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If You Loved Me
-- EXCERPT: “Ranger,” she breathed, my name was a prayer on her lips. I let her wrist go and reached down to pick her up. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as she kissed me, opening up fully and dipping her tongue into my mouth. She was so warm and sweet. Her little moans vibrated against my tongue making me want her mouth on another part of me. I settled us on the couch and watched as she leaned back, threading her fingers through my hair. “I love that you have long hair.” “Oh yeah?” I asked before bringing my thumb to her lower lip wondering what it might feel like to run the head of my cock over it. Her tongue darted out between her lips and she took my thumb in her mouth, her cheeks hollowed as she sucked. “Mmhmm,” she mused. “It’ll make it easier to keep your head in place when it’s between my legs.” My cock jolted. I yanked my thumb from her mouth and snagged her bottom lip between my teeth, suckling it with my tongue and lips before letting it go with a pop. When I smacked her ass, she ground her hips into me, another moan slipping out of her mouth. “You won’t have to keep me anywhere, babe. I’ll gladly feast on your sweetness for the rest of my fucking life.” Her lids fluttered, eyes dazed with lust. “But what if I want to be the one to taste you?” Fuck. Me. Grabbing the back of her neck, I brought her closer so I could whisper in her ear, “You wanna taste me?” Tendrils of her hair tickled my cheek as she nodded. “Then let me give my girl what she wants.” I lifted her off me and stood before her. The fear I’d seen in her eyes before was gone. Erased with the heady need we felt for one another and I was thankful for it. This I could do. Watching her eyes trace my body as I unbuckled my belt and undid my jeans. Seeing her in pain had been too much for me to bear. My chest had felt like it was caving in. But this. Just the two of us together. This I could do all fucking night. Hell. All day and night. Her breathing quickened as her eyes darted to where my fingers slid under the edge of my boxers. “You’re sure?” I asked. Those molten eyes looked back up at me. “Yes, I’m sure.” With her permission, I hooked my thumbs into the band of my boxers and pulled them down. My cock was heavy, pulsing upward as she took me in. She swallowed. “I’ve never done this before, Ranger.” Those beautiful eyes I loved so much were wary like I might flee from her admission. What she didn’t know was that I didn’t give a shit about her being experienced. I only wanted her. “We’ll take it slow. Whatever you don’t want to do, just tell me, okay?” She nodded again as I grabbed her hand and sat back down on the couch. “Kneel,” I commanded and I watched as she lowered herself to her knees. “Good girl.” Seeing her kneel between my legs nearly had me seeing stars from how much my dick throbbed. Dark eyelashes fanned over her cheekbones when she looked down at my length. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Running From the AIs
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo EXCERPT: The lightweight blanket over the dry grass provided only a thin, scratchy protection from the hard rocks as Rafael and Ellie lay on their stomachs side by side, looking over the cliff edge at the road below. Rafael could feel the heat leaching from his body into the cold rock beneath him. There was little traffic on the road, making it easy for his mind to wander to the life they left behind. They had seen three pairs of security bots passing on foot, wielding chip detection wands. As they trotted along, the bots scanned both sides of the road and the adjacent shrubbery. When the third pair of bots disappeared around the next bend, Rafael rolled over onto his back. Above, the sun shone in a cloudless blue sky. The leaves on nearby bushes fluttered in the cool breeze. “That’s the third pair in an hour, about 20 minutes apart. It means we can easily cross the road when we’re ready to get further down.” Ellie wriggled to get closer and lay her head on Rafael’s chest. “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we?” Rafael kissed her on the top of her head. “Of course, we haven’t done anything wrong. We just need to lie low until we figure out how to make them understand.” “I’m scared, Raffi.” Guilt washed through him as he thought of how his misplaced curiosity was now putting Ellie at risk. “So am I, but we can’t give in to that. Let’s get up and keep moving. We’ll make camp in a couple more hours and have the last sandwiches for dinner. Everything will seem better in the morning.” They stood and took up their packs, then moved off along the old hiking trail that ran for several hundred kilometers around the island that was home. This far from the city, the trail was now little more than a rabbit track through the scrub bushes and sharp grasses. Peeling white blazes painted on the trees continued to guide them forward. As the sun dipped lower, they made camp. With practiced hands, Rafael put up their hiking tent. There was not enough room to stand, so he knelt on the floor of the tent as he laid out their sleeping bags side by side. Outside, Ellie was preparing a meal of sandwiches, potato chips, and two flasks of water. There was no fire tonight. She laid the sandwiches on their wrappings and set them on a nearby rock serving as an ersatz table. After dinner, they brushed their teeth with the last flask of water, then removed their shoes and jackets and crawled fully clothed into the light sleeping bags. “I’ll be so glad when we can have a shower again,” said Ellie, sniffing her armpits. “I’m starting to stink.” “You still smell lovely to me, but it might be good if you tried to sleep a little further away,” replied Rafael. “You’re no prize either, but I’m too polite to mention it.” “Let’s both agree that we’re overdue for washing and just go to sleep. With any luck, we’ll be able to get clean tomorrow.” Ellie rolled away from him. Rafael lay facing her back and placed his hand on her hip. Lying there, waiting for sleep to come, Rafael retraced the events that had brought them to this point in time. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Into the Lure of Time
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Everything—the floor, the walls, the air—fell away. Only this parchment in my hand remained. Chimeric. Foretold. Somewhere deep down, I knew I stood very still, calm, and mute, my eyes fixed on Aedan’s precise English hand. But I also hovered above, crumbling into bleeding bits. Watching my life’s blood drain out of me and wash the world in crimson, drop by drop by drop-- Kian said something, his voice familiar, ordinary. It cannot be. I shifted my gaze to the broken seal. An English forgery to foment strife. A cruel trickery to break our spirit. But there was yet a paragraph unread-- As I shall be returning soon after you take delivery of this dispatch, I trust that as my loyal subject, you will abide my expressed demand in the proper and expeditious fashion commensurate with the sensitivity of this matter. As well, it is my uttermost wish that you will, hitherto, regard me solely as your rightful ruler, and as such, would not seek my audience in any unseemly or unsuitable manner. Furthermore, shall you find yourself in my presence, I rely on your good sense and proper decorum to act toward me with such deference and regard as befits my rank. Earl II of Tyrone, Lord Aedan O’Neal This 5th Day of January, 1565 The hall swayed. The parchment slipped from my fingers. His handwriting. His name. His signature. What forgery? Kian steadied me with his hands on my shoulders, eyes frozen with horror. He bent to take the parchment, pinching it between his thumb and index finger like it was something vile to touch. Like it would sully anyone mad enough to lay a hand on it. “Is…is h-he…dead?” The dais stood wrapped in saffron and gold, awaiting the O’Neal’s return. I came back to myself. My eyes burned with salt. My throat chafed with sand. My heart burst into icy, piercing shards. How determined he was to go to London, how callous to slam our chamber door. All content subject to copyright © Vera Bell 2024. All rights reserved. 
GIVEAWAY! --
Hades and Persephone: The Golden Blade
-- EXCERPT: “Forger!” the king bellowed, his voice echoing across Tartarus. There was no answer. Hades leaped up, grasping the edges of the jagged mountainside, and began climbing the steep cliff until he reached the highest of the twin peaks. The amber flame of Tartarus lit the high mountain. “Unnamed One, show yourself!” The ground began to shake, and a massive blue eye appeared at the edge of a mountain. Hades tightly grasped his bident and stared into the colossal orb. The eye was beautiful; the iris reflected infinity with whirling stars and planets, but in the center was an inky black pupil that left him with a feeling of despair, like a black hole in the core of a galaxy, a reminder that death was at the center of life. “I seek answers from you,” Hades said, lowering his weapon. The eye blinked once, and then a giant hand appeared, gesturing for the king to follow him. Hades moved to the edge of the mountain. The Cyclops was moving down the mountainside, astonishingly nimble for such a giant creature. Hades quickly jumped across the rocks to the ground, following the beast down the enormous stone stairs that led beneath the mountain. Cerberus paced behind him. Once in his lair, the Cyclops turned to face Hades. The blacksmith’s hair hung in long, dark strands, and his body was filthy, his fingernails encrusted with dirt and grime. The smell emanating from him was revolting, and only a thin scrap of ancient fabric covered his groin, which was barely visible beneath his enormous, overhanging belly. “What is your name?” Hades asked finally. “I have no name,” the Cyclops smiled, showing a mouthful of enormous, malformed teeth. His voice was raspy from disuse, and his breath was like the air of Tartarus—foul and putrid. Cerberus walked hesitantly to the cavern’s entrance, his sensitive noses overwhelmed by the stench, but he would not abandon Hades. “You forged the swords,” Hades stated. “That was long ago, king. Oh, yes,” the Cyclops laughed at Hades’ surprise. “I know who you are.” GIVEAWAY! --
Sweetheart
-- EXCERPT: “Can I ask you something?” he said. “Okay…” “Why are you dressed like that?” I lifted a brow. “Like a blueberry?” Sam gave a shrug. “I was going to say a cross between Elsa and Cinderella.” “Well, well,” I said, “the Sam Bishop knows his princesses. Who would’ve guessed?” “Thanks to my sister,” he said. “And I still don’t get why you keep saying the before my name. Makes no sense.” It made sense to me. He’d always been the Sam Bishop in my head. As in the one and only, the original, the Sam Bishop who stole my heart at age ten and refused to give it back. I couldn’t say any of that to him, though, so I just shrugged. “I was hired to play a wedding,” I said. “And they asked you to dress like a princess?” I shook my head. “The bride wanted a very specific shade of blue. Not baby blue, aqua or cornflower. Royal blue is what they asked for. This is what I had, so…” Sam nodded. “Looks good on you.” “Yeah, right,” I said with a scoff. “I’m serious.” Feeling my cheeks heat, I crossed my arms. “Gotta be honest, though, I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to fit all that in the car. That’s a lot of material.” His words startled a laugh out of me, and I gave a mental curse. I would not be charmed by him. The guy couldn’t even remember my name for goodness sakes. “Is part of it still hanging out the door or…?” he said innocently. “Ha ha,” I said, “very funny, Bishop.” “Got a laugh out of you, Kent.” Well. At least he remembered my last name, I thought. “And I’m assuming if I hadn’t been able to fit inside your inadequately-sized sports car”—he scoffed—”you would’ve just left me on the side the road?” Sam shook his head. “Nah, I would’ve just had you take the dress off.” 
GIVEAWAY! --
Darkness Falls
-- EXCERPT: “Aidan, man, we should probably get going soon,” Jeff says, pulling me away from the threatening spiral of memories. His interruption is a welcome distraction. “You’re right,” Aidan says, his eyes locked with mine. “But before we go, Quinn, you need to know, you’re not safe here. Do you have somewhere else to go?” “What are you talking about?” My head volleys back and forth between the guys. Jeff runs a hand through his short brown hair and exhales a sigh. He leans in conspiratorially and says in a hushed voice, “Look, we’ve been checking out the unoccupied homes around here. You know, just borrowing things to help us get by. But one of the trailers we went to, we thought it was empty…” Aidan finishes for him. “Quinn, one of your neighbors is dead. We thought the trailer was vacant, so we went inside. We grabbed some canned food and other stuff from the kitchen and then we went to the bedroom to see if there were any blankets and pillows.” Tag-teaming again, Jeff continues. “We thought the smell was some food rotting. But… we found her just lying there on the bed, lifeless. Looked like she was stabbed. There was blood on the sheets and blanket.” He pauses momentarily before breaking the silence. “We would have helped her if we could, but she was gone.” I raise a hand to cover my gaping mouth. The scream I heard the other night. That must have been it. Why didn’t I think to go see what was happening? Maybe I could have helped her. Maybe I could have stopped it. “Guys, which trailer? Where did you see this?” I don’t know many of the permanent residents, and if it was someone who is only here for vacations, there’s no chance I know her. Aidan steps to the edge of the porch and points, “Two homes down in that direction. The one with the wishing well in the front yard.” I wrap my arms around myself to contain the shiver running through me. The guys exchange a look and I know what’s coming next. “Look, we gotta go,” Aidan says. “How about we check on you tomorrow? Would that be okay? Just make sure you’re alright.” Before I can filter my thoughts, they escape my lips. “That would be really nice. Yeah, I’d like that.” “Okay,” Jeff says, nodding. The guys eye each other, silently communicating. They hesitate for just a moment and then Aidan speaks again. “Quinn, just keep a low profile, okay? Try to keep yourself hidden. We’ll come back tomorrow night after it gets dark and we can talk more then.” “Okay,” I say. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. Or, today I guess.” The guys watch me head inside the trailer. I lock the door and peer out the window, watching them leave. I barely know them, but I sense they’re like me and Riley—good people trying to navigate their way through a bad situation. As I tiptoe back to the bedroom and settle under the covers, I vow to tell Riley everything. She deserves to know we could be in danger here and she needs to meet Aidan and Jeff. Maybe they are our ticket out of here. 
GIVEAWAY! -- Happy Publication Day to The Jinn Daughter, a gorgeous debut novel from Rania Hanna! From the blurb: A stunning debut novel and an impressive feat of storytelling that pulls together mythology, magic, and ancient legend in the gripping story of a mother’s struggle to save her only daughter Nadine is a jinn tasked with one job: telling the stories of the dead. She rises every morning to gather pomegranate seeds—the souls of the dead—that have fallen during the night. With her daughter Layala at her side, she eats the seeds and tells their stories. Only then can the departed pass through the final gate of death. But when the seeds stop falling, Nadine knows something is terribly wrong. All her worst fears are confirmed when she is visited by Kamuna, Death herself and ruler of the underworld, who reveals her desire for someone to replace her: it is Layala she wants. Nadine will do whatever it takes to keep her daughter safe, but Kamuna has little patience and a ruthless drive to get what she has come for. Layala’s fate, meanwhile, hangs in the balance. Rooted in Middle Eastern mythology, Rania Hanna deftly weaves subtle, yet breathtaking, magic through this vivid and compelling story that has at its heart the universal human desire to, somehow, outmaneuver death. Publisher: Hoopoe Fiction Publication date: April 16, 2024 ISBN 9781649033635, 164903363X Genre: Fantasy 275 pages Purchase Link  Quotes and Reviews: "Hanna seamlessly weaves compelling and complex characters into a lush tapestry of Middle Eastern folklore, creating a tragic, haunting world that is as dark as it is beautiful." --Samantha Sotto Yambao, author of Before Ever After “Rania Hanna’s debut is a moving tale of mothers and daughters, magic and mysticism, love and death. The Jinn Daughter offers fresh storytelling, rich characters and food for thought."--Ms. Magazine “Subtle but breathtaking.” --Geek Girl Authority "Enchanting . . . spellbinding . . . readers will feel like they have stumbled upon an ancient text of legends and wisdom. . . .The fairytale-like and bizarre scenes elevate the story's mystique and are reminiscent of a mature and Middle Eastern Grimm Brothers tale. Ultimately, The Jinn Daughter will leave all who have the privilege to read it in a spellbound and wistful state of reflection."--Noshin Bokth, The New Arab "A hauntingly inimitable debut. . . . Bridging life and death with intimate relationships, grief, loss, hope, and love, Hanna’s novel develops ominously from its first sentence. Her characters’ lives are riddled with obstacles as they serve as the viceregents of opposing worlds, attempting to live some semblance of the lives they have inherited. And as a mother is pushed to the brink of the world for her daughter, the heart of the story is about love and sacrifice."--Manal Shakir, Arab News “Lush . . . powerful . . . vibrant . . . provocative”--Foreword Reviews (starred) “A captivating read. . . . Lyrical language and descriptive world building make this a good recommendation for book discussion groups, and literary and fantasy readers.”--Booklist “A moving, imaginative tale of magic, myth, life and death, and a mother's love”--Shelf Awareness "Rania Hanna [is] a modern-day fabulist who certainly understands the great appeal of storytelling to wrestle with parenting’s grandest dilemmas. In The Jinn Daughter, Rania explores just how far a mother will go to rescue her daughter from death."--Foreword This Week About the author:
Rania Hanna is a Syrian–American writer and researcher. She is a neuroscience doctoral student at George Mason University. The Jinn Daughter is her debut novel. She lives in Northern Virginia. #Book Blitz #Hott Take (Hott Springs Eternal, Book 2) by Serena Bell #Romcom @Xpresso Book Tours16/4/2024
Hott Take
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: After Nia told me that Shane Hott is an actor, I watched the first Crown of Spires movies, Lord of Every Sky. It was full of scenes where he was shirtless, badass, and bossy. He’s basically the villain of the first movie—although I get the sense that he’s going to be redeemed later from the way the camera lingers on his…assets. Even as I watched, I questioned my life choices. I wasn’t at all sure watching the movie was a good idea because in a town as small as Rush Creek, Shane and I were bound to cross paths. After I watched him in Lord of Every Sky, I wanted to build a small monument to his torso and worship it…with my tongue. And now, encountering him in the hallway outside of Hanna’s office, my knees feel less solid than I would ideally like. Never trust a guy so good looking he makes you stupid. So I do what any self-respecting woman would do in that situation. I pretend I have no idea who he is. I can tell he’s waiting for me to recognize him, giving me a beat to say, Holy crap, Shane Hott! After he got on Bridge and turned into a household name, Anthony used to do the same thing. Seeing echoes of Anthony in this guy makes me even less inclined to give him what he wants. Another Hollywood fuckboy hopped up on fan worship. It’s the last thing my life needs. “Nice to meet you. I’m Ivy Scofield,” I say, cool and low key, like I’m introducing myself to the manager at the bank. Surprise flickers behind his eyes, but he hides it, extending his hand. I take it. It’s big, warm, and dry and, unfortunately for my equilibrium, attached to a toned, muscular forearm below a rolled shirt sleeve. The shirt itself is a soft-looking blue gray that clings in all the right places to his movie star–worthy shoulders, pecs, and abs. He has long-lashed dark brown eyes paired with a blade of a nose, square jaw, and lush mouth. Against my will, I admit that he’s gorgeous. I thought I had permanently rid myself of men who were too good looking to be believed, but apparently not. “I think we can help each other out,” he says. Actually, he whispers it. “You, um, mind walking with me?” He gestures toward the exit. “Should I be worried that you’re a serial killer?” The corner of his mouth turns up. “I’m not a serial killer. I’m an actor.” “Even worse.” He laughs, which is terrible because it makes him even better looking, all eye crinkles and white teeth and genuine amusement. Then he stops—because I wasn’t joking and he seems to intuit that. “Even so,” he says, more seriously. “Please. Just…let me walk you out and tell you what I’m thinking.” I give him a shrug-nod, and we walk out of Hott Springs together to the parking lot. Now I know who owns the Aston Martin Vanquish I parked next to. I know nothing about cars…but Anthony coveted that car: fast, expensive, and—his words—a dream to drive. As we draw even with his car, Shane says, “I know you need our barn.” I flick him a quick, confused glance as hope buys real estate in my chest. It sounds like he’s implying that it still might be possible. I will do anything to save our theater—not just for me, but for the kids. I know Nia feels the same way. “I can get the barn for you.” “Hanna said—” “Hanna wasn’t looking at the whole picture,” he tells me. “I am.” I raise an eyebrow. “You need the barn, and I need you to marry me.” His too-pretty-for-real-life face is deadly serious now. My mouth falls open. 
GIVEAWAY! -- #Book Blitz #Last Seen in Havana by Teresa Dovalpage #Mystery #Thriller @Xpresso Book Tours16/4/2024
Last Seen in Havana
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Sarah stood under a blue pendant lamp in the middle of a huge living room. The faded grandeur of the place still impressed her as it had the first day. She approached an upright piano and played the first chords of “London Bridge.” Though the piano needed tuning, it had a rich, warm sound. There was a blue vase on top, next to the portrait of a dark-haired woman with a pearl necklace. The frame, heavy and ornate, looked like tarnished silver. The wall behind the piano was covered in paintings. The landscapes of marinas and countryside scenes didn’t impress the blonde, but she examined the portraits trying to discover a resemblance between their faces and Joaquín’s. If there was any, it eluded her. Through the picture window, she saw people waiting in line across the street—the same people who had stared at her when she passed them. Her new neighbors. In due time she would join them at the grocery store queue, and they would get to know her. She smiled and two dimples appeared on her cheeks. How fast things had moved! Less than a month ago she had been a guest at Hotel Colina in El Vedado, thinking of the handsome lieutenant who had swept her off her feet after the Triumph of the Revolution parade on January first, but not believing that their relationship (if you could call it a relationship) had any future. After all, she was an American—a “Yankee,” as they said here—who had come to Havana for eight days. But the days had turned into weeks. And the weeks would turn, hopefully, into months, and the months into years . . . The sound of footsteps downstairs made her jump. She ran down the marble staircase, being more careful this time. “Joaquín!” A tall man with angular features, almond eyes and a big smile had just come into the living room. He was wearing the green olive uniform of the Revolutionary Armed Forces, which, in Sarah’s opinion, fit him amazingly well. The fact that she had fallen for a military guy still surprised her. Her father, with whom she had argued for years about everything under the sun, from politics to fashion, had been in the Navy, and she thought that was why he was so pig-headed. But she loved him and was closer to him than to her mother. “¡Mi amor!” Joaquín handed her a bouquet of white lilies, mariposas, which by now Sarah knew were the Cuban national flower. They hugged each other and kissed so passionately that a few mariposas were crushed in the process. “They smell amazing!” Sarah said, pressing the bouquet against her face. “Thanks!” “And here’s this too.” He offered her a small package wrapped in fancy tissue paper. She tore it open and discovered a perfume bottle with the cap shaped like a dome. When she opened it, the scent of bergamot blended with the mariposa fragrance. She tried to decipher the name, written in Cyrillic characters. “It’s called Red Moscow,” Joaquín said. “It’s lovely! But you didn’t need to—” “Don’t you know what day is today?” She did. She had thought of it early in the morning, but he hadn’t mention it. She assumed Cubans didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day because that would imply a religious reference to Saint Valentine. Joaquín had told her that religion was considered an “ideological deviation.” It made sense to her. The opiate of the masses and all that. “El Día de los Enamorados,” he said. A day for lovers. Sarah liked that. She was enamorada, no question about it. And so was he. No, wait, he was enamorado—she still, sometimes, got her endings mixed up. They laughed, embraced again and hurried to the second floor. The mariposa bouquet and the Red Moscow bottle were left on top of the piano, between the blue vase and the silver-framed portrait. A truck drove at high speed in front of the house. The piano shook slightly, and the ghost of a melody came from under the closed lid. The vase and the portrait stayed put, but the perfume bottle fell to the floor and shattered. A potent aroma filled the room and snuck upstairs, passed by the master bedroom and reached the library, where the lady in the painting wore an expression of disgust. 
GIVEAWAY! --
In the Shadow of the Truth
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: From In the Shadow of a Vow Novella When Tomas returned from the barn that afternoon, the sound of his boots on the floor captured her attention as she stood at the kitchen counter he’d made for her. His form in the doorway—wide and encompassing—was at first a buoying relief then a crushing disappointment. She’d failed him. He stalled, assessing, his eyes dragging along the countertop where she stood amidst a haphazard wreck of herbs—her supplies for making tinctures and medicines she took on calls and sold at the market. “Did you mean to leave all your tools in the garden?” he asked. There wasn’t any accusation in his tone, only curiosity. “And the laundry undone in the wash basin?” When she didn’t answer—because she couldn’t seem to align the words with meaning—he asked, “What’s going on here?” Scarlett looked down at the mess she’d made, opened her mouth to tell him what she was doing, but her mind went blank. She couldn’t remember what she’d been doing. She didn’t know what she was doing anymore. The longer she looked at the greens, the pestle and mortar, the boiling pot, the less sense any of the disarray made. “It’s chaos, Scar,” he said quietly next to her. “Unlike you.” She looked up from the mess to his face, to his kind eyes shaped with concern. Scar. She’d always loved the way he shortened her name, the only one who ever did. Then without warning, she burst into tears, pressing the towel in her hands against her face as her grief, pain, worry, regret, disappointment wrenched out of her with horrific gasp. She’d ruined everything. Tomas gathered her into his arms with soothing sounds. “Hush,” he whispered, his wide, heavy hand on the back of her head. “I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, grasping hold of his shirt, her face pressed into the strength of his chest. He held her. “They’re gone,” she sobbed. “I failed.” His arms squeezed her a touch tighter, and when his face pressed into the place between her neck and shoulder, Scarlett wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing up onto her toes, needing to be closer to his comfort. “I failed too,” he whispered, his lips against her skin. “We both have.” She shook her head. “Not you, Tomas.” She drew back to look at him. Raising his head, his eyes connected with hers, the sadness a deep, evergreen forest swirling inside them where he was lost. And it was her fault. She knew this. Had pushed him to go against his nature by keeping her secrets, securing the spells. Unsure about anything but the tumult of emotions she couldn’t seem to harness, Scarlett reached for comfort she knew he provided, a comfort she could reciprocate. She kissed him, her hands framing his face, his beard soft against her palms. He froze, tension tightening his shoulders. And she thought he might pull away, but suddenly he was kissing her back, capitulating, needing, seeking. His tongue sought entrance, and she granted it. It was hungry, two souls on the periphery of starvation, finding one another in the darkness. 
GIVEAWAY! -- |
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