the U.S.S. Third
Trimester wasn’t achieving warp speed anytime soon. But I opened the door.
We all
do dumb things.
Dr.
DiNovi was sitting at his desk in a perfectly normal way, which was all wrong.
Dr. DiNovi was a feet-on-the-desk, head-in-the-clouds kind of guy, not a
feet-on-the-floor, head-in-his-hands kind of guy. I’d never seen his bald spot
before, peeking out of dark hair like a moon on a cloudy night. Maybe he grew
the beard to compensate for the bald spot. He looks good with the beard, in a
professorial kind of way.
The
other guy in the room did not look professorial. He looked grim and dark and
scruffy and altogether Strider-like. All he needed was a cloak. The leather
jacket, I decided, was a satisfactory modernization.
Of
course, if he was Strider, I was apparently a Ringwraith, because he was
looking at me like he couldn’t decide whether to run away or run me through. I
fully expected him to snarl.
“Ah,
Naomi,” Dr. DiNovi said. “Come to throw your term paper on my tender mercies?”
His voice was casual and cheerful and did not match the way he kept glancing
from me to Strider.
“Yes,
sir.” It was hard to look away from Strider, but easier than continuing to look
at him. He reminded me of a firework my grandfather lit once, that sizzled and
smoked and then went quiet — just before blowing up in his face and burning his
beard off. So talk quick and get out of here before he explodes. “I
need an extension, sir. Please.” Dr. DiNovi was not famous for cutting anyone a
break on deadlines. I had marshalled all kinds of arguments to cover the fact
that I flat forgot about my term paper. I could not remember any of them now. Please,
sir, I’m very pregnant. I cry easily, and if you make pregnant women cry you go
to hell. I’d hate to see that happen to you, sir.
Dr.
DiNovi gestured at Strider. “I don’t know if you’ve met my son, Ga—”
“Damon.”
His voice was rough, as if he’d been screaming. Without meaning to, I looked
back toward him, and he flinched. So did I. He seemed to burn my retinas.
“Damon,”
Dr. DiNovi continued, “this is one of my Brit Lit students, Naomi Winters.”
“Naomi,”
he repeated, his voice even more choked, as if my name were razors in his
mouth. He glanced at his father. “I have to go.”
I was
still standing more or less in the doorway. I tried to dodge him, and he tried
to dodge me, and my shoulder bounced off his. He hissed — seriously, hissed, a
sort of gasp between clenched teeth — and was out the door and gone.
I bit my lip and glanced at Dr. DiNovi, my cheeks going hot even
though I hadn’t done anything. That’s why I always got in trouble when
my little brother broke something. “Guilty” is my default expression.
No comments:
Post a Comment