January 7th Releases

New Releases

January 7th, 2016

                                                                                                                                                                   

The General's Wife by Sara R. Turnquist

#Historical #Regency #Romance

Ismene, a beautiful, somewhat naïve, young noblewoman, is torn from her childhood home in Greece and her first love. Bound by honor and duty, she marries Pharoah's chief military commander, Alistair. Though determined to remain true to the man she left behind, her new husband stirs feelings in her she cannot ignore.
Attempting to accept this brazen new culture, it isn't long before she discovers that the locals don't like her. The Alexandrian mob starts making anonymous threats. This face-less group will stop at nothing to achieve its goal of driving out the unwelcome Greeks. In the midst of these heightening attacks, the general must leave for battle. Ismene fears that she is on her own. 
Evidence of a spy within her own household arises. It soon becomes apparent that one of these Egyptian rebels wants her dead. The safety of Ismene, and possibly the entire ruling class of Egypt, hangs in the balance. 

                                                                                                                                                                   

Just Claire by Jean Ann Williams

#Childrens #YA #HistoricalFiction

ClaireLee’s life changes when she must take charge of her siblings and depressed mother, and she finds relief in the lies she tells herself and others. Frightened by the changes in Mama, ClaireLee just knows she’ll catch her illness like a cold or flu that hangs on through winter. Deciding she needs to re-invent herself, she sets out to impress a group of popular girls. 

At the slip of an untruth, she deceives her way into the Lavender Girls Club. Though, her best friend Belinda will not be caught with the likes of such shallow puddles. ClaireLee drifts further from honesty, her friend, and a broken mother’s love, until one very public night. The spotlight is on her, and she finds her courage and faces the truth and then she saves a life. 

                                                                                                                                                                   

Drake the Dandy by Katy Newton Naas

#YA #Childrens #ServiceDog #Bullies

Drake the Dandy has a job to do. He lives each day just to protect his person, Kinsey, who has epilepsy. Drake is special because he can sense her seizures and warn her before they happen. 

Drake loves Kinsey and would give his life for her. But being a brave, strong guardian was a lot easier before he had to accompany her to this scary place called school… 

The Black Mage Series by Rachel E Carter

******************************************************

The Black Mage: First Year

Before the age of seventeen the young men and women of Jerar are given a choice –follow tradition, or pursue a trial year in one of the realm’s three war schools to study as a soldier, knight or mage… 

For 15-year-old Ryiah the choice has always been easy. Become a warrior and leave the boring confines of her lowborn life behind. Set to enroll in the School of Knighthood on the eve of her next birthday, plans suddenly shift when her twin brother discovers powers. Hoping that hers will soon follow, she enrolls with Alex at the Academy instead –the realm’s most notorious war school for those with magic. 

Yet when she arrives Ry finds herself competing against friend and foe for one of the exalted apprenticeships. Every “first-year” is given a trial year to prove their worth –and no amount of hard work and drive will guarantee them a spot. It seems like everyone is rooting for her to fail –and first and foremost among them Prince Darren, the school prodigy who has done nothing but make life miserable since she arrived. 

When an accidental encounter leads Ryiah and Darren to an unlikely friendship she is convinced nothing good will come of it. But the lines become blurred when she begins to improve –and soon she is a key competitor for the faction of Combat… Still, nothing is ever as it seems –and when the world comes crashing down around her, Ry is forced to place faith in the one thing she can believe in –herself. Will it be enough? 

Amazon- http://amzn.com/B00MMTMPK0

RELEASE DAY: Stephy Smith "Magical Love"

Blurb:

Captured within the mind of Cleo Little by the disgraceful dark mist of Madonna, Greta Smith was taken on a wild, wicked journey she fought to escape. Greta presented the problem to the Shuvihani and Thad to vanquish the evilness of her childhood friend.

Against Thaddeus Porter’s better judgment and by the order of the clan’s witch, Thad entered the minds of the dark coven out to destroy the clan. The only way to save his people was to join forces with Greta to defeat the evilness prevailing around them. Their energy was strong, the clan’s Shuvihani was missing, and dark evil was out to steal the souls of the caravan.

Could Greta and Thad’s Magical Love be sufficient to conquer the jealousy, betrayal and dark magic to save their people?

Author:

Stephy Smith was born and raised in the Northwest Texas Panhandle. She owns and operates her own ranch. Most of her inspiration comes from the weather, wildlife, and imagination from country living. When she not spending time with her three sons, she loves to read, ride horses, watch rodeo’s and paint. Stephy is a member of Panhandle Professional Writers, American Quarter Horse Association, and Foundation Quarter Horse Association. Stephy is an award-winning author of Shining Moon Rises. You can find her books at www.barnesandnoble.com www.amazon.com www.audible.com www.smashwords.com and www.kobo.com

RELEASE DAY: Sofia Diana Gabel "Charity's Heart"

Blurb:

1888, London- Charity Llewellyn, 19, looks forward to marrying one day, but upon learning that her intended groom is Mathias Baptiste, the immoral son of a wealthy banker, she runs away from home to avoid the betrothal. Angry at her attempt, her father appoints a handsome and mysterious man, Alexander Sutton, as her constant chaperone. Furious, Charity plots an escape with help from her friend Lillian, although that leads to involvement in an unsolved 20-year old murder and a shallow burial of human bones. As she tries to unravel the secrets of the old murder, she meets a frightening man who could be Jack the Ripper. But that’s not her only obstacle. As she and Alexander grow closer and fall in love, she learns a dark secret he’s been keeping and when Mathias finds them together, he is overcome with rage and will stop at nothing to get her back, not even murder.

 

Author:

Born in Sydney, Australia, Ms. Gabel now lives in the United States with her family. She has dabbled in several careers, including archaeology and wildlife biology, but writing is her true passion. She is a multi-genre writer and has obtained two Bachelor degrees and will get a Masters in archaeology soon. Like writing, learning is a part of her life. Her favorite quote paraphrased from Sir Francis Bacon: Knowledge is Power.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

London, 1888

Charity’s bedroom windowpane was chilled and wet from the cold evening air, yet she could still see her faint, almost ghost-like reflection in the glass. With a twist of her long, tawny hair, she made an elegant chignon and secured it with an ivory hairpin. She sighed and wiped the water from the window with her bare hand. She’d rather be outside where the fresh air would fill her lungs and she could run free through the damp grass, but instead, she was locked inside the house like a prisoner.

Her position was to marry well and provide an heir to the Llewellyns. It was her only task: to have children. She was nineteen now and knew her father would soon insist she marry. He’d been hinting, so the day was nearing when he’d bring up the subject. But she’d never been allowed out on her own to meet potential suitors, which meant her father would find her a husband to his liking, not hers. And his idea of a husband certainly wouldn’t be the same as hers. She wanted a man who was strong, intelligent, kind, generous, and most of all, not bogged down with following social convention. The exact opposite of who would be chosen for her.

Her whole life she’d been sheltered and kept safe like a bird in a cage. She’d never experienced life, never had the opportunity to travel or even learn an occupation. Marrying a man she didn’t love would be like having her heart locked away where it could never be free.

She turned from the window and slipped on her soft-soled house shoes, the worn ones her mother had thrown out several times and Charity had retrieved from the rubbish bin every time. Just because they were worn didn’t mean they were unusable. She found them to be comfortable and would undoubtedly last for some time longer. So many people in London didn’t have shoes at all, or so she’d heard. Of course she’d never gone into London without an escort, and then it was only to the dressmaker’s or to some other well-to-do section of the city.

She looked back at her reflection again. It was a façade. It didn’t show what was in her heart. It was a cold portrayal of what everyone wanted to see. She plucked out the hairpin, gave her head a shake, and let her hair tumble loosely over her shoulders. That’s how she preferred to wear her hair, free and untamed. Now the young woman reflected in the window pane was smiling.

When the dinner bell rang, Charity dashed from her bedroom on the third floor and hurried down the stairs, purposely holding her skirt above her ankles so her shoes were visible, and walked along the hand-woven Persian carpet leading to the dining room. As expected, her mother was waiting at the doorway of the dining room.

“Oh, heavens, Charity. Not those ugly old shoes again. How many times have I had Flora put them out with the rubbish?” Her mother folded her arms across her chest. “You do these things to annoy me.”

Charity dropped her skirt. “I like these shoes. If you throw them out again, I shall go around in stocking feet. These shoes are perfectly good.” Charity passed into the dining room without giving her mother the required kiss on the cheek, the kiss that said she was a dutiful daughter who would obey her mother no matter what.

“Incorrigible,” her mother muttered, stepping into the dining room herself.

Charity took her seat next to her father, who was already sitting stiffly at the head of the table, open newspaper in hand. He didn’t look up. His throne-like Indian rosewood chair had a procession of small elephants carved along the top of the backrest. When she was young, she used to dream of where the elephants were going, each one holding the other’s tail in its trunk, forming a chain of beasts heading off the edge of the backrest. She’d wonder if they were going into the hot and sticky jungles of the Indian continent or perhaps to a river where they’d drink the sweet, cool water. Imagining their adventures captivated her at the time. But now she saw those elephants for what they were: wooden, immovable prisoners trapped on the back of a chair, unable to escape to freedom. She was just like them, stuck in one place with no chance of getting away.

RELEASE DAY: Lindsay Downs "A Bluestocking's Christmas"

 

Blurb:

Lady Brittany Sexton loves her newest book on Africa but she quickly learns keeping it in her possession is difficult. For her, the problem lies with Lord Samuel Palmer, who believes ladies should not read inappropriate tomes. Part of Lord Palmer’s fascination is the cryptic messages found in the margins. What quickly develops between Lady Brittany and Lord Palmer is even more confusing.

As Christmas draws nearer and with the book still in her possession, Lord Palmer follows her to her parents country estate.  It’s there they, along with some friends, slowly make sense of the notes.

During all of this, Lady Brittany learns a fact about Lord Palmer that disturbs her greatly—why he desired the book. To clear her mind and think about her answer to Lord Palmer’s sudden proposal, she goes for a horseback ride, only for disaster to strike.

Once well, she returns home. Lady Brittany now has to make a life changing decision. Can she… will she marry Lord Palmer ?

 

 

Author:

What does it take to be a bestselling author? Determination, skill, talent, luck or taking a risk with a venture into a totally new genre. For me it was a little of some and a lot of the others.

In 2008 when I got two books published I thought it was due to skill; little did I know it was more luck than anything. Over the next three years I wrote, submitted, got rejected. I then did what I tell everyone who asks; I wrote some more. I didn’t give up.

More on a dare than anything I tried my hand at a regency, one of the most difficult genres because of the rules, which I might add I broke almost every one. Within two days of its release the book was on a best seller list and stayed there for two months.

Turns out it is all of the aforementioned.

After two failed marriages, one from divorce while with the other died unexpectedly I decided upon retirement to move. That opportunity came in September 2012 when I migrated to Texas.

For me, as a multipublished author, it was one of the best things I’ve done to date. Now, every day I can write, creating stories to take my readers to places they can only dream about.

I’m also a member of the Published Authors Network (PAN) by the Romance Writers of America (RWA).

 

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

Bundled against the unseasonably cold wind that wipped up the loose snow around her feet, Lady Brittany Sexton marched down the street, closing on her destination—her favourite lending library. Following and trying to keep up her lady’s maid, Aggie, mumbled to herself.

“Oh, stop with the complaining,” Brittany called out.

“I wonder why you insisted on venturing out on such a horrid day?”

“Mr. Winterbottom sent me a note saying the new book on Africa arrived today. If I want to be the first I should hurry down as several others enquired on it,” she told her maid after slowing her forward march so she wouldn’t need to speak so loudly.

“The one written by that horrid Lord Hersey you heard speak a few years back?”

Brittany nodded as a gust of wind whipped up, taking her breath away.

As they progressed down Braxton Street, she kept her head down while drawing her pelisse closer about her. With the chill, Brittany started to wonder if being the first to read this tome was worth the effort. Then she remembered the comment from that horrid Lord Samuel Palmer, the previous evening, at one of several balls her parents had insisted she attend.

At one point during that terrible event which had bored her close to tears, as she preferred to be home reading of far off lands, Lord Palmer had pointedly told several gentleman within earshot that ladies should be seen and not heard.

“All they can talk about is the weather or which colours will be fashionable during the spring season. All we gentlemen need do is look outside to see if it’s raining or the sun is shining,” Brittany had heard him say to the approval of several other gentlemen, if she could even call them that for their attitude.

It had taken all her willpower not to put aside the book she’d secreted with her and tell him he was full of hot air. She later learned from her bosom bow, Miss Sally Crocker, this appeared to be his typical attitude toward the current ladies in search of husbands.

“Lord Palmer will be lucky if some on-the-shelf lady might consent to marry him considering his arrogance. Doesn’t he realize we, at least a few of us such as you and I, have brains? We can and are willing to discuss topics of interest to him,” she had told her friend.

Brittany was so focused on the events of last eve, in particular that one pompous gentleman, she barely heard Aggie call out to her.

“M’ lady, you marched right past the lending library. Is everything all right?”

She halted and glanced around, only to feel her face warm from embarrassment at having lost track of where she was.

“Um, yes. I was pondering about last night and this gentleman who didn’t think we ladies should think. Now, let’s collect the book on Africa and peruse what else Mr. Winterbottom might have of interest,” Brittany said as she turned back and climbed the brick steps leading to an oak door with glass set in its upper half.

The gentle tinkling of the bell over the door brought a smile to her lips as the purveyor glanced toward her.

“My dear Lady Brittany, it’s always wonderful when you visit my humble establishment. It’s also a good thing you were the first to alert me that you wished to read Lord Hersey’s book, as several gentlemen have expressed an interest in it.”

Somehow that titbit of news didn’t come as much of a shock, as he was supposed to be the authority on deepest, darkest Africa. She wondered what the men would say on learning she’d been able to obtain the copy before any of them. With this book Brittany would have the most extensive collection on the subject, which pleased her. Now she would be able to compose a compilation which would make referencing different areas of Africa easy for future explorers.

 

RELEASE DAY: Vivian Roycroft "Shenanigans in Berkeley Square"

 

Blurb:

The right man doesn’t know she’s alive. The wrong man’s out to change that.

Coralie Busche can only admire Kenneth Rainier from afar. He’s a most handsome philosopher of the Romantic movement and for months she’s eavesdropped on his conversations at the coffee house. If only she had the courage to join his debates… and perhaps more. Her feminine education of singing and sewing could be of no interest to such a man — but then that vexing rake, the Duke of Cumberland, brings her to Rainier’s attention and she can’t hide any longer.

Rainier has lived with his mercenary sisters for too long to suffer any illusions about women. They value money, position, and precedence, not life’s important things such as poetry or painting, and only very lucky men find true love. But when he notices Cumberland staring at a dark-eyed beauty hiding in the coffee house’s corner, Rainier is smitten. Perhaps there’s a chance he could be one of those lucky men.

Cinderella meets Romeo and Juliet with a gorgeous gown, an unusual ducal matchmaker with motives of his own, and two cynical, jealous sisters. With All Hallow’s Eve approaching, tempers flaring, and a duelist’s challenge thrown down, how can His Grace, the Scoundrel of Mayfair, teach some loving sense to two soaring sensibilities?

 

 

Author:

Vivian Roycroft is a pseudonym for historical fiction and adventure writer J. Gunnar Grey. And if she's not careful, her pseudonymous pseudonym will have its own pseudonym soon, too. Plus an e-reader, a yarn stash, an old Hermès hunt saddle, and a turtle sundae at Culver's.

You can find Vivian and her writing compadre, J.L. Salter, at their shared blog, www.TakeTwoOnRomance.Weebly.com, or follow her on Twitter as @VivianRoycroft.

 

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

 

Chapter One

 

Thursday, October 14, 1813

 

Strong sunlight poured between the pretentious columns fronting the Olympic Pavilion. Beneath the portico moved shadows not cast by the neoclassical architecture, shadows of completely the wrong shapes and sizes; and, when His Grace approached to a sufficient proximity, shadows creating noises both indiscreet and inappropriate for a public street. A flash of copper curls and a clashing maroon sleeve caught his eye, and surely only one couple in all of Mayfair would dare sport such an unfortunate combination of colors. Deliberately he clumped on the pavement, announcing his presence. The shadows whipped behind their sheltering column and the salacious noises ceased.

But as he passed, a calculated glance back proved his theory correct. Mrs. Beryl Fitzwilliam, née Wentworth, stood on her tiptoes and peered over her new husband’s shoulder. The Duke of Cumberland, His Grace, Ernst Anton Oldenburg, gave her a victorious grin; her bewitching green eyes lit with glee and she wrinkled her nose at him. Satisfied, he resumed his more usual manner of walking and continued on his way, permitting them to resume — well. Perhaps better not to pursue that thought.

Enchanting Beryl’s adventure was complete, her dreams now reality.

Leaving him free to acquire a new target.

Who unknowingly awaited his tender attentions within Trent’s coffee house, beyond the Temple Bar on Fleet Street, where he’d first laid siege to delicious Anne Kirkhoven, now Mrs. Frederick Shaw, a woman delighted with her husband’s literary success and essaying upon a few attempts of her own.

As His Grace crossed the coffee house’s threshold into its shadowy, happy clutter, a hush descended upon the crowded patrons, heads swiveling in tribute to his entrance. He’d long ago become accustomed to such moments and let his lips curl into a rogue’s smile in greeting, doffing his beaver, tucking it beneath his elbow, and tugging off his gloves.

There they sat, at a table near the yellow-curtained casement windows, three elegant gentlemen of the ton staring at his entrance. They all wore similar expressions of eyebrow-arching recognition, although George Anson’s little smile seemed tinged with a certain amount of relief, as well. Whatever topic they had under discussion, perhaps it was more beyond his reach than usual. Not that Anson was stupid, not at all; merely limited in his understanding of deeper subjects, such as anything beyond Goodwood, sporting life, and Gentleman Jackson’s saloon on Bond Street.

But his manners remained impeccable. “Well met, your grace. Won’t you join us?”

“It would be entirely my pleasure, Mr. Anson. Thank you.”

Surprise joined Anson’s relief. Well, if the subject was that deep, the invitation might be his first contribution to the discussion since sitting down.

They made room for him, Henry Culver and Kenneth Rainier scooting their chairs to the sides. Round-faced Trent brought a steaming pot and matching cup — his best, the ivory with blue and white flowers — sans any cream or sugar; only lesser mortals doctored Trent’s invigorating brew. Preparations complete, His Grace leaned back, cradling the cup, and inhaled the coffee’s essence. The aroma alone was sufficient to wake half the ton at dawn and keep them that way for days.

Deliberately, and with malice aforethought, His Grace stared even more pointedly than normal at Miss Coralie Busche, who hid in the shadows beside the dark paneling.

 

RELEASE DAY: Jo Grafford "Trail of Crosses" (Lost Colony Series)

Blurb:

Jane Mannering can shoot a rifle, throw a knife, and handle a sword as well as any Englishman. However, she is no match for the red-painted warriors who ambush her section of the Colonial caravan the moment they beach their rafts on the shores of Virginia.

During a forced march inland, Jane plots their escape, sketching hasty maltese crosses along the trail – the pre-agreed upon signal of distress should they become separated from the main party. All the while, she fumes over what interest their captors could possibly have in a spinster like herself and her rugged band of brick masons, sawyers, blacksmiths, saddlers, and cutlers.

When Chief Wanchese intercepts them at the crossroads of the Great Trading Path, Jane’s worst fears are realized. It’s a pity the handsome devil happens to be the most ruthless and feared tribal chief in the region. Engaging his attentions was certainly never a part of her escape plan

 

Author:

Jo is a mega reader of all genres and loves to indulge in marathon showings of Big Bang Theory, CSI, NCIS, and Castle. Her favorite books are full of rich history, strong alpha males, Native Americans, and an occasional creature from the otherworld – dragon, vampire, or time traveler.

From St. Louis, Missouri, Jo travels a lot with her soldier husband. She has lived in the Midwest, the deep South, and now resides in Bavaria. Jo holds an M.B.A. and has served as a banker, col-lege finance instructor, and high school business teacher. She is a member of Romance Writers of America and From the Heart Romance Writers RWA Chapter.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

PREFACE

July 26, 1587 — Roanoke Island

If it had not been for the barking of the dogs and chattering of the lads who scampered at my side, I might have heard the shot — the low vibration of the string as the thin, wooden shaft released, the faint whistle of the arrow as it sliced an invisible yet deadly path through the air, the scattering of wildlife as the forest itself braced before the world's most fearsome predator. Instead, I merely felt the gentle lifting of my late father's top hat as the arrowhead sank into the aged leather and pinned it to the heart of the oak behind me.

The men assigned to guard me fired their muskets wildly into the perimeter of trees. My ears rang with their gunfire and frenzied oaths. Then the slow burn of anger took over.

I pivoted to yank the arrow, top hat and all, from the trunk. Separating the two, I jammed the damaged hat back on my head and tapped the lone arrow against my gloved hand. The miss was deliberate, meant as a taunt. Had the shadowy creature intended to kill me, I would be dead.

I glared over my shoulder as the gunfire ceased. He remained out there, I was certain. Watching. This was a reminder that he is the hunter. I am the hunted.

 

CHAPTER ONE

UPRIVER

My whole arm was numb. I rolled to my back and drew a sharp breath to discover my hands were bound. Distant whoops and yells peppered the air.

"Jane," a man mumbled in a voice that shook. "Jane Mannering?"

I cracked my eyes open at the sound of my name. The sun blasted across my face, bringing me to full consciousness.

A dry wind nipped at my brown workaday gown, playing across patches of bare skin. Ugh! I might as well be naked for the way the flayed pieces of my bodice flapped. The thin cotton provided blessed little cushion between my shoulder blades and the hard, smooth wood beneath me.

The rushing of water filled my ears, along with the sound of oars dipping in rapid unison. The events leading up to my capture wafted in and out of memory, but I recognized the walls of a hollowed out log rising on either side of me. I was trussed up like a wild animal in the belly of a canoe, and we traveled at the speed of ones being pursued.

The fading whoops and screams brought the events of last night skittering from the darkened recesses of my mind. Images flowed one over the other, ghostly and dreamlike. Ten hastily constructed rafts, laden with travel bags and supplies. We'd traveled in a watery caravan over the Sea of Roanoke to the mainland, anxious to leave behind the dreary, weather-beaten fort on Roanoke. Our exit had been further punctuated with the urgency of putting distance between us and the island's original inhabitants, the hostile Roanokes.

Flickering camp fires had beckoned us to the mainland, signaling the location of the first wave of English colonists who'd arrived before us — or so we'd thought. Alas, a whole army of savages had erupted from the surrounding forests and overpowered us the moment we'd stepped onto the beach. Men who wore wicked symbols and red paint all over their faces and limbs. Men who now held us captive.

RELEASE DAY: Rachel E. Carter "The Black Mage: First Year"

 

Blurb:

Before the age of seventeen the young men and women of Jerar are given a choice –follow tradition, or pursue a trial year in one of the realm’s three war schools to study as a soldier, knight or mage…

For 15-year-old Ryiah the choice has always been easy. Become a warrior and leave the boring confines of her lowborn life behind. Set to enroll in the School of Knighthood on the eve of her next birthday, plans suddenly shift when her twin brother discovers powers. Hoping that hers will soon follow, she enrolls with Alex at the Academy instead –the realm’s most notorious war school for those with magic.

Yet when she arrives Ry finds herself competing against friend and foe for one of the exalted apprenticeships. Every “first-year” is given a trial year to prove their worth –and no amount of hard work and drive will guarantee them a spot. It seems like everyone is rooting for her to fail –and first and foremost among them Prince Darren, the school prod-igy who has done nothing but make life miserable since she arrived.

When an accidental encounter leads Ryiah and Darren to an unlikely friendship she is convinced nothing good will come of it. But the lines become blurred when she begins to improve –and soon she is a key competitor for the faction of Combat… Still, nothing is ever as it seems –and when the world comes crashing down around her, Ry is forced to place faith in the one thing she can believe in –herself. Will it be enough?

 

 

Author:

Rachel Carter lives in Placerville, California with her fiancé and their two spoiled pets: a feisty feline named Charlie, and Zoey, an Australian Shepherd who gets jealous of her own shadow. She loves to organize –and when she is not color-coding her closet she is always looking for the next good book. She grew up reading about magic, hot bad boys, and lady knights. The Black Mage, her debut series, is a tribute to all the things she never stopped loving.

The Black Mage: First Year is the first book in Rachel’s four-book YA fantasy series with Astraea Press. Rachel invites you to visit her author page at www.facebook.com/theblackmageauthor.  She loves to hear from other aspiring authors or readers via email at rachelcarterauthor@gmail.com. Follow her on twitter @blackmageauthor and read her blog at http://theblackmagegirl.wordpress.com.

 

 

Now available on
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Excerpt:

 

CHAPTER ONE

 

"Don't look now," I said softly. Did I sound calm? I hoped so. It was hard to tell with the frantic beating in my chest. "But I think we are being followed."

My brother paled, hands freezing on the reins. Almost unconsciously, his head began to turn in the direction of my warning.

"Alex!" I hissed.

He jerked his head back guiltily. I hoped the movement would go unnoticed by the four riders trailing a quarter of a mile behind us. They hadn't appeared too concerned with our procession thus far, but the fact that the men were still following us after the last main road had ended left an unsettling taste in the back of my mouth.

It was getting dark fast. At the elevation we were traveling, there wouldn't be much light left for long. Already the sun had wedged itself behind one of the larger outcroppings of rock, and the rest of its rays were fading much too quickly for my liking.

I had hoped the party would stop to make camp at one of the few sites we had passed—after all, what weary traveler wouldn't prefer the comfort of a well-worn pit and nearby stream? I, for one, would have insisted as much if it hadn't been for the uncanny appearance of those behind us.

"How do you know they are ‘following’ us?" Alex whispered loudly. Our horses continued their steady climb into the dark hillside. "Shouldn't we be stopping soon?" he added. "I'm sure they'll continue on, and then you'll see your worry was all for nothing."

"Alex," I said through clenched teeth, "their saddlebags are far too light for a trek like this. That's not nothing."

"So?"

I forced myself not to let my frustration show. It wasn't Alex's fault he didn't understand my concern. His faction was Restoration. He cared about healing people, not what it looked like to harm them.

"Only fools—or bandits—would travel so empty-handed. Four grown men are not fools, Alex. Even fools would have known to take that last main road to an inn…" I swallowed. "But a bandit, they wouldn't need to bother with packs since, well, because they would be taking our own instead."

My twin slowly mulled over my words. I wondered if he would believe me. I wasn't exactly known for my easygoing temperament. I hoped he didn't think this was just another one of my "rash judgments" as our parents were wont to assume.

As I waited for Alex's response, I pretended to check the footholds, giving myself an opportunity to spy on our shadow once more. Though the men were much harder to identify without the broad light of day, there was still no mistaking the glint of steel bulging from one of the men's hip. Only a soldier or knight was allowed to bear such metal.

A chill ran through me. I doubted he was either.

"Right," Alex said abruptly.

In as much nonchalance as one could muster under the circumstances, I faced my brother stubbornly. "Alex—"

"I believe you."

Oh. I paused.

"What should we do, Ry?" Gone was his relaxed smile, and in its place a timid frown…and an unsure, flickering blue stare. At first I didn't recognize the expression—he looked so much younger than his fifteen years. But then I realized it was fear producing the vulnerability in my brother's eyes.