by Robyn Bachar
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I am,” I assured him.
“I’m afraid your shawl is dead,” Michael informed me, and I laughed.
“That is fine. It met a valiant end.”
Simon stood next to me, staring down at his apprentice. “How do you feel?”
“Fortunate to be alive. And glad that it’s over. It is over, yes? Farrell is dead?”
“Farrell is dead,” Simon confirmed.
“Good. What happens now?”
The chronicler placed a hand upon my shoulder, and I glanced up at him. “Well, in the morning I suggest you speak with Mr. Wright about gaining his permission to marry his daughter.”
My face heated with a blush, and I turned my attention back to Michael, whose eyes widened in surprise. “Are you releasing me from my duties?”
“No. Miss Wright and I discussed it, and I feel we can share you, as she put it. We can postpone your ritual for a few more years. There is no need to rush into it. After all, you are several years younger than I was when I became a chronicler.”
“I don’t have any money to support a wife or a family,” Michael said. “Where would we live?”
“I have money. Not much, but it would be enough to start a life with,” I informed him.
“You could continue to live with me, in my house. As you yourself have noted, I only use the library and my own room.” Simon looked down at me with a slight smile. “Michael called it ‘a shocking waste of a perfectly respectable home’.”
I nodded, considering his words. It wasn’t quite the home I pictured, but it would suffice. It would just be rather like living with an ill-tempered, demanding uncle. One who happened to drink blood.
“I’ll leave you two to discuss the matter further. But not for too long,” he scolded. “Remember what your father warned about your sister’s husband.”
“Yes, of course,” I replied. “Rest well.”
He nodded and squeezed my shoulder in what seemed to be actual affection, and then he left us alone.
“Your sister’s husband? Thomas?” Michael guessed.
“Yes. Apparently if I stay much longer, he may seek me out and drag me back to Josephine to keep her from worrying.”
“Then I won’t keep you long. Are you sure you want this, Emily? I feel as though I have so little to offer you.”
I looked down at our joined hands. “All I ask is that you offer me your heart.”
Michael smiled. “You already have that. I love you, Emily. You are the most remarkable woman I have ever known.”
“I love you too.” Leaning over, I kissed him gently, and then gave in to the urge to straighten his mussed hair. “You should rest now, and dream sweet dreams.”
“You never did tell me of your dream earlier.”
“It was lovely. You were standing in a nursery, holding a baby. Our daughter,” I corrected. “She was crying, and you were trying to comfort her. You handed her to me, and she was just beautiful. Breathtaking. We were so happy.” I smiled at the image, and Michael squeezed my hand.
“Beautiful like her mother, I imagine,” he said softly. “Do you think it was the future?”
Don’t forget.
I wouldn’t. But I also wouldn’t live in fear of the dwindling sands of the hourglass, and I silently promised that I would make each moment of our time together count.
“The future is hard to predict, because it is changed every moment by our decisions, but in this case, yes, I do.” I smiled at him again. For the first time I saw a future where I was not alone, where I was loved and happy, and I was ready for it.
About the Author
Robyn Bachar was born and raised in Berwyn, Illinois, and loves all things related to Chicago, from the Cubs to the pizza. It seemed only natural to combine it with her love of fantasy, and tell stories of witches and vampires in the Chicagoland area. As a gamer, Robyn has spent many hours rolling dice, playing rock-paper-scissors, and slaying creatures in mmorpgs. Currently she lives with her husband, also a gamer and a writer, and their cat.
You can learn more about her at www.robynbachar.com. Robyn can also be found on Twitter at www.twitter.com/RobynBachar.
Look for these titles by Robyn Bachar
Now Available:
Blood, Smoke and Mirrors
Even a bad witch deserves a second chance.
Blood, Smoke and Mirrors
© 2010 Robyn Bachar
Wrongly accused of using her magic to harm, the closest Catherine Baker comes to helping others is serving their coffee. Life as an outcast is nothing new, thanks to her father’s reputation, but the injustice stings. Especially since the man she loved turned her in.
Now the man has the gall to show up and suggest she become the next Titania? She’d rather wipe that charming grin off his face with a pot of hot java to the groin.
Alexander Duquesne has never faltered in his duties as a guardian—until now. The lingering guilt over Cat’s exile and the recent death of his best friend have shaken his dedication. With the murder of the old Titania, the faerie realm teeters on the brink of chaos. His new orders: keep Cat alive at all costs.
Hunted by a powerful stranger intent on drawing her into an evil web, Cat reluctantly accepts Lex’s protection and the resurrected desire that comes along with it. Lex faces the fight of his life to keep her safe…and win her back. If they both survive.
Warning: This book contains one tough and snarky witch, one gorgeous guardian, explicit blood drinking, magician sex, gratuitous violence against vampires and troublemaking Shakespearean faeries.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Blood, Smoke and Mirrors:
For the entertainment portion of our evening Lex bravely—or perhaps foolishly—decided to teach the faeries how to play Texas hold ’em poker. The only cards I own are Tarot cards, but he’d brought a deck of playing cards with him in his gym bag, and we used pretzels and chocolates as poker chips. The man displayed the patience of a saint as he tutored my cousins in the basics of the game—I’d learned it when we’d dated, though we’d bet clothing instead of snacks.
Tybalt was enthralled, but Portia was slow to warm to the idea until she figured out how to cheat by magically marking the cards. Poker ended soon after that, and we turned to the Game Show Network for entertainment. Few things are quite as entertaining as watching millennia-old frost faeries shout “No deal, Howie!” at your television screen.
It was a welcome break, and I could almost imagine this was a normal night of fun with my cousins. The addition of Lex didn’t hurt, but it added to the strangeness. He was acting like the Lex I remembered—funny, caring, charming. I wanted to stay angry with him, but having him stand steadfast by my side today made that difficult. He was there when I needed him, which felt weird after what had occurred between us in the past.
A little after midnight I kicked the faeries out and sent them home so Lex and I could get a good night’s sleep before our big day tomorrow. Not that I predicted being able to sleep with the cold dread that’d settled into my stomach, but I was willing to give it a try. I gathered up the empty drinking glasses and the bag of chips we’d devoured, and brought them into the kitchen. When I returned to the living room for the second round of mess, I found the lights had been switched off. Barely visible, Lex stood at the window, staring into the night as he held the curtains aside.
“You need to see this.”
“What is it?”
“Might want to put your shields up in case they try to take a shot at you,” he advised as I crossed the room. With a deep breath I put my shields in place, feeling the energy snap around me and then continue its new odd habit of stretching to include Lex.
“How are you doing that?” I looked up at him, confused.
“Doin’ what?”
“You keep getting through my shields.”
“Huh. Probably ’cause your subconscious knows I’m not going to harm you, so there’s no need to keep me out. Those vamps outside,
on the other hand, they’re probably not here to play cards.” Lex pointed into the darkness, and I looked out the window.
“I don’t see anything.” Squinting, I pushed my glasses up on my nose and strained to see what he indicated. My eyes slowly adjusted to the rainy night. The streetlights had been doused, and this time it wasn’t my fault.
“There.” Stepping close to me, he gestured again. “Two in gangways across the street, one behind that oak tree.” Following Lex’s lead, I managed to spot three figures hiding in the shadows, and they were definitely not my neighbors.
“What are they doing?” I asked, my voice dropping to a tense whisper.
“Waitin’. They can’t get in, so they’re waitin’ for us to come out. Sooner or later they’ll get impatient and figure out a way to force their way in. In fact, I’m surprised they haven’t tried to set your building on fire and smoke us out.”
“They can’t, I have a ward against that too. Fire here can’t grow any bigger than a stove burner.”
“Damn, you are good. Still, with those vultures outside it’s not safe here anymore, Cat. You’ll have to stay somewhere else from now on.” With his point made, he let the curtains fall back into place, plunging the room into darkness, with only the light from the kitchen to see by.
“You’re right,” I reluctantly agreed.
“You could come stay with me.”
“With you?” Surprised by the suggestion, I turned to look up at him. We were standing so close I could feel the heat of his body and the light brush of his breath against my face. Nervous, I took a deep breath and unintentionally inhaled the familiar, unique scent of him. My heartbeat drowned out the steady patter of rain against the windows. With an amazing display of willpower I resisted the urge to bolt, knowing I’d only trip over something (like the cats that were still standing guard over Lex) and break my neck. Instead I took a slow step backward. “Why, you think it’d be easier to babysit me on your own turf?”
“I’m not babysitting you. Really, I’m protecting them from you,” he teased. Grinning, he reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair that’d escaped from my braid back into place behind my ear.
“Thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” I joked, a blush heating my face.
“I try. But seriously, Cat, I’ll be here as long as you need me.” Lex looked down at me, seeming sincere, and I shook my head at him.
“Don’t, Lex. You’re only here on orders. You’ll be gone and on to the next as soon as this assignment is over.”
“What if I don’t want that?”
“What if I do? I’m all for the life-saving thing, but I don’t want you in my life again.”
“Are you sure of that?”
Scowling, I took a steadying breath and prepared to launch into an explanation of the myriad reasons why I wasn’t about to go through another round of heartbreak with him, but before I could speak he leaned down and brushed a kiss across my lips.
A warm tingling suffused my body as soon as our lips met, the sort of electric reaction I usually associate with casting magic, but much, much better. He was hesitant at first, probably afraid I’d slap him or zot him with a spell, but when I didn’t object he slowly began to deepen the kiss. My knees went weak as my good sense vanished, and I slipped my arms around him to steady myself. Lex held me close as he continued to kiss me, and I leaned into him. I’d forgotten how well we fit together. He sighed, as though my lips were delicious and he savored them.
“This is a bad idea,” I murmured.
“No, this is a good idea.” Lex nudged me back toward the couch, and I sat down in a less-than-graceful flop. Next he joined me and drew me into his arms.
“Oh yeah? How?” My hormones were obviously happy to see him, but I still had a little bit of brainpower left, enough to be skeptical of the situation.
“Because letting you go was a bad idea. I don’t want to make that mistake again.” His voice was low and strained, and I wished it wasn’t so dark so I could see his expression. I sighed, a mix of old pain and new uncertainty, but he kissed me again and I stopped arguing.
I relaxed into the embrace, returning the kiss passionately. I felt better instantly—safe, warm, desired. Lex stroked my braided hair and let his hand rest at the small of my back. I ran my own hands up and down his back, debating whether or not it would be a good idea to tug his shirt off, but then I felt him unhooking my bra. My pulse jumped, and my magic decided to take that opportunity to wreak havoc on a pair of unsuspecting table lamps. With an electric sizzle followed by two sharp pops the light bulbs flashed and exploded. Startled, we jumped apart, the mood broken. We stared at each other, and I felt a guilty blush heat my face.
“Cat—” he started, and I held a hand up to stop him before he could say anything further.
“I don’t want to hear it. I’m going to get some new bulbs, and we’re going to pretend that never happened.”
Life is cheap. So is death.
Maiden Lane
© 2011 Lynne Connolly
Richard and Rose, Book 7
With Rose expecting again, it should be a joyous time for her and Richard. Yet old enemies and new come out of the woodwork, seemingly intent on using whatever means possible to destroy their happiness. Not only is the legitimacy of their marriage called into question, a young man steps forward claiming to be a by-blow of Richard’s dark, wild past.
Closer to defeat than he has ever been, Richard musters all his friends and allies to defend against this attack on his own ground. However, no amount of incandescent lovemaking and tender care seems to keep Rose out of harm’s way.
Then a mutilated body turns up on their doorstep—and all fingers point at Richard. Rose has no choice but to emerge from his near-smothering concern to do what she must to save the love of her life. Even if she must appear to work against him.
As she lays her heart on the line, Richard fights to keep the violence that marks his past from claiming her life. For if he loses Rose, with her will go his humanity.
Warning: Rose gets her mad on, and Richard gets turned on. Contains married love, married sex and married fooling about. And pink coats with lace ruffles. And swords. And wicked goings-on.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Maiden Lane:
Later that day our carriage drew up outside a small church in the City—one of the number designed by Gibbs after the Great Fire. I’d heard rumours about Gibbs and the churches, that he was involved in nefarious activities, superstitious nonsense that fuelled the mob. Today the church contained a vicar, Richard, myself, Gervase, Ian, my brother James, his wife Martha and my sister Ruth, together with Richard’s parents. So that was why Ian hadn’t come for breakfast. I grinned at him as I walked up the aisle, my hand resting on James’s arm.
Unlike the last time, I wore something comfortable but still pretty, in pink and green. Instead of a priceless parure of diamonds, I wore a set of pearls that Richard had bought me, and I had a wide brimmed bergère hat on my head, instead of an elaborate hair ornament of butterflies and flowers. Last time I wore blue and silver, and I entered Exeter Cathedral with most of polite society watching us do the deed. Richard had slept with half of them—the female half—and he’d wanted our highly public wedding to serve as a statement of intent. They’d have to find another stallion. I hadn’t realised he meant that at the time, but it hadn’t taken me long to understand.
This time it was almost the wedding I’d wanted. Just people I cared about, although I missed my sister Lizzie. Ruth scowled at me. I was tempted to scowl back just to show her how unlovely the expression looked.
I felt almost dreamlike, a weird sensation of repeating my actions but not quite—I wasn’t sure I liked it. But when I saw Richard’s encouraging smile, everything returned to its proper place and I walked up the aisle to him considerably faster than I had the first time.
And this time I listened to the words. Before, my trepidation and sheer terror had removed much of the experience from my mind, but
now I knew what awaited me, and I could say the words in the full knowledge of the happiness that awaited me. Hopefully nobody waited outside the church with a pair of pistols, ready to remove us from the picture. That had been on the instigation of Julia and Steven Drury, and they had since relented, or decided to take another route to personal power.
When Richard said his vows, he looked at me and only me. Anyone watching would see what I meant to him. I swallowed back my tears, not wanting to mar the occasion with inappropriate emotions, but I knew I’d weep later from pure joy. A tear must have escaped because he lifted his hand and gently brushed my cheek. I saw the liquid on his forefinger before he brought it to his lips and kissed it away.
I had taken my ring off on the journey to the church and transferred my ruby betrothal ring to my right hand. Now he put the wedding ring back. I caught a glimpse of the engraved message inside, known only to Richard and me, and then I gave him my right hand, to remove the ruby and replace it where it belonged. I slid his ring on his left hand after I made my promises. Not all men wore wedding rings, but Richard had elected to do so.
After our previous wedding, Richard had led me to the vestry, where he took me in his arms and kissed me. His reticence at that time would have made him uncomfortable to show such emotion in public, even in such close company as we were now, but today he showed no such disinclination. His kiss was no polite kiss of greeting, but he crushed me close and took my mouth with all the abandon he showed in the bedroom. Except, of course, his hands remained sedately around my waist. I felt his heat and I wanted him.
But for James clearing his throat I might have been the one to take matters further. As it was I found that I’d put my hands around his waist, under his coat, ready to slide them under his waistcoat at the back and drag his shirt clear of his breeches. My lamentable desire to seek skin had led me astray more than once. But only one man’s skin, only one man’s touch, could ever satisfy that need.