THE QUEEN OF SWORDS
by Nina Mason
Release Date – March 22,
2014
from Vamptasy Publishing
A paranormal tale of
undying love.
A love powerful enough
to reach beyond the grave.
When Graham Logan draws the Queen of Swords, he knows he’s
about to meet the love of his life. For the third time. But surrendering his
heart will mean risking her life…or making her what he is--two things his
beliefs won’t allow him to do. Graham rages at God: Why give her back only to
take her again?
Cat Fingal, the third coming of Graham’s beloved, won’t let
him slip away so easily. A white witch, she casts a spell to summon him—for
answers, among other things.
Graham has other problems, too. Like the seductress who
wants him for herself and the dark wizard who cursed him and killed Cat the
first two times.
Will she find a way to save him this time around?
* * * * *
Excerpt:
Graham had just come
upon the misplaced diaries—in the cupboard under the stairs—when he caught a
whiff of something burning. Concerned, he stepped back into the foyer. A quick
look around revealed nothing unusual. He sniffed the air, again detecting
smoke, though none of the toxic undertones of a house fire. Neither did it
smell of a choked chimney. It was, in fact, pleasantly herbal—like the
juniper-laced bonfires of Beltane he knew in his youth. Was Branwen burning
incense...or Benedict trying out a new pipe tobacco?
Shrugging it off, he
grabbed the box of diaries and headed for the stairs. As he climbed, so did the
smoke. A picture of Caitriona came into his mind. Or was it Catharine...or the
new one? He couldn’t be sure as she was naked and her hair hung loose. As she
reached for him, he saw something odd: a blue fire the size of a pilot light in
the center of each palm.
Like moth to flame, you yearn for light. Come from shadow
into my sight.
The words whispered.
Caitriona disappeared. Desire blossomed. What was going on? At the
top of the stairs, he was sweating and dizzy. Every nerve ending,
every vein, burned like fire. He raced down the hall toward his bedchamber,
dropping the box as he shot through the doorway. Bending to collect his
spilled diaries, he startled at what he saw:
He had no hands. And no
feet.
The smoke and ethers
enveloped, pulling him apart cell by cell until he felt like the sands of time
moving through an hourglass. The cosmos was silent except for a haunting
echo—like the sound inside a seashell. He felt at once connected to everything
and nothing. Adrift and yet highly attuned. He was blind yet all seeing; numb
yet hypersensitive; defenseless yet omnipotent. Others were there,
too—phantasmal energies blowing past and passing through like sleet.
The next thing he knew,
he was on his back, winded and disoriented. The room was dark save for the
flicker of a solitary candle. He could make out only two pale shapes. The
larger one, he presumed, was a bed, the smaller one, by the window, his
summoner. His nostrils flared, seeking her scent, but found only the spices of
the smoke.
“I told ye to stay away
from me,” he growled. “Why did ye not listen?”
*****
“Just so ye know,
vampires don’t kill—except by accident, of course, or to commit deliberate
murder.”
The sound of his deep,
musical burr quickened Cat’s pulse. It could only be the good-looking Scot
who’d been checking her out from the stacks for the past twenty minutes.
“Excuse me?” She raised
her eyes from Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire, but did not turn around.
There was no need. She’d already memorized every detail of his appearance while
he skirted her gaze. Each time she looked his way, hoping to catch his eye, he
was conveniently reading the book in his hand. Each time she returned to her
work, the prickling hairs on the back of her neck gave away his game.
He seemed uncannily
familiar too, though she couldn’t place him. The proud stance, powerful build,
and thick copper hair all struck a chord—a sweet arpeggio that resonated
somewhere deep inside.
“The average adult has
five liters of blood,” he began to explain, “and the average stomach can hold
fewer than two.” He paused to shift gears. “She’s also wrong about the coffins.
And the impotence—though the book remains one of my favorites of the genre.”
“Mine too.” She set the
gold-clad novel on the table beside her laptop. “Do you go here? You seem
familiar.”
“Nay. I went to Saint
Andrew’s ages ago.”
She still didn’t turn.
“Oh? Then what brings you here?”
“I just moved to the
village,” he said, “and heard the university had an impressive collection of
vampire literature. So, I thought I’d see for myself—to kill a wee bit of time.
But it seems ye’ve beaten me to it.”
“For my dissertation,” she
offered quickly, pinging with guilt. She did not add that renewal of her
faculty contract hinged on her finishing her Ph.D. before the term ended in
three more weeks. Or that she was hopelessly behind. If she told him how
under-the-gun she felt, he might leave. And she wanted to keep talking to him.
He was undeniably
handsome. Bodice-ripper, book-cover handsome. Straight nose with a slight flare
at the end; strong jaw and jutting chin; prominent brow and cheekbones;
intense, deep-set eyes that turned down at the corners ever so slightly; and a
sweet, kissable mouth whose tucked lower lip made it both boyish and sensual.
Apart from the biker
jacket and boots, he might have stepped out of one of the Highlander romances
she read every chance she got—a longstanding guilty pleasure. For some
inexplicable reason, she’d been attracted to all things Scottish for as long as
she could remember.
He reached past her,
selected Dracula off her stack of
reference material, and began looking through it. She could hear the pages
turning behind her, but couldn’t bring herself to turn round. If she met his
eyes, she would melt like butter.
“He was lucky to have no
reflection to fuck with his head.”
His voice brought her
back, but only partly. “Who?”
“Count Dracula.”
“Oh.” Embarrassment
scorched her cheeks. “It was meant to symbolize that he had no soul.”
“I ken that. But is it
true, do ye think?”
Cat knew from her
Highlander romances the word “ken” meant “know” in Scots, but was otherwise
confused by his question. Why did she find his closeness so discomposing? Men,
even good-looking ones, rarely had this effect on her.
“Is what true?”
“That vampires have no
souls,” he clarified. “That they’re eternally damned.”
“I don’t believe in—”
When she didn’t go on,
he prodded. “Ye don’t believe in what?”
She was going to say
“eternal damnation,” but remembered it was never a good idea to discuss
religion—especially her religion—with any but like-minded practitioners of the
craft. And even then, it could lead to heated disagreement.
Turning at last, she met
his eyes, an astonishing shade of gold—like topazes or whisky backlit by the
sun. They also were so gnawingly familiar she wanted to scream.
She tried to speak, to
wrench her eyes away, but couldn’t seem to. Images of heather and bracken, of
misty hills and crystal lochs, washed over her like a dream. What in the name
of the goddess was happening to her?
Unable to bear his
riveting gaze any longer, she turned back to the table, winded and shaken. She
took a couple of breaths to slow her pulse and regain control. As he reached
past her to return Dracula to its
place, her eyes followed his hand—a sculptural marvel with long fingers
tapering from furrowed knuckles to lustrous nails. She shivered as she imagined
those fingers traveling over her flesh. He smelled good, too. Natural and
earthy.
Like a walk in the woods
on a crisp autumn morning.
“How do I know you?” She
had to force the words through her throat.
“Have we met before?”
“Oh, aye.” His breath
brushed her ear. “A couple of times.” * * * *
About the Author:
Nina Mason is a hopeless
romantic with strong affinities for history, mythology, and the metaphysical.
She strives to write the same kind of books she loves to read: those that
entertain, edify, educate, and enlighten. Three of her books will be published in
2014: THE QUEEN ONE SWORDS, a paranormal romance/urban fantasy from Vamptasy
Publishing; THE KNIGHT OF WANDS, book one in the Knights of Avalon Series from
Soul Mate Publishing; and THE TIN MAN, a thriller from Crushing Hearts and
Black Butterfly Publishing. When not writing, Nina works as a communications
consultant, doll maker, and home stager. Born and raised in Southern
California, Nina now lives in Woodstock, Georgia, with her husband, teenage
daughter, two rescue cats, and a Westie who’s frightened of the dryer.
Happy Reading Everyone!
3 comments:
This looks fantastic, Amy. Thanks so much for being part of my cover reveal! You're the best.
You're very welcome, Nina, I'm so excited for you and the cover is awesome! Loved the excerpt, too. Congrats. xoxo
Nice cover reveal Nina.
What an excerpt, thanks for sharing! Congrats on your book. :-)
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