Excerpt!
I spur my feet to action, dragging myself into the room. Again, my heart falters at the sight of him, at the strange familiarity of him. I barely keep my jaw from falling open. Leaning back, propped up on one elbow, he sits with one foot drawn up to the edge of the cot. Oh so casually, he examines his nails. His vest gapes, falling open to the side, and his shirt clings to him.
Gods…
But realization dawns on me.
He’s messing with me.
His chest rises with a deep breath, and he glances up, rewarding me with a coy smile and confirming my suspicions. I balance the tray in the only horizontal opening in the bars. Without a word, he gets up and slinks toward me with an almost feline grace.
He takes the tray gently and sits back down on his cot.
Settling in at the desk, I take a long drink of the cool water. We eat silently, and I’m thankful for the time it affords me to calm my nerves. But I glance at him too many times as I eat.
And more often than not, his eyes linger on me.
He eats slowly, controlling his pace. But it makes me wonder.
Does he not usually get this much food in one meal?
My heart clenches, though I’m sure he’d bristle at the pity.
Then, it hits me, as if all the stone and earth Luxitore ever created were falling down upon me, as if Jemarie were taking all the wind from my lungs…
Does he have a family?
No necklace of eternal bonds peeks out from the open neckline of his shirt, but given the scar on his chest, it may have broken when the magic hit him. My stomach plummets, and I tell myself it’s only out of concern for his possible family. With him here, they may not have food.
It isn’t because he’s attractive. It’s because his family might be starving.
But I know better. It’s both. The two concerns mix, curdling in my stomach.
I finish my food shortly after Beluroan. Gathering my tray and cup, I move to take his. “Would you like more food or water?”
The simple question surprises him. After a moment’s hesitation, he says, “Just some water, please.”
Has no one ever shown him simple kindness?
The lightning scar glares up at me in answer, making my own upbringing seem privileged. People turned their backs on me all the time, but no one turned their magic on me.
He hands me the tray, then drains the remainder of his water in one long pull. My eyes linger on his neck, but I force myself to look away. Reaching through the bars, he passes me the cup. Our fingers brush, and gentle warmth flows between us. His hand lingers, and my breath hitches. Swallowing, I pull away.
But I still feel his touch.
Heat rushes to my face, and he drops his gaze quickly.
I dart from the room, tripping over myself to get to the relative safety of the cold storage, or even just out of this room.
I barely notice when I bump into the desk in the front lobby.
I rush down the stairs and drop everything on the table in the corner. My hands shake, sloshing a few drops of water over the rim of Beluroan’s cup as I refill it.
I need to get myself under control.
What is this?
A dark connection. A deadly responsibility.
Sparks fly when Elairie, a mixed-blood elf living on the edge of society and serving as a night guard, meets her latest prisoner. Strange auras surround them, and a magical gravity draws her to him, despite what her associates might say about his race. But the connection they share comes with a dark side.
When Beluroan learns that he and his guard are Blessed Ones, hand-crafted by the Gods to stop a madman from recreating the Blood Magic of old, his veins run cold. Threatened with a return to the magical slavery such magic commands, fear grips him, and memories of his childhood Master fill his mind.
But together, their potential power frightens even the Gods. Can they overcome the prejudices marring their land and master their new magic in time to stop the man trying to enslave their country? Or will they succumb to their own power?
Author bio:
I'm a nerd with a lot of hobbies and enough sarcasm and swear words to make a sailor blush, though, you'll never hear a word of it if I'm not comfortable around you. I've been an introvert since birth. When I'm writing, though, words come easily.
At the end of the day, I just want to write stories that make people feel something.
