I took a Crime Scene Investigation course in college. (I took a lot of eclectic courses in college, including classes on tennis, horror films, Baroque art, and the “philosophies of animals.” It’s part of my nature to be skipping from subject to subject depending on what interests me and how many credits I needed that semester.) I would have to say that the idea of making Grace a crime scene technician comes straight from that class. I think it would be a fascinating job, but also incredibly difficult to come face-to-face with the worst humanity has to offer every day. Like Grace, I’m not sure I could handle it.
On the other hand, I have no background at all with pirating, yet I feel like I’d be awesome at it. In my head, it’s all Pirates of the Caribbean and Errol Flynn I did very little research into that profession other than Netflixing DVDs, because --let’s be honest-- I doubt Jamie knows a lot about his job, either. He’s not Blackbeard. He’s just a guy who liked to steal gold and scandalize all the nice girls in town. Both of us are far more interested in the romance of legend than the scurvy-filled reality of Colonial seafaring. If anyone asked him what it was really like, he’d just lie about it anyway. Jamie is a guy who enjoys a good tale better than dull “reality.” It’s one of the things I like best about the scoundrel.
Jamie and Grace’s relationship took very little effort to write. They understood each other, right from the beginning. Nearly every scene of this book has the two of them interacting, because they seemed to always want to be together. The plot of this book took far longer to figure out. (Trust me, it isn’t easy to draft love scenes where one partner isn’t corporeal.) In the end, it came together as I envisioned it, but it took some work to get there. …Well, I had to work at it. Jamie and Grace were honestly more interested in bickering than in figuring out the logistics of time travel. So feel free to blame any sketchy quantum mechanics on them.
If you have any questions about ghost tours, Luminal, or the philosophy of chimpanzees, drop me a line me at [email protected]. We love to hear from you!
Sneak Peek!
Here is a sneak peek of another Cassandra Gannon book Once Upon a Caveman!
Prologue
Her hair is a beautiful, amazing mass of midnight black.
Rhawn lifts his hand to touch the fire lit curls, amazed that she allows it. Amazed at how soft it feels. The incredible, miraculous stands fall around both them, as she leans forward. No one has a hair color like hers. It’s like something from a story of the gods. She is so perfect that he cannot breathe. All his life he has dreamed of her, in bits and pieces, but this time it’s like she’s really in his arms.
Like she’s real.
She isn’t, of course.
This woman doesn’t actually exist. She can’t. No woman would ever be with him. Especially not a woman like this. But inside this dream, he can pretend she’s actually in his arms, welcoming him. She’s straddling his body as he reclines on the pelts, the warm perfection of her curves sliding against him. Rhawn has no clue what he’s done to lure her here, but --stupid as he is-- he’s not stupid enough to question it.
Once a cycle he has a dream of her, always on this day. It is the highlight of his life. And the dream this cycle is better than he’d ever imagined.
Her eyes are brilliant green, filled with mischief. His lungs cannot get enough air when she looks at him and smiles. No one ever looks at him like that.
Why is she never repulsed?
His hands are calloused on her skin. They’re too big and too rough to touch someone so delicate, but he can’t gentle his hold. Rhawn is the largest man in the Clan. Tempering his strength is difficult and this woman is driving him past all control. She always has. The shine of her hair and the light of her smile. This is the clearest he’s ever seen her and he is overwhelmed with emotions. The woman means everything to him.
Imaginary or not, she is his mate.
He’s trying to remove the foreign clothing that his mind has created for her. Obviously, they’re a sign of his masochistic leanings, because he has never has idea how to get her out of the damn things. This covering is made of some waterfall of scarlet fabric that’s so much finer than anything the Clan could create. The material is nearly as soft as her skin and reveals more than it covers. It’s making him crazy.
She’s making him crazy.
“You’re always in a hurry when we get this far.” She says with a laugh. “Luckily I always am, too.”
Rhawn shifts himself into a sitting position. His fingers catch hold of her left hand, shackling it behind her back. Her wrist is small enough that he could break it between his fingers, but she doesn’t seem to be afraid. She has never been. Instead she gives a teasing smile as he tugs her onto his lap, enjoying his growl of frustration.
She truly is sent by the gods to torment him.
Whatever the flimsy red garment is made of, the thin straps rip easily enough under his free hand. He tears it from her body, his breath shuddering out at the sight of her naked flesh. All she’s wearing now is some nearly transparent scrap covering the junction of her thighs. The acres of pale skin contrast with the dark color of her hair and it pushes his arousal to new heights.
Finally.
Rhawn’s head dips to run his tongue over the dusky pink tips of her perfect breast. Finally, he can touch all of her. It’s been so long since he could have her in his arms.
“Oh God… you’re soooooo good at this, caveman.”
He appreciates the praise. Keeping her still, he switches to her other breast and repeats the whole process with new techniques. He’s always been a man who strives for perfection in his work. He’ll do something once and then do it even better the next time and the next, until he’s satisfied it’s right. And it’s never fully right. There are always new variables to test. When Rhawn gets an idea, he wants to experiment.
The Clan views his repetition of the same tasks as evidence of his stupidity. To them, he is nothing but a big, dumb oaf who never learns from mistakes.
The woman doesn’t seem to agree.
Her head goes back with a moan as his teeth graze the underside of her breast, offering him more. Her fingers curl into his golden hair, holding his head in place. She doesn’t need to worry. He isn’t trying to escape. He wants to taste all of her. Rhawn tugs her closer, his hand still holding her wrist, determined to memorize every inch of her, so he can relive this moment in the long cycle ahead. Her nipples tighten into hard points, even as the rest of her softens.
He gives a low growl of desire and she grins at him.
“You really are a caveman, aren’t ya?”
Rhawn understands her strange language. He’s dreamed in the tongue since he was a boy. He has no idea what all her words mean exactly, but he knows that when she calls him “caveman” she is teasing him. No one else ever dares such a thing. Just her. It always melts his heart. His mouth curves and he nips her shoulder in small punishment.
She laughs again. “Alright. Alright. Hey, what is the politically correct term for your living arrangements, anyway?” She arches a playful brow and glances around. Her cheeks are rosy from passion and the frigid air. “How about, ‘modernity challenged’? For real, you never heard of houses with doors and windows and maybe central heat?”
No, he hasn’t.
He’s never even heard of a “house,” although he works hard to understand her language. The woman fascinates him. Baffles him. He tries to learn all he can, because he wants to know her. He wants her to know him. It’s a difficult task. Usually, the dreams are fragments. The scent of her hair. The feel of her touch. The sound of her voice.
One year, he was very sick from a boga bite when she arrived. He’d dreamed of her lying beside him, humming quiet songs and begging him not to leave her all alone in the world. He fought through the poison, because she asked him to. Because he could not stand to disappoint her.
Because, even if she is just an image in his head, she is the only thing he has ever loved.
There
is not even a word for “love” in the Clan’s tongue, but Rhawn knows the feeling straight down to his soul.
Her lips suddenly find his and it startles him. Rhawn’s whole body jerks at the unknown feel of her mouth against him. His head pulls back in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Kissing you. I keep wanting to do that, but we never seem to have time.”
“Kiss-sing?
Her head tilts. “You don’t know how to kiss?”
“No.” But he suddenly wants it. Rhawn’s biggest weakness has always been his curiosity. Even when he knows it will lead to his downfall, he questions and seeks. He wants to experience everything for himself. “Show me.”
She obediently leans forward with a smile. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt a bit.”
Her mouth is close to his, their breath mingling. Rhawn’s mind goes blank with helpless lust. He doesn’t understand what this “kissing” is meant to do, but he wants more of it. Her lips brush against his again. Soft. Warm. Moist.
Oh gods…
The “kiss” rushes through his system like an inferno and he cannot think.
He doesn’t want to close his eyes. It’s so rare that someone holds his gaze without recoiling and he doesn’t want to look away from her, but he can’t help it. His lashes flutter down and he surrenders to the unknown. She sucks gently on his lower lip, seeking entrance and he’s hypnotized. This cannot have anything to do with mating. The necessary parts are not involved.
Except they are.
The jolt of the “kiss” slams into his blood and Rhawn has to bite back a hiss. Something untamed rises within him. A wild desperation. She is everything he’s ever searched for. Rhawn has always questioned when he should obey. Looking for something not even he can fully explain. This moment makes the frustration and derision and setbacks he’s faced completely worth the struggle. Her mouth opens against his and he knows he’s discovered magic.
She tastes like all the pure, clean things in the world. Her tongue touches his and his skull nearly blows apart with need. Rhawn still can’t breathe for wanting her. Acting on instinct, he massages her tongue with his own and she gives a moan. He wants more. He will never get enough. She is the only good part of him.
“You catch on fast.” She teases, coming up for air. “You like kissing, huh?”
“Again.” Rhawn gets out and drags her mouth back to his.
The “kiss” turns hotter. More insistent. Rhawn knows that none of this is real and he doesn’t care. He can’t lose her.
His hand comes up to caress her breast and her nipple beads tight, enjoying his touch. She smiles and his heart turns over in his chest. No one smiles at him. No one but her.
“I missed you.” She says. “I never know when you’re going to show up and I start to think you’re gone for good. Then you’re finally here again and I’m so happy you’re back.”
“You always appear on the same day.” He is surprised she hasn’t noticed that. The woman is usually so bright and observant he worries he that will bore her with his stupidity.
“Nope, sometimes I dream of you in September, sometimes in February, and sometimes in May.”
Rhawn has no idea what she was talking about. “On Fangard, I always dream of you.” He insists. The holy day always ushers her into his mind. It is why he continues to believe in the gods, even when he questions everything else. This woman’s presence is proof of their divinity.
“I have no fucking clue what Fangard means.” She says as if he’s the one talking in riddles. “But, whatever.”
Then, she’s “kissing” him again and he forgets everything except the feel of her. She’ll be gone any second. Given his luck, it’s inevitable. He might believe in them, but the gods have never listened to his prayers before, so there’s no reason to think they’ll begin now. While he has this small window of opportunity, he has to make the most of it.
Determined now, Rhawn flips her around, so he can pin her beneath him. Black curls cascade over the think pelts. They fall against his hands, as he plants his palms on either side of her head. He wants to drown in that perfect hair. It is so beautiful. She is so beautiful. His instincts are screaming at him. To take her, now. Hard and fast. His hands catch hold of her wrists, pinning them above her head.
The men of the Clan have never cared for wooing women. They just Choose the one they want and she submits. Why should it be different now that he’s found a female of his own? And she is his. He knows that. Desperate thoughts fill his head. He will somehow convince her to stay with him and fight any other man who seeks to steal her away. Except, when he traps her delicate body, her gaze flies to his in surprise.
…And he hesitates.
The beginnings of caution stir in her eyes. For the first time, she’s paying attention to the differences in their sizes. She has a strong spirit. He’s always known that and he admires it. Nothing scares her. The woman’s sudden awareness of her vulnerability doesn’t make Rhawn feel powerful. It makes him feel… wrong.
Like he is on the edge of betrayal. Like he should stop.
But, why is she upset in the first place? She is not unwilling. Far from it.
His mind races for some explanation, trying to reason it out. She is his mate. He is big, but he will use his strength to defend her, not hurt her. Doesn’t she see that? Injuring this girl is the last thing he wants.
“Vando.” He says quietly.
The woman doesn’t understand. She tugs against his hands, wanting her wrists freed. Rhawn’s grip tightens for a beat, trying to figure out how to proceed. She is not going to follow the rules of mating and meekly acquiesce to his demands. It is astonishing. As far as he knows, nothing like this has ever happened before. He flounders for an explanation. What is he supposed to do?
“Stop.” She says, twisting her hands to get free. “Please.”
Rhawn blinks. …And releases her wrists. He knows her worries are groundless. He should keep going and show her that their mating is nothing to fear. It’s the logical solution. Certainly, no other man in the Clan would be stupid enough to let this woman escape.
So, why is he easing back from her, making soft sounds to calm her? Why is he petting her hair and coaxing her to relax again? Why is he stopping just because she asks him to? He really is an idiot. Five seconds more and he can have everything he wants.
…No, not everything he wants. He wants so much more than just surrender.
He wants her to want him back.
Imaginary or not, she is what Rhawn treasures most. If he frightens her, she will never smile at him again. He won’t risk such a thing happening, no matter how hard desperation is beating at him. Her acceptance is what he values. It doesn’t matter that her fears are perplexing, they are real to her. Therefore, he has to soothe them. It is his duty as her mate.
So, Rhawn does what no man in the Clan has ever done with his female: He relinquishes control. He is still confused by her resistance to their mating, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is regaining her trust.
“I’m sorry.” He soothes, adjusting the pelts around her so she feels more secure. “I went too fast.” After dreaming of this girl for so many nights, Rhawn doesn’t think it seems “fast” at all, but her opinion is all that matters. “Are you alright?”
She swallows, gazing up at him. “Yes, I’m fine. Sorry. I just got a little scared. I know it’s a dream and that cavemen probably have way different social mores and all. I know that you would never hurt me. You were just suddenly so… intense.”
He stifles a wince. “You do not ever need to fear me. I will do nothing you do not wish. You have my word.”
The wariness fades, as she realizes that he will not force compliance. She begins to look embarrassed. “I don’t do this a lot. I mean, except with you in these dreams, but most of them are less… real. Kinda fuzzier and more like bits and pieces.”
“Yes.” She’s right. The dream this cycle seems very different somehow.
“So, can we
just start again and go a little slower?”
He nods, dizzy with relief, because she doesn’t wish to stop all together. He tries to touch her as she likes --carefully and with patience-- but he’s still too desperate for much finesse. Despite his best intentions, Rhawn’s hands are still rough with need. Goddamn it, why does he have to be so big?
She gives a breathless laugh that sounds like music, not concerned about his lack of tenderness. Her confidence is back. Her faith in him restored. It is a miracle. “In a hurry, huh, caveman?”
“Rhawn.” Telling her his name suddenly seems more urgent than even his raging need for her. He’s afraid of marking her skin, just from touching her. She is so delicate. He is all but shuddering with his lust, but still he whispers: “I am Rhawn.” He’s always wanted her to know him.
“Hi, Rhawn.” She says gravely, as if she isn’t pinned under his naked body.
Again.
Damn it, how has that happened again? He promised her he would go slowly. No wonder she is terrified of him, if he cannot even do as she asks. Perhaps his failure is to be expected. He tries live a life of worth, but the gods send dreams to plague his mind and have marked his eyes with their disfavor. His fate is dark. And now he cannot even be considerate of the mate that he isn’t supposed to have. He should stop this and let her go.
Ashamed, he tries to look away.
She moves her head to follow his, not letting him break eye-contact. He doesn’t like to meet her gaze and have her see his deformity, but she never seems disgusted by it. “Nice to finally meet you.” She lifts her palm to rests it against his cheek, in case he tries to drop his eyes, again. “I’m Lucy.”
Rhawn’s mouth curves at one corner, giving up any notion of letting her go. It was a hopeless thought. He cannot find the strength. Without her, he would be completely alone. “Nice to meet you, Lou-ceee.” He echoes, softly.
She grins and leans up to “kiss” him, again.
The woman is perfect.
Rhawn runs his hand down the curve of her hip, nudging her legs apart and pressing closer. It’s not enough. He wants to slam inside of her and lose himself in her heat. Holding back is so damn hard, but his restraint is worth the effort. She doesn’t try to pull away from him. Instead, she arches against his body, her breasts pillowed between them. Her thighs willingly part, her knees tighten on his hips and Rhawn groans.
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