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Terue. The girl who was plucked from obscurity to become the most sought
after geisha in Edo’s Floating World. The geisha who was so
beautiful and talented that one of the richest nobles in Japan
desired her as his wife.
But Terue wanted more from life, and was willing to risk everything to
get it. Pregnant with her lover’s child and knowing that the
disgrace would mean certain death for both her and her unborn child,
Terue makes the devastating choice to flee Japan on the day her
daughter – Kazhua, The Geisha with the Green Eyes – was born and
changes both their destinies forever.
In Japan, it is widely believed that everyone’s life is bound by the
red thread of their fate. The thread connects to all those we come in
contact with throughout our lives. Thus, each path in life is predestined.
Terue knows this. Just as she knows that one day her red thread will guide
her to Kazhua, the daughter she was forced to abandon on the day of
her birth in Edo’s Floating World. But before she can find Kazhua,
fate has much in store for Terue.
Following her new husband, Lord Kyle, from the Highlands of Scotland to
fight
in the Crimea, Terue serves as a nurse, witnessing the horrors of the
battlefield.
Injured, kidnapped, and assumed dead, Terue must face the possibility that
she
might never see her beloved daughter or husband again…
The war in the Crimea is over. Delighted to be reunited with her husband,
Lord Kyle, Terue thinks she will soon be home again in her beloved
Scottish Highlands.
But fate is not finished with her yet.
Terue
learns that her daughter is a geisha in Edo. Overjoyed at the chance
to be reunited with her child again, she and her husband set out to
find Kazhua, returning to where Terue’s life began in the Floating
World.
But old dangers and new foes abound.
Forced to live in hiding, finding Kazhua without revealing Terue’s true
identity proves more difficult than they expected. Terue is so close
to finding her daughter, she can feel the red thread that binds them
together pulling taught. But reaching out to Kazhua could put all
their lives at risk.
I started my career in the heavy industry of British Gas and ended it
in the rarefied atmosphere of the British Library. Now, I share a
blissful early retirement on the wonderful Costa Blanca, living in a
male dominated household with my long suffering husband, a cat and a dog.
It would not be truthful to say I do not remember my mother. My family. Of course I do. It is just
that their memory is dull somehow. Perhaps the best way I can describe it is to say that they seem
to me as if I am looking at them through a silken screen. They are there. I can see their features,
but they are slightly blurred somehow. Not quite real.
Of course, many people would say that I am confused. That the life I led with my family was real,
and each day since I left them has been the dream. But they do not know. They cannot be expected
to understand.
I think my mother was a pretty woman. She always seemed so to me, at any rate. And my father
never took a concubine, so he must also have found her pleasing. Of course, we were poor, so it
may be that he simply could not afford a concubine rather than a matter of choice. But I don’t
recollect Mother ever complaining that he spent money they didn’t have on courtesans—or even
common whores—so perhaps he was a contented man, after all.
Not that I understood about concubines or courtesans in those days. I was a mere child, the only
daughter in a family of five brothers. It may have been simple neglect. After all, what was the point
of trying to teach a mere girl anything about life, or anything else for that matter? But I was soon to
learn differently.
In fact, I began to learn the day that my new life began.
Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
When PI
Cassie Tam is hired to investigate the death of a local virtual
reality junkie, she thinks it will be easy money. In New Hopeland, VR
junkies die every day, and the local PD already declared it an
accidental overdose on synthetic stimulants. But the more she digs,
the more that things don’t add up.
To make things even more complicated,
her client, the deceased’s
sister Lori, is a Tech Shifter – someone who uses a metal
exoskeleton to roleplay as an animal – and Cassie has always been
wary of that community. That wouldn’t be a problem if Lori wasn’t
fast becoming the first person she’s been genuinely attracted to
since splitting with her ex.
When PI
Cassie Tam and her girlfriend Lori try to make up for their recent
busy schedules with a night out at the theatre to watch the Tech
Shift performer Kitsune, the last thing they expected was for Cassie
to get a job offer. But some people are never off the clock, and by
the end of the evening, Cassie has been drawn into a mundane but
highly paid missing pet case. Unfortunately, in New Hopeland City,
even something as simple as little lost dog can lead you down some
dark paths.
Until now, Cassie wasn’t aware that there
even was a rabbit hole,
New Hopeland City may be the birthplace of Tech Shifter gear, but it
isn’t the only place that likes to blend technology with folklore.
Now, a new nightmare is stalking the streets…
When PI Cassie Tam is attacked on the way home one night, she expects the
police to get involved. What she doesn’t expect is to be forced
into acting as bait to lure out a lunatic in a tech-suit
that’s literally out for blood.
But past actions have consequences, and doing so may be
the only way she can get a clean slate from the city’s law makers.
If only that didn’t mean having to face down a wannabe vampire.
Matt Doyle is
a speculative fiction author from the UK and identifies as pansexual
and genderfluid. Matt has spent a great deal of time chasing dreams,
a habit which has led to success in a great number of fields. To
date, this has included spending ten years as a professional
wrestler, completing a range of cosplay projects, and publishing
multiple works of fiction.
These days, Matt can be found working on multiple novels and stories,
blogging about pop culture, and plotting
and planning far too many projects.
I ALWAYS DID like Venetian blinds. There’s something quaint about them in a retro-
tacky kinda way. Plus, they’re pretty useful for sneaking a peek out the front of the
building if I feel the need. That’s something that you just can’t do with the solid,
immovable metal slats that come as a standard in buildings these days. That said, a
thick sheet of steel is gonna offer you a damn sight more security than thin, bendable
vinyl, so I keep mine installed. Just in case.
Another round of knocking rattles the front door, louder this time than the one that woke
me.
The clock says 23:47, and the unfamiliar low-end car out front screams “Don’t notice me,
I’m not worth your time,” which makes for the perfect combo to stir up the paranoia that
the evening’s beer and horror-film session left behind. This is my own fault. My adverts
are pretty descriptive in terms of telling what I do: lost pets, cheating partners, theft,
protection, retrieval of people and items, other odds and sods that the city’s finest won’t
touch…I’ve got ways to deal with it all. That’s right, I’m a real odd-job gal. The one thing
that I don’t put in there are business hours. The way I see it, even the missing pet cases
usually leave me wandering the streets at half-past reasonable, so what’s the point in
asking people to call between certain hours?
More knocking, followed this time by the squeak of my letter box and a voice. “Hello?
Cassandra Tam?”
It’s funny, really. For all the tech advances that the world has made, no one has been
able to improve upon the simple open-and-shut letter box. I stumble my way through the
dark and wave dismissively at the frosted glass. The light switch and the keypad for the
door lock are conveniently placed right next to each other on the wall to the right of the
door, so welcoming my apparent guest is a nice, easy affair. The lock clicks a moment
after the lights flood the room, and I pull the door open.
“Cassie,” I say, turning and skulking my way back into the room. “Or Caz. Drop the
Tam.”
I hear a sniff behind me, and the lady from the letter box asks, “Are you drunk?”
“If I pass out in the next five minutes, then yes,” I reply, turning the kettle on. I’d left it full,
ready for the morning, but I guess this is close enough. “Take a seat at the table. Would
you prefer tea or coffee? I’d offer beer, but since I reek of it, I guess I must’ve finished it.”
Footsteps creep unapologetically across the room, and a chair squeaks on the floor.
Good. If you can’t deal with a snarky response to something, don’t say it all, and if
you can deal with it, then as far as I’m concerned you don’t need to apologise.
“Coffee,” the lady says. “So, do you always see potential clients in your underwear, or is
it just my lucky day?” Her voice has a slightly playful edge to it, but with a sarcastic kick
to round it off.
The business portion of my apartment comprises entirely of a small open-plan room
separating my kitchen from my living room. And by open plan, I mean an allotted space
that encroaches on both territories but is conveniently large enough to house what I
need. Or, in other words, a table, four chairs, and nothing else. Since filing went near
entirely digital, filing cabinets have pretty much become obsolete, so the two that I found
dumped outside the building when I bought the place currently live in my bedroom, and
contain a mix of quick access work stuff and personal files I’d rather not have floating on
the net. Most things, though, I store electronically, the same as everything else.
I rarely use the business table to eat, read, or any of that junk, so until this evening it’s
been entirely empty for a good few weeks. The lady sitting there now is studying me, I
can see, and probably wondering if this was a mistake. Whatever she may have
expected, a Chinese-Canadian gal of average height in a cami top and a loose pair of
sleep shorts most likely wasn’t it. For what it’s worth, though, I’m studying her just the
same. She’s a lithe-looking thing, dressed in a casual pair of jeans and a plain black
fitted top under a leather jacket. If the metal plugs running down her shaven head like a
shiny, rubber-tipped Mohawk weren’t a giveaway for what she is, the light scarring
punctuating the outer edges of her pale blue eyes certainly would be. She’s a Tech
Shifter, and like most of her ilk, she looks like a punk rocker gone cyborg.
“Only when people come calling near midnight,” I say, crossing my arms. “And what
about you? Do you have to work to rile people up, or is it just a talent?” I spot her wince
and can’t quite contain the smile that fights its way up to my lips. I can’t really afford to
lose another client, though, so I throw in another dismissive wave and add, “Don’t worry
about it. It’s late, and I’m grumpy. Milk and sugar?”
She nods. “Two sugars, lots of milk, thanks.”
I finish making the drinks and plonk myself into the chair opposite my guest. “So how
about we start with a name?”
“Lori. Lori Redwood. And I’m sorry about calling so late, it’s just that I didn’t really know
when would be best, and I figured that you probably wouldn’t be busy this time of night.”
“And whatever problem you have has been eating away at you, so you wanted to sort it
as soon, eh?”
Lori nods and takes a gulp of her coffee. “Something like that.”
I tilt my head, and rest my elbows on the table, letting my chin fall into my clasped
hands. “I’m guessing this isn’t a missing pet case?”
“No. Do you read the morning news sites?”
“I browse. Why?”
“Did you see any of the articles about Edward Redwood? They would have been late
last week.”
I close my eyes and cast my mind back to the things I’d read over the last couple of
days. The name is familiar, and not just because of the articles, but I can’t place where
from.
“Virtual Junkie, died of an accidental overdose of synthesised stimulants?” I try.
Lori nods again. “He was my brother. It wasn’t an accidental OD, though.”
I sigh. “I’m sorry for your loss, but he was an Addict, right? That’s what the press said.
He wouldn’t be the first VJ Addict to OD, and he won’t be the last.”
“You don’t understand. Yes, Eddie was an Addict, but he couldn’t have overdosed
himself, because he never used stimulants. He used to make a really big deal out of how
he preferred the experience pure, because he didn’t want to mess up his chances of
becoming a Pro.”
I shake my head sadly. “Miss Redwood…”
“Lori, please,” she cuts in.
“Lori, then. Let me give you a history lesson. Many years ago, some bright spark
realised society had become so reliant on electronic tools that most jobs carried out by
big businesses could be done virtually. As things advanced, they built a whole virtual
world
where people could work, and gradually, the staff who pulled the long shifts became
reliant on the feel of being in the place. Meanwhile, out in the real world, regular people
accessed the virtual world to communicate with the staff, and to play games, and they
too became reliant on the feel of the place. And so, two types of Junkie were born; the
Pros, supported by their bosses, and the Addicts, who were no different to the drug
users of the twentieth century. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging anyone here, but
Addicts don’t become Pros. Both types of VJ get unhealthily hooked, but the Addicts
don’t have the support to keep it in check. They all end up on the stimulants eventually.”
“Not Eddie,” she insists. “He had a contract lined up. All he had to do was pass the
entrance test, and he’d transition to Pro.”
“Now that’s a first. Who with?”
“I don’t know. That’s part of the problem.”
I narrow my eyes. “Lori, why exactly did you come to me?”
“Because the police won’t reopen the case. They said there’s no evidence that anyone
else was in the room at all when he died. If I can just figure out who he was negotiating
with, then that would be something.”
“So, what? You want me to find out who your brother was supposedly going to be hired
by?”
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
“I find out how he ended up OD-ing on something that he wouldn’t touch, and why.”
I down my coffee and lean back in my chair, crossing my arms again. “You think that he
was murdered, don’t you? By someone in whatever company he was supposedly talking
to.”
“Yes,” she replies vehemently, then shrinks back a little and adds, “I don’t know. Maybe.
It’s the only thing that makes sense, right?”
“No, it’s not. What makes the most sense is that your brother was no different from any
other VJ Addict, and he just hid his usage from you. Let’s say for one moment we can
even entertain the idea that a Pro company were willing to hire an Addict. That isn’t even
close to a strong enough link to start crying murder. Honestly, Lori, I get it, but you’re
reaching here. You’re trying to grasp onto anything that can make this all easier for you,
and that’s fine. But trust me on this. No amount of grasping at nothing ever changes
anything.”
Lori has clearly been fighting back the tears, and my little speech just pushed her over
the edge. She wipes her eyes on her sleeve and gets to her feet, keeping her head hung
low.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says, and turns back towards the door. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“Home.”
“Why?”
“To look up some more names. You’ve made your position quite clear.”
“I never said that I wouldn’t take the case. I just wanted you to understand how unlikely
your scenario is.”
Lori stops in her tracks and looks back at me. “You’ll do it?” she asks, her voice a
conflicted mess of desperation and disbelief.
“If there’s something to be found, then I’ll find it.”
“I…thank you. Thank you.”
“Yeah, well, don’t thank me yet,” I reply, getting to my feet. I walk back to the kitchen,
slide open one of the drawers, and pull out a small metal disc about one inch thick, and
five inches in diameter. I throw it to Lori, and she whips her arm out, snatching it from the
air. She turns it over in her hand, studying the glass top. “You seen one of those
before?”
Lori shakes her head.
“It’s a standard Case Tool, at least for me. Take it with you, and when you get home, tap
the screen three times quickly. It’ll load a bunch of files for you to complete. Don’t worry,
it comes with a holo-keypad, so you won’t need to hook it up to anything. I prefer to keep
things connected to my server, and mine alone when I can help it. Take your time,
answer the questions with as much detail as possible, and tap to send them back to me.
Before it’ll send ’em, it’ll ask you to enter your details to transfer the deposit for the case.”
“Okay,” she nods. “How much am I looking at?”
“Aside from being a potential murder case, this is gonna prevent me from taking on any
other work for the duration, so I’m not gonna be working cheap. The deposit’s five thou.
If I find nothing, that’ll be it, but if something turns up, I’ll expect the same again
on completion. That cool?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Thank you.”
“Not a problem. Now get yourself home so that I can get some sleep.”
Get your
Science Fiction from a CERN Scientist ! Over 1,000 ratings on
combined goodreads and Amazon.
Murder, genocide, the Apocalypse.
Explore the future of humanity in Massimo Marino’s sci-fi debut,
Daimones, an
apocalyptic tale that feels like it could happen tomorrow. You may
never sleep through a windstorm again.
Nothing could have prepared them for the last day. Death swept away the
lives
of billions, but spared Dan Amenta and his family, leading them to an
uncertain future. When merely surviving isn’t enough and the hunt for
answers begins, memories from the past and troubling encounters lead
Dan to the truth about the extermination of the human race.
Distressing revelations will give new meaning to their very existence.
Early humans shaped the future and seeded a plan millions of years in the
making. Now survivors must choose: Endure a future with no past or
fade away into a past with no future?
The rebirth of the race of man is closely watched, and the Selected, the
transgenic humans created by the Moîrai, guide and care for the
wellbeing of the remaining humans in their various Communities around
the planet.
Peace and security are suddenly shattered with acts of sabotage
disrupting
the fragile equilibrium of the growing society. Betrayal, fear, and a
cosmic conspiracy risk sending the planet to the brink of
self-destruction. Will Dan Amenta be able to come to terms with the
logic of alien minds? Who is behind the sabotage and why?
Death and blind violence walk in the secret alleys and in the depths of the
planet, from the coldest lands to the bottom of the oceans; someone
is at work with an evil agenda dictated by greed and lust for power.
Ancient aliens, a galactic struggle, the control of a unique
resource, meld to dictate the fate of humankind.
War is
inevitable, and the human race sets out to finally deliver retribution.
An alien colonization has altered the
destiny of the human race forever.
After wiping out billions of people, the race known as the Moîrai
created a new, transgenic species of humans called the Selected —
giving them both the gift and burden of longevity and memories of
human history on another world.
The aliens charged the Selected with the responsibility of caring for
“the spared ones,” unaltered humans who survived the global
catastrophe. That includes Dan Amenta’s daughter Hope, the only
spared one who remains.
Together, Dan and Hope have witnessed Earth transform into a different
world,
where a powerful new neurological drug sparks the rapid evolution of
the Selected, but Hope is nearing death. Once she’s gone, obligations
die with her, and the path is clear for a chain of events destined to
rip apart the foundations of the galaxy.
Booktrope Publishing LCC has published Massimo Marino’s works up to June 2016
when Booktrope closed its business. Massimo is member of SFWA
(Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America), and a scientist
envisioning science fiction.
He contributed to the experiments at CERN and The Lawrence Berkeley
Lab,
then accepted leading positions at Apple, Inc. and at the World
Economic Forum. He is also co-founder of “Squares on Blue”
— a Big Data Analytics service company — and of “BookGarage”
— a publishing services brokerage firm.
Massimo currently lives in France and crosses the border with
Switzerland
multiple times daily, although he’s no smuggler. He went from
smashing particles at the largest accelerators in the world, to
smashing words on the most popular laptop in the world.
My daughter, the wrinkled and dying woman lying in front of me, was the
oldest-looking human on the entire planet. Yet, to the rest of the world, she was
leaving us the youngest, as the new humans her age looked like they’d just
passed puberty.
The med-unit hummed solemnly. Hope felt my presence and opened her
eyes, a tired look but the same as her mother’s, Laura.
She didn’t have much hair anymore, and it had long since lost its ebony
beauty. My heart shrunk in pain. How many times had I watched the people I
loved the most leave me? It hurt more each time; there’s no drill and no training
to teach one’s heart how to bear the loss of another. My heart grew colder and
harder with each death.
“Dad.” Hope greeted me with a broken voice.
I thought I would have been strong, that the Palladium made me stronger.
How wrong I was. I’d already lost my wife Mary, and Laura, then my first
daughter, Annah, and now Hope’s life was vanishing before me and I couldn’t
do anything about it. With all my resilience, strength, and inhuman capabilities,
there I was…a broken father watching his little girl dying. What a cruel destiny
the Moîrai had imposed on us Selected.
“How are you?”
“I’m tired.” She sighed. “But I’m ready.”
I took a deep breath and walked up to her. Unable to say anything, I
stepped to her bedside and took that bony hand.
She smiled. “Your hand is warm, and I’m so cold…”
My eyes looked for the nurse. “I’ll tell the doctors to raise the temperature.”
Hope shook her head. “Inside…”
At those words, my eyes filled with tears. “Darling…”
“Dad…” she whispered. “I want my bed.”
I managed to collect some air and sound calm. “You won’t last an hour in
your bed, sweetie.”
“I know.” Hope let go a long sigh. “Would you do something for me?”
“Anything.” I looked at her, eager to do whatever she needed. My heart
hung to her lips and I bent forward.
Her eyes mocked me. “I know where I am.”
Befuddled, I probed her mind. “How?” I started.
“Am I not your daughter?”
I blushed. “Hope, I didn’t want you to—” I glanced down as she squeezed
my hand to interrupt me.
With an effort, she raised her head. “Shhhh. It’s okay, Dad. Let everyone
watch if they need to, but let me watch everyone, too.”
My voice cracked. “You’ll never be forgotten.” My eyes held hers. “I love
you so much.”
“I know, Dad.” Her hand squeezed mine again. “Please, let me see, let me
start the new beginning.”
I didn’t know then, but those words put the seed of revenge in my heart
and found fertile ground.
Wormholes…
…or the Einstein-Rosen Bridge.
In 1963, Roy Kerr found that if a black hole is rotating it creates a space time
singularity in the form of a ring, not a point, and that in principle a particle may
be able to fall through the hole instead; the particle may not be lost forever.
When this was published, black holes were not believed to exist and therefore
the Kerr solution only really developed in the 1970s, after astronomers
discovered what seem to be real black holes. – Hawking 1988 and John Gribbin
Homepage
There’s no empirical proof that a wormhole can hold its promises, and a
computer simulations run in 1998 raised doubts in that the simulation couldn’t
find conditions to keep the wormhole stable, i.e., open.
Less than a year after Einstein had formulated his equations of the general
theory, the Austrian Ludwig Flamm realised that a solution to Einstein’s
equations described a wormhole connecting two regions of flat spacetime; two
universes, or two parts of the same universe. Could, thus, these bridges be used
for interstellar travels?
Indeed, Einstein himself, working at Princeton with Nathan Rosen in the
1930s, discovered that the equations represent a black hole as a bridge
between two regions of flat space-time, the phenomenon known since then as
the “Einstein-Rosen bridge”. Another property of black holes, ignored by
everyone except very few top level mathematicians and physicists, is that a
black hole always has two “ends”, a black one and a white one, the exit side
into another (location of the) universe.
Another problem that the computer simulation revealed is that in order to
traverse an Einstein-Rosen bridge from one universe to the other, a traveller
would have to move faster than light at some stage of the journey, and that
would violate one Einstein himself, unless…
Two researchers at CalTec, Yurtsever and Thorne, found that the equations
dictate that in order for an artificial wormhole to be held open, its throat must
be threaded by some form of matter, or some form of field, that exerts negative
pressure, and antigravity associated with it.
Richard F. Holman, professor of physics at Carnegie Mellon, explained this in
an interview with Scientific American. In order to stabilise wormholes
opening, quantum fluctuations in various fields might be able to just do that.
And the work of many others on the behaviour of quantized fields
demonstrated that quantum field effects could indeed hold open a macroscopic
wormhole.
Large enough to have a spaceship travel through? It depends; it depends on the
amount of energy achievable to create the bridge.
And this closes the loop, as a
rotating Kerr black hole might actually be the source.
A vision from 1933 brought the Daimones to visit, study, and decide about
the future of the race of men.
Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive excerpts, guest posts and a giveaway!
Alba and Fyrian face another challenge — all the dragon eggs vanish from
a magically secured incubator, leading the dragons of Mount Fornax to revolt.
With the already country on the brink of civil war, an outbreak of furious
dragons will leave it vulnerable to King Magnar’s army of invaders.
Alba and Fyrian suspect the devious warlord of ordering the theft,
but they cannot act without evidence.
They have twelve hours to retrieve the eggs, or the dragons will break
through the wards of Mount Fornax and burn the country to ashes. Now,
Alba and Fyrian must uncover King Magnar’s deception before he
transports the eggs across the border.
When disease strikes the dragons of Mount Fornax, Alba and Fyrian suspect
the sinister new troll instructor of performing dark alchemy.
But a twist of magic sends suspicion falling onto Alba, making her the
target of unwelcome scrutiny. With Fyrian too weak to help, Alba must
join forces with an old enemy to to uncover the truth behind the
plague before it turns deadly.
When Cordelia Castel isn’t riding dragons or trying on glass slippers,
she’s writing tales about heroines who wield weapons, defeat the
villain and save the prince all in time for the ball.
Cordelia is the author of two young adult series: The Seven Kingdoms:
an
action-packed, Young Adult series where all the fairytale heroes and
villains exist, and it’s next generation, Dragon Mage Academy, set in
the same world.
We stood on a grassy, outdoor terrace of verdant greens brightened by the afternoon sun. It stretched about twenty feet in
width and ran all around the mountain. On our left was a grass-covered mountainside with the same vegetation growing
beneath our feet. The terraces below were even wider, some growing fruit trees, others crops. They stretched out in an
endless stream of green, and several levels below, stood cattle grazing on the grass.
My breath caught. The landscape reminded me a little of home, but instead of an expanse of fields and forests stretching for
leagues, we were on the side of a mountain in full view of the surrounding scrubland.
‘This is level one of Mount Fornax’. He pointed upwards. ‘The reception building is a level up.’
It was difficult to see the surface of the mountain from where we stood, although I did catch glimpses of tree branches.
Phoenix strode ahead, gesturing to the left wall. ‘Each dragon has their own spacious stall, and everyone gets a good view of
the skies. The stalls also link to a communal area in the hollow of the mountain.’
I continued after him and stopped at a giant opening in the wall. A crocodile-green dragon lounged deep within a cavern,
resting its head on folded arms. Shadows obscured most of its features except for a thick, serpentine scale adorned with
horns.
‘What a lovely dragon.’ I reached my hand out, only to meet an invisible barrier. ‘Ouch!’
The tip of its tail flicked at me, and I hurried away.
We continued over the terrace. ‘How many dragons live in Mount Fornax?’
Phoenix rubbed the back of his head. ‘That depends on how you define a dragon. Including eggs and cocoons, I suppose we
have about seven hundred.’
I was about to ask what he meant about cocoons, but an ear-piercing roar shook me to the marrow. My head snapped to the
side, and I stared into another stall. The dragon lying inside widened slitted, scarlet eyes that seemed to reach into my soul.
Each eye was as big as my head, and the dragonâs head was as high as I was tall. My breath caught, and I stilled, not
taking my eyes off the massive predator.
‘How friendly!’ said Ivan from up ahead.
This dragon looked nothing like Aunt Cendrillaâs steed, Fogo. Its face was shaped like that of a lion, with a regal snout
and emerald green scales instead of fur. Where there would have been a mane, scale-covered horns, each as long as my legs,
curved back from the top of its head. Olive-colored horns protruded from its lower jaw.
When the dragon rose to its feet, it did so with the grace of a giant cat, but its body reminded me of the iguanas that dwelled
on the tropical forest region of Bluebeard Mountain. It stood on thick, muscular legs with forearm-length claws splayed out
for balance.
‘Ah,’ replied Phoenix. ‘That’s the dragon I caught lurking around the courtyard.’
‘The..’Words caught in my throat. I coughed. ‘The one who killed Mr. Jankin?’
‘No one else could have done it.’ Phoenix walked back and stood next to Ivan.
‘Madam Maritimus’ security witches accounted for the whereabouts of all the others.’
I shook my head. Although whatever caused the fire was hot enough to turn a man and his desk into char, something still
didn’t add up. ‘This dragon could never have fit through the hallways, let alone the doors.’
The green dragon tilted its head to the side, its eyes seeming to track our every word.
‘Jankinâs office had a skylight,’ replied Phoenix.
Ivan nodded. ‘That makes sense. The dragon could have blasted poor Mr. Jankin from above.’
Phoenix didnât reply for a long time, then he raised a shoulder. ‘I wouldnât exactly describe Jankin in such sympathetic
terms, but I suppose even he didn’t deserve a fiery death.’
A rush of anger filled my chest and seared my cheeks. How unfeeling! I was about to comment, when a female voice filled
my ears. ‘I’m innocent!’
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The Marquess of Wesley is out for blood. For
a year, Lord Wesley has
tried to undo the devastation his father left to Penndrake, their
ancestral home, only to discover the man gambled it away right before
his death. Now Wesley is being blackmailed by the new owner into
marrying a woman he’s never met in order to get it back. But his
intentions are less than honorable…
At one and twenty, Miss Kate Holden intends to
become a governess,
having sworn off all men years ago. However, her plans are halted
when she receives a daunting letter from her cousin about a Lord
Wesley. Ignorant of the name, and the devilish marquess that wears it
all too well, she nearly ends up compromised. Refusing to fall prey
to Wesley’s skillful seduction, Kate decides to turn things around
on the rake. But the high-stakes game between them soon leads to her
losing the last thing she expected…her heart.
A LEO
wife, mother, and military veteran, Tammy began writing when the
shows and movies she watched didn’t end the way she wanted them to
end. Whether it’s historical or contemporary, for her, there must
always be a happy ending.
When she’s not writing, she’s spending time with her husband and two
boys
near Cleveland, Ohio. Without their sacrifice and understanding, she
believes she would have never been able to pursue her passion of
writing or her accomplishment of becoming a published author.
“Damn it, Miss Holden, if you die in my company, there will be hell to pay.”
Despite her earlier feelings of comfort and contentment, his irritation ruffled her pride. While
her legs dangled over each side of the horse, she twisted around so her nose came in proximity to
touching Lord Wesley’s.
“A shiver does not constitute the demise of one’s health. I-I…j-ju…”
Unable to finish her words, Kate buried her head into his chest and held the sneeze, a
consequence she didn’t consider until it was too late. Against her cheek, she heard the erratic
thumping of his heart, felt the inviting heat of his skin.
“You must get warm,” he said after a long moment, his tone vibrating against her right ear.
She lifted her chin, unsure of the man she’d find staring down at her, the carefree lord who
flirted with Claire so easily or the affronted nobleman whose features resembled a Grecian
statue, stoic and rigid?
In her company, she found the latter, of course. It perplexed her to know she caused such an
offensive reaction in such a short amount of time. He continued to glower at her, his jaw tense
and mouth tight. At the same time, a sense of feminine wonder overtook her. She disregarded all
consequence and reached up to touch his face, wiping at a trickle of rainwater as it trailed along
his chin.
Fascinated by his raw masculinity, she continued to explore, her fingers gliding over his skin
until they stroked the softness of his lips.
This time she didn’t know who initiated the kiss, only that his mouth covered hers, breathless
and fierce. He brought her against him, both sharing an equal yearning and affection, void of any
mistrust or deception. Abandoning, for the moment, her doubts and insecurities, she grasped his
soaked gold waistcoat, pulling the lapels apart to sink even closer to him.
His mouth slanted over hers, crushing and possessive. He stole her breath and her will, her
limbs powerless to do anything but pull him closer. Dizzy, she closed her eyes, his satiny tongue
stroking her lips before sweeping inside in a fervent and rapturous kiss. She moaned from his
skillful seduction, the throaty sound shattering the connection and the intimate moment. He
pulled back, his face rigid with restraint.
When she turned away from him, he didn’t stop her but instead brought his arm around to
keep her from moving one way or the other.
He nudged his horse into a steady gallop, reaching the steps of Penndrake before she had the
chance to sulk over her imprudent curiosity toward him.
Follow the tour HERE
for exclusive content and a giveaway!
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