Through Time-Slamming (25 page)

They were all spending the summer in Scotland, doing a tour of the highlands as this would be their last year living together in Charleston, South Carolina.

She would be off to study at Trinity in the fall, and although their home in Charleston would remain always there, she knew that Trevor and Jazz had decided it was time for her to give up her job as a Marine Biologist and spend more time with him in Faery, the Isle of Tir.

Life was changing so fast.

A shiver of anticipation traveled through her body.

As always Frankie felt him, before she saw him. She didn’t know how it was but from the start, they shared a connection she had never been able to explain to herself.

She turned, and as he came into view, she felt her entire body tremble with pleasure. Why did he have such an affect on her?

He had always hovered about her life. He had always been a friend, even though her father had forbidden him her company, she had not given him up. How could she? He seemed a part of who she was.

She needed him, and he had been there in these last six years. In and out, but never intruding.

Softly she said, “Graely.”

Excerpt: Netherby Halls

A young woman just coming into her powers as a white witch,

hidden evil in a school for high-born orphan girls,

a dashing marquis with a hidden agenda of his own.

Enjoy a sneak preview of

Netherby Halls

~ Prologue ~

Sutton Village, England

1815

SASSY WALKED THE short distance from the livery, where’d she left her cob horse and curricle, and made her way to the curio shop that also served as their village book shop. It was a busy time of the morning, nearly lunch, and the wide avenue was bustling with people, horse-drawn wagons, and quite an impressive number of carriages of all sizes, ages, and styles for their quaint village.

The dust they kicked up didn’t do her well-worn blue cloak any good. With a grimace, she brushed and shook off some of the offending dirt as she made her way to the lead-paned window of Mrs. Plummet’s Curio Shop and stepped beneath the awning.

A little bell announced her arrival, and the tall, buxom woman Sassy had known forever looked up from the counter where she was arranging a stack of the new and latest novel that had only just come in. The woman smiled and welcomed Sassy. “Hallo, m’dear, and how is the vicar today?”

Pushing a stray hair away from her ear, Sassy adjusted her chip hat and sighed as she gave Mrs. Plummet a warm smile. “Papa is cranky today, I am afraid. He shooed me off and told me to come into town and purchase a book to keep me busy. He says I am always fussing about him, and he won’t have it.”

Mrs. Plummet laughed and said, “Good then, Sassy love. If he is feeling feisty, perhaps we will have a small miracle and he will take a turn for the better.”

Sassy almost released her pent-up emotions but fought back the urge to dive into Mrs. Plummet’s arms and cry. She held herself in check and unconsciously rubbed the ring on her right hand beneath her glove.

She couldn’t very well tell Mrs. Plummet about the guilt she carried because, once again, she felt useless. She hadn’t been able to save her mother two years ago when she had suddenly fallen ill and died within a week. What good was
the power
if she couldn’t rid the ones she loved of disease?

Now, her father was not getting any better, and not all the tisanes in the world were helping. Not even those her mother had taught her to concoct had worked to do more than ease his discomfort.

She picked up the latest novel by an author whose name she did not recognize and looked it over. “What do you think?”

“I started reading it last evening. It was very … absorbing.”

“Right then, I’ll give it a try.” Sassy fished in her knit purse for a coin. She shouldn’t be wasting her father’s money on a book, but he had insisted and she didn’t want him to worry about her. It was all he talked about these last few days—
her future
.

She knew she was going to lose him, and her heart was being ripped to shreds at the thought. How could she do without him and his guidance, especially now?

When her mother had passed, Sassy had been left to carry the burden of what she was alone, except for her father. He had kept her secret, even as he had her mother’s. Now that she had reached her majority, she was experiencing the ‘transition’; without her mother to advise her, only her father could help her.

She should, of course, be able to turn to her mother’s family, but they had disowned their only daughter when she’d defied them to marry a poor young man of the cloth. No, Sassy would get no guidance from them, although like her they had the ‘power’.

She set these disturbing thoughts aside as she took up the package Mrs. Plummet handed her and made her way outdoors.

Before crossing the avenue, she meandered down the walkway, stopping to look in the window of the village dress shop. It was still there—a gown that had caught her eye the week before. It was breathtaking. Yellow and in the fashionable A-line, low cut, trimmed with Belgium lace, and much too expensive for her. She sighed as she turned away from it.

Her own ensemble beneath the aged cloak, though once a pretty shade of blue, was becoming threadbare. She hadn’t thought much about refurbishing her wardrobe in the last two years. She had been devastated at her mother’s death, and then this year, while her father’s health dwindled, socializing had been out of the question.

The sound of laughter across the street caught her attention, and she glanced in the direction of the hearty noise.

Two men stood at the curbing at the edge of the avenue, but only one of them stood out. It was as though the atmosphere around him glowed, and her heart actually skipped a beat and then made up for the offense by beating faster.

His beaver-skin top hat was set saucily on his head of black silky hair. His black cloak had been rakishly thrown back over one shoulder, revealing not only the cream silk lining but the breadth of his obviously muscular chest.

As Sassy’s gaze traveled up to his face, unconsciously a small breath of air left her lungs, swished up her throat, and escaped in an audible gasp.

He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, but more than that, he was the man who had been making passionate love to her in her dreams!

This was madness. This was … Before she could complete the thought
, it
happened.
Only this time it was different. This time he was right there. He was nearby—the man of her dreams was standing only thirty feet away.

His blue eyes had suddenly locked with hers, and all at once she felt herself transported to another place.

It was a bedroom—and she recognized the bedroom, for she had been there many times in her dreams. It was as though she were in a theater shamelessly watching herself, watching him—watching, experiencing things she had no physical knowledge of.

She was a virgin, and yet in her dream she had been his intimately many times. Now, with him so near, she saw herself naked and lying across dark, smooth sheets.

He was bending towards her, his blue eyes glittering, his black, silky hair falling across and touching her breasts as he licked her nipple and then suckled there with expertise that sent her body into a convulsion of pleasure. His fingers moved over her flesh, and she could feel herself clench with desire as he touched—

What … ? No! No—this was just schoolgirls’ talk coming back to haunt her. This had to stop. She had to stop.
She tried to break with the vision. How could she know what it would feel like to have a man … how could she know?

And then she saw something in his eyes across the avenue that told her a fact she could not deny:
s
he wasn’t having this illusion alone. He was as well. It was so real and not only for her—but for him also!

When he took a step into the street towards her, Sassy Winthrop ran as fast as her little walking boots could take her and escaped around the corner.

According to prophesy, Ravena is the only one who can rescue a powerful sorcerer trapped in another dimension—but the prophesy doesn’t promise she’ll survive the experience. Read her story in

Hungry Moon: Quicksilver

~ Prelude ~

1575, Scottish Highlands, where many honored their clans and chose to follow the old ways

Quinn MacValdane had a great deal of weight on his shoulders, but those shoulders were huge and certainly capable of carrying the burden. The weight, however, was unlike any other he had ever lifted, and he was tired of constantly having to deal with it. He just wasn’t ready to get married!

He was more than six months away from turning thirty and tired of the nagging as his birthday drew closer. He had to get out and away from it!

Mayhap he just needed a tussle with the pretty tavern wench, Sarah, to loosen up his nerves? Och but he liked her full breasts. The notion of her naked body under him made him smile, and he felt his dick spring up, ready for action.

A crackle of twigs made him look around and hold his lantern up.

He had heard the rumors but had shrugged them off. He wasn’t concerned—why should he be?

He was a sorcerer with supreme powers and had naught to fear from the beast.

Thus, he proceeded into the woods to take the shortcut to the town tavern. He grinned and hummed to himself, much like a boy at the thought of a few drinks with his friends and then a bit of fun with Sarah. She was a lovely, full-bodied woman …

He heard something again.

His hearing had always been extraordinary, and it told him now that something moved stealthily through the woods at his back and was eating up distance between them.

Once again, he held up his lantern and looked around—not afraid, but wary, very wary, for he knew that something evil was at his back.

He touched the silver-tipped sword that was tucked at his belt. If something rabid was out there, it was time to put an end to it! And, bloody damn, he was just the man to do it. He would enact his shield, protect himself from getting bitten, and finish the beast once and for all. The shield would protect him from the dangers of a rabid bite.

Everything in the forest seemed to go still.

Nothing seemed to move. Even the crickets had ceased their chatter.

Warily he started forward again.

His mother’s face flashed in his mind.

If only she would stop her nagging at him. Lately it was always the subject at the dinner table.

She was a dear heart, but he wasn’t in love, and he wasn’t ready to tie himself down to one woman.

She wanted grandchildren, something to fill the void and still the grief of his father’s passing. She wanted him to carry on the line.

He liked being single … he liked women …

He had told her to leave him be.

He was the only son, she enjoyed reminding him. She wanted to keep Valdane in a direct line. If he didn’t have a son, the castle and the estate would go to his father’s brother. What she didn’t realize was
he didn’t care
. He loved his good uncle—why shouldn’t the estate go to him?

These thoughts were once again interrupted, and Quinn MacValdane knew the creature was not only at his back, it had had gained ground.

The first
thing that assailed him was the odor. Musky, and because his sense of smell was as good as his hearing, the scent of fresh sweet blood filtered through to him. It was dripping saliva mixed with blood.

The second
thing that assailed him was the sound of the beast, the low, unthinking wild growl. The sound was primal as the creature trumpeted hungrily with mindless rage.

The third
thing was the sure knowledge that this was something sinister, something otherworldly: more, so much more than a rabid beast—more than the ‘werewolf’ he had actually expected to appear.

It was near, and it was exploding with Dark Magic.

This beast was frothing at the mouth and mad.

He would not be able to outrun it, and he wasn’t sure his shield would hold against its Dark Magic. What was this? What kind of werewolf had magic?

He felt its power vibrate in the air. He had been just a teen when the male members of his family had hunted and killed a werewolf years ago. This was so much more.

Quinn MacValdane did the only thing he could do: he enacted a spell that enswathed him with a protective shield.

It should have been enough
.

He set down his lantern and withdrew his silver-tipped sword.

His shield should have worked like a coat of armor, but he had been right—this was more, so much more than a werewolf. This creature wielded Dark Magic and had stalked him with purpose.

It stood a foot taller than Quinn’s six feet. It clawed the air, its amber eyes burning with bloodlust. It was drooling saliva and blood from its recent kill, and it roared with fury.

Quinn looked into its eyes and knew he was looking into the eyes of madness. It swiped at him, but its claws bounced off his shield.

Infuriated, it went down on all fours, and Quinn heard the voice, its voice, in his head as it began reciting an ancient Gaelic spell.

And then he knew.

It was tearing apart his shield with its magic.

He looked up and noted the moon was in its full glory as the feral creature attacked with a ferociousness he believed would kill him.

He picked his spot and began maneuvering it in a circle. It kept its head low and stared at his sword, which seemed to deter it.

Quinn couldn’t get over its size … huge and pulsating with power.

He studied it, trying to get its measure, its weakness. Its fur was ragged, spotted with what smelled and looked like blood.

Fangs, sharp fangs snapped as it snarled. Violence governed its purpose, and that purpose was to tear, maim, kill—and something else. Usurp. It wanted his magic. He could hear its thoughts in his head. What kind of werewolf was this?

Devour … take … take
Quinn’s magic.
Damn, how did it know his name? How the bloody hell could it know his name? Who was this? Weres lost all memory of themselves, their loved ones—it was part of their curse. This one was a thinking, magical beast.

He could detect nothing of the human in it. And yet, somehow, it seemed familiar, must be familiar if it knew his name?

This thing looked to be unmistakably insane, and yet, Quinn fancied he saw purpose in its amber-lit eyes.

Would his white magic work against the beast?

Once again it attempted to slash at him. Quinn jumped out of the way, knowing he had to call on darker magic to protect himself.

He needed a ward, but he had no time to create one. He had but one chance for survival.

The silver-edged short sword he was never without
.

And then the werewolf sprang into action, and Quinn sneered as he shouted, “Well then, beast—come and get it if ye be a mind to!” He plunged his sword just at the right moment directly in the center of its beating heart.

But even as the were roared and suffered excruciating pain, even as it started to fall, even as death began to take it, its jaws locked down on Quinn’s shoulder and bit—
bit hard
—and Quinn’s fate was sealed.

He was able to punch and beat the creature off, and he watched as it fell to the ground, rolled over onto its back, and began the transformation back into man.

Quinn saw at once it was Whelan MacPoole, clan leader of the neighboring estate.
Husband to his mother’s sister
.

They had never been friends throughout their family’s history. He should have known. He should have suspected. The signs had been there all along, if only he’d noticed.

Quinn bent, pulled his silver-tipped sword from the man’s heart, and stood to look up at the stars before closing his eyes.

He had been bitten.