Raven (Legends Saga Book 2) (35 page)

“I can assure you, I had nothing to do with Rip’s demise. Even so, his death acted as a tragic catalyst to a necessary string of events to follow.” Pulling a knit driving cap from his coat pocket,
the man situated it into place on his head. “After all, it brought you here, which is
right
where you need to be.”

I
reland rolled her neck, attempting to shake off the red haze of mayhem that crept in around the edges of her vision. “What about your friend that came with you to Sleepy Hollow in the rent-a-cop Halloween costumes? Did
he
play a part in it?”

Stroking his index finger over his
recently shaved lip, the man glanced down the length of the alley. Something that resembled regret flashed across his face. “No,” he assured her. “He would never have hurt Rip. The bond they forged during their time in the service together was far too deep for that.”

The taut skin of her forehead twitched in
to the closest she could get to a frown. Rip had told her the story of his time served. He developed a deep brotherhood with
two
men. The first, Ichabod Crane. The other …

“Washington Irving?
I-It can’t be,” Ireland rasped in a barely audible whisper.

His hand
s fell limp to his sides, genuine disbelief carved into his round face. “You didn’t figure that out by the rant he went off on about literature verses movies? I thought for sure that had given away his true identity. Hence my decision to quickly return him to his own thread.” He flippantly waved the thought away like a bothersome gnat and checked his watch yet again. “On occasion I forget that not everyone has the benefit of the panoramic time line.”

The deep longing to embed her sword into his frontal lobe twisted up her spine, slithering into the very marrow of her bones.
Shaking her clenched fists out at her sides prevented her from doing something she would regret—at least for the moment. “I’m sorry. Am I keeping you from an important date, White Rabbit?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” he stated, turning in an about face straight toward her. “I had hoped you would bring Ridley, but we will just have to find him later. That said,
we run short on time. Shall we go?” He didn’t wait for her response, before turning on his heel and marching down the alley.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t
toss my axe, pin your pant leg to the ground—a shot I am
more
than capable of by the way—and get my answers right here and now,” Ireland demanded, making the threat more real by pinching the top edge of the axe and pivoting it one way then the other.

Filling his lungs,
the blue-eyed man expelled an aggravated sigh and glanced back over his shoulder. “You want answers and I plan to take you to them.
That
would be why.”

Ireland’s tongue dragged over her top teeth, the stranger’s enigmatic ways causing her pulse to throb in her temples. “You haven’t told me who you are, or how you could
possibly
know so much about any of this. That doesn’t breed a great deal of trust.”

The man stopped short,
his thick torso swiveling in her direction. “Heavens, I forgot to introduce myself? I
definitely
can’t fault your hesitancy there. Well, young lady, my given name is Herbert George.” Plucking a burnished bronze pocket watch from the breast pocket of his shirt, he compared the time to that of his wrist watch. Seemingly pleased with what he found, he spun the chain around his hand and offered her a warm smile. “However, history has come to know me as HG Wells.”

About the Author

RONE Award Winner for Best YA Paranormal Work of 2012 for Embrace, a Gryphon Series Novel
Young Adult and Teen Reader voted Author of the Year 2012
Turning Pages Magazine Winner for Best YA book of 2013 & Best Teen Book of 2013 
Stacey Rourke is the author of the young adult Gryphon Series as well as the thrilling Legends Saga. She lives in Michigan with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and two giant, dogs. She loves to travel, has an unhealthy shoe addiction and considers herself blessed to make a career out of talking to the imaginary people that live in her head. She is currently hard at work on the conclusion of the Legends Saga, as well as other literary projects.
Visit her at www.staceyrourke.com
diaryofasemi-crazyauthor.blogspot.com
Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Stacey-Rourke/
Twitter @Rourkewrites

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Special Feature!

An Excerpt from

Cursed: The Thorne Trilogy B
ook 1

by R.K. Ryals.

Book 3 in the Thorne Trilogy, Dancing with the Devil, Coming Soon!

Somehow Luther's hand had made its way to my chin, and he gripped it firmly. His lips lowered. I wanted to look away and couldn't.

"Don't make me do this," I begged.

Luther grinned even as my lips parted. "Witch, I'm not in your head right now. What you want now, in this moment, is all you. There's a lot of things I'll take by force. Not that."

His lips crashed down onto mine, and I didn't fight him. I didn't fight him because he was right. I wanted this.

His free hand went to my waist, playing with the skin just under the hem of my t-shirt, and I plunged my fingers into his hair. I had planned on pulling him away, but I gripped his head instead, allowing him to deepen the kiss even as my other hand found its way to his back, fisting the fabric of his t-shirt, the move as desperate as the kiss. The muscles under his shirt were tight, restrained, and I knew then he was holding back.

The kiss, the moment, was so wrong, and yet that's precisely what made it so right. For 
this
 moment, I wasn't broken, I wasn't cursed, I wasn't a witch. I was Monroe, the vintage loving control freak kissing a man I was reasonably attracted to. Only he wasn't a man, and I wasn't just a girl.

Luther pulled me into him, and my hands moved to his face, my palms keeping his mouth trapped against mine. He growled, the sound primal as his hands gripped my hips painfully, one palm making its way slowly,
 
oh so slowly
, up to my ribs. I leaned into the touch.

A sound made me freeze.

Luther pulled away, his eyes trapping mine to his face even as I caught a glimpse of Belle at the edge of the clearing. My cheeks flamed.

"Sometimes," Luther whispered as Belle's figure disappeared, "being bad is better."

And with that, he released me. I almost stumbled to the ground, but caught myself, my eyes on anything but Luther.

"Tell me something really stupid or mundane about you," I said breathlessly. It seemed such a silly thing to say, and yet I needed something from him, something that made him more human than what he claimed to be.

I knelt on the lake's bank, one hand on the ground, an arm across my middle. My heart raced.

Luther knelt next to me. "I collect baseball caps."

I choked on the laugh that escaped. My eyes came back up to his. "Baseball caps?"

He shrugged. "I don't wear them. I just collect them. I like them."

I laughed, and this time I couldn't stop. It bubbled up and just kept coming.

Luther stood, his hand out. "It was just a kiss, Monroe. I didn't steal your soul."

I looked at his offered palm, my laughter turning to coughs.

I pushed myself up without taking his hand. "To be on the safe side, let's not do that again," I said.

Luther's lips twitched as I moved past him, my steps carrying me back toward the cabin.

"Oh, Witch," Luther chuckled. "I don't ever make promises like that."