As the last of my kind, I’ve long lived in the shadows. But, with the death of my father, I have a dying wish to fulfill, and I can no longer keep quiet. I can no longer stand back and watch as the Santa Claus Organization takes everything from us. So, I launch an attack that was doomed from the start. I am but one krampus up against the cruelest organization in the world. I knew it was a long shot. I knew I would likely die.
Then something surprising happens. The most recent Santa Claus comes into my life, and I don’t know what to make of him. He wasn’t what I was expecting. He’s supposed to be a puppet. A heartless, despicable Santa. But he’s not. He’s … a good person?
Do I have things wrong? Have I had them wrong all along? Or am I falling for the biggest con in the world?
Either way, change is coming for North Pole, and this is sure to be the deadliest Christmas on record and a time that no one will ever forget.
“Son …” Father’s voice is weak as he attempts to wave me over to him. However, his hand can barely lift from his bed, and his fingers only briefly twitch. He’s been sleeping most of the day, and now that he’s awake, I realize how much worse he’s doing than yesterday. There hasn’t been a doubt about this fact in months, but looking at him now, it’s undeniable.
My father is dying.
“Father!” I cry, dropping the half full pitcher of water into the sink then rushing over to him.
“I’m sorry, son. But I cannot …” He coughs, and I wrap my arm around his back, lifting him to sit up and wait until the rattling cough ends.
“Just breathe, Father. Just keep breathing,” I beg, my voice wavering under the intense emotion choking me.
I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want him to die. But my father’s once vibrant red skin is now a dull pink. His once strong, virile horns are now wilted and soft to the touch. The man who was so imposing when I was a child is now stuck in a body that has become only lifeless skin and bones. Even his tail barely twitches anymore.
“I’m sorry, but this is the end for me,” he finally gets the words out.
“No!” I immediately deny, refusing to let him leave me. He can get better. There has to be a way. There has to be a cure.
“Yes,” he counters. “But you must continue to fight.”
I scoff but bite my tongue on telling him that fighting is futile. Our once strong resistance is now just me. Most of our people died, and those who weren’t killed left without so much as a goodbye. They have given up, and I can’t say I blame them. As much as I loathe the SCO—Santa Claus Organization—I understand how tiring keeping up this fight is. After years of being made redundant, the naughty lists my people compiled, being ignored and thrown away, we lost our means of working and usefulness, which means we have no money on which to survive. We became pariahs in the Santa community and had to run just to survive their genocide of us. The surrounding woods around North Pole are our savior.
We hoped hiding would have been enough for them. We hoped the SCO would just leave us alone. They didn’t. Instead, they sent out their best assassins to kill us all off.
Just six months ago, my father was shot by one of their assassins. I managed to get him away to our hidden cabin, attempting to nurse him back to health, but it has been a futile endeavor. He never recovered from the wound. Instead, it became infected.
It has taken six months to overwhelm his body. His injuries have eaten away at him, killing him from the inside. Leaving this cabin to attempt to get help has been impossible, given what awaits us out in the forest to kill us both. I have been sentenced to stay in this small cabin and watch my father slowly die.
“Promise me you’ll fight,” he begs, his gaze pleading with mine.
How can I deny him his dying wish?
A big part of me wants to do what so many others did—run away and leave this burden that he’s placed on me behind. There is no way out of our predicament. The SCO are too big, too powerful, too impossible to defeat. And there is only me to take up this fight.
It’s a suicide mission. There is no hope that I can take down the SCO on my own. Maybe even having a full army behind me won’t be enough.
I glance over at the board we made, the rough plans pinned to it, ones we made while Father rested. Most of it is filled with wild ideas that I know will never work. Many things laid out would never be possible. Nevertheless, it gave Father hope and something more to live for, so I wrote down his ideas and mapped out plans based on old building blueprints that we managed to scrounge up. Many of these might not even be accurate any longer. Still, each day we planned was another day Father kept breathing.
Now he wants me to go through with it. He’s willing to sacrifice his only son to this war.
I stare over at a small mirror propped up on the other side of the room. It’s more a broken shard at this point. Reflected in it is my father, his weakened state undeniable. And then there is me. I’m not sure how old I am, since age has never been a milestone we have celebrated. I’m much smaller than Father.
Before he was shot, he used to tell me that I was just a youngling with much still to learn. I used to wish I could be fully grown like him. I yearned to be older. Now he insists I’m of an age where going to war is acceptable. Shamefully, I find myself wishing I’m too young for something so big and scary. I don’t feel ready for this.
“Please, Claw, you are the last remaining krampus. This is your destiny.”
I’m not sure why I’m surprised by his demand. Of course my own dreams of being able to live a life away from certain death and war is absurd. To even think I could live years into a mature age is asking for too much. And any imagination about having a family or partner is only a silly fantasy.
Clearly, it’s my destiny to die this way. But maybe I can take down some of the SCO with me. Maybe I can cause them just a small amount of the pain that they have brought onto me.
That would only be fair, right?
My father has always said that our duty is always to find the naughty children of the world and make sure they aren’t rewarded for their bad behavior. Is there anyone naughtier than the SCO?
No, I don’t think there is.
“I promise, Father. I will take down the SCO, and I will kill Santa Claus.” Or die trying.
His smile is weak, yet I see the relief buried in his gaze.
“I’m so proud of you, my son. You have been my light throughout so much darkness.”
“Father …” I choke out, my throat closing up under the onslaught of emotions I cannot handle.
Losing Mom when I was just a small child was unbearable. Knowing she left us was almost worse than if she had died. Father always stuck by me, though. He never abandoned me.
Until now.
“I love you, Claw,” he says, his voice barely a whisper as his eyes close and his body falls limply against me.
“No! Father? Father!” I cry, shaking him much too hard, but he doesn’t stir. He doesn’t open his eyes.
He’s gone.
I blink my tears away and focus on the pinboard across from him.
Anger ignites inside me, a never-ending burning flame that I know will only be snuffed out with my dying breath.
Jessica lives in Adelaide, South Australia. When she is not writing, you can find her reading, napping or watching excessive amounts of TV. Connect with her on Facebook and Goodreads.
Title: Traitors & Tyrants Author: Stephanie Dunham Genre: Young Adult Fantasy
heir mother is a traitor. Their father is a tyrant. They know their enemies.
Hector is inheriting a kingdom in turmoil, one that is ready to retaliate after the many years of tyranny they have endured under a now-unstable king. Amidst a mounting coup, Hector is plagued by demons bent on hunting and killing him. Protecting himself will cost him the kingdom and countless lives. But Hector will do anything to protect his people – even if it means giving up his soul.
Kierra has lived her entire life inside a prison, watching her mother tend to everything but her. Hatred and rage fuel her magic, killing everything in her path. After years of neglect, she is ready for bloody, death-filled vengeance. But Kierra has a problem: she is being hunted. When demons infiltrate her home, she reluctantly follows her mother’s plan to free the imprisoned demon overlord, but freeing him will have dire consequences Kierra isn’t prepared for.
Stephanie has been writing for the better part of 10 years now and reading for many more. Her favorite genres are fantasy and mystery/thrillers. When she isn’t reading or writing, she enjoys a good laugh while watching The Office or chilling with her family.
Title: The Pact Author: Max Monroe Genre: Romantic Comedy
Sexy bachelor Flynn Winslow is such a man of mystery, not even his four siblings know the details of his life. He’s quiet, patient, and kind, and when the time comes for a cool-headed perspective, he’s always the man for the job.
But over a decade ago, a fortune teller predicted that one day Flynn would make a pact with a beautiful stranger and his life would take a drastic turn…
This Winslow Brother better buckle up—he has no idea what’s coming.
“Oh my gosh! I’m sorry!” A female voice grabs my attention, and I glance toward the entrance doors of the Wynn to find a blur of wild curls running like a banshee. She bumps into several people trying to get outside, and more apologies blurt from her lips as she almost takes out an older gentleman wearing a cowboy hat.
The man is none too pleased, but his annoyance doesn’t stop her. Out onto the pavement of the driveway, she stumbles a bit on her sky-high heels as she continues her fast-track path to who knows where.
She comes to a halting stop in the center of the entrance driveway, in the middle of cars and only a few feet from my bike, and looks around maniacally with her big green eyes.
What is she doing?
Her breaths come out in harsh pants, and she chaotically brushes pieces of her wild mane of curls out of her face.
“You okay?” I find myself asking, and she snaps her eyes toward mine.
She stares at me like I just asked her to solve an advanced calculus problem, and I lift the visor up on my helmet to repeat my question. “You okay?”
She shakes her head and digs her teeth into the meat of her full, red-painted lips. But just as she opens her mouth to respond, a man in a well-fitted suit comes bursting out of the entrance doors, yelling, “Daisy!”
The beautiful but possibly insane woman shuts her eyes on a heavy sigh, and by the sag in her shoulders and frown on her lips, I have a feeling she’s the Daisy he’s calling for.
“Daisy! Honey! Wait up!”
“Fuck,” she mutters, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out Crazy Daisy wants nothing to do with this guy.
Maybe he’s the reason for her abrupt departure and reckless sprint out of the casino?
This guy could be her boyfriend. Fiancé. Husband. I don’t fucking know what. But whoever he is, she wants distance. That much is apparent.
And even though I’m supposed to meet my brothers at one of the Wynn’s bars in about ten minutes, the urge to help her is too strong to ignore.
It’s a rare thing for a guy like me, to be honest. I don’t meddle in other people’s shit, but the panicked look on her face makes me want to give her the escape she needs.
But before I know it, before I can even offer the help, she takes it for herself. One leg over the seat of my bike and her arms around my waist, she leans into my back harshly and declares her intentions without pause. “I need a ride.”
A duo of romance authors team up under the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling pseudonym Max Monroe to bring you sexy, laugh-out-loud reads.
Max Monroe is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of more than ten contemporary romance titles. Favorite writing partners and long time friends, Max and Monroe strive to live and write all the fun, sexy swoon so often missing from their Facebook newsfeed. Sarcastic by nature, their two writing souls feel like they’ve found their other half. This is their most favorite adventure thus far.
A WWII love at first sight romance with dual timelines, codebreaking war heroines, and prisoners of war.
People always asked Faye why Will called her Moxie.
It started with a dare at a dance in 1942 that ended in a kiss. Will loved that story.
But there’s more to the story than that. Much more . . .
Gretchen knows this story well. Her grandfather told it over and over while he was alive. But when Gretchen goes home to Jersey to be by her grandmother’s side one last time, Grandma Faye tells a different version of the story.
She knew the moment she saw him, they were meant to be together. Her girlfriends may have dared her to kiss him, but she would have anyway. Then the war got in the way. Faye thought she’d never see Will again. Until that night he took her breath away.
Will may have given Faye the name, but he’s the one with all the moxie.
Will had to get a hold of himself, but he couldn’t move. If he couldn’t stop staring, he was going to scare her away, and that was the exact opposite of what he wanted to do. He reluctantly let go of her hand. He was determined to slow dance with this woman and inhale her fresh scent all night. The scent of flowers at the beach on a late summer night.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t worry about Rita. George’s sister always has a bee in her bonnet. Even more so now that she’s joined the WAVES.” He turned to a very tall man standing to his left. “This is George.” George shook each of their hands and Will couldn’t help noticing that the tall redhead might have fancied George a little from the way she blushed when it was her turn to shake hands. The feeling seemed mutual.
“And this is Teddy, Robert, and Charles.” He pointed to each of his chums in turn, and they all shook hands with the ladies.
Soldiers and women around them seemed to stop what they were doing and look in their direction. Ella Fitzgerald had stepped up to the group, but he’d been so enamored with Faye he almost hadn’t noticed.
“Glad you gentlemen could make it.” Ella’s voice was smooth and buttery.
More handshaking ensued as Will and his friends greeted Ella then introduced her to the ladies who gushed about what fans they were.
Will couldn’t help standing a few inches taller. Ella was positively radiant in her sparkling blue dress. She looked much more rested than when Will had seen her on the train.
“Miss Fitzgerald.” Teddy held up his Kodak 35. “Could we take a picture with you, please?”
“Of course.” Ella stepped into a gap between Will and George. If he died tonight, Will Burke would die a happy man. First a beautiful stranger kisses him and sets his hair on fire, then Ella Fitzgerald stands next to him in a photograph. He was thankful Teddy suggested the idea. Nobody would believe him otherwise.
Teddy asked a woman standing nearby to take the photo for them. He urged Faye, Darla, and Liz to get in the picture too. They straightened their dresses then found a place in the group.
After the flash of the camera, Will turned to Ella. “Can we buy you a drink?” he offered, looking around for her band but not seeing them.
“Maybe after my set. Y’all have fun now,” she said with a wink. And just like that, she was gone again.
The band on stage struck up a fast number. Sounded like it could have been one of those Glenn Miller tunes, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t seen the Glenn Miller band listed on the poster at the door. He didn’t know. All he cared about was the song made him want to dance. Or maybe it was Faye that made him want to dance. He could jitterbug with the best of them.
He downed his drink then placed the glass on a nearby table. Holding his hand out to Faye, he said, “Shall we?”
Michelle Cornish is a recovering CPA with a passion for stories. Writing mostly romance and women’s fiction with strong female heroines, Michelle’s books often include nods to her former life as a CPA. When Michelle’s not writing, she’s hanging out with her two boys and husband in the beautiful Okanagan Valley, BC, Canada.
When Lexi Blair comes home to Little City from LA for Christmas, she gets the surprise of her life—the ex-fiancé she thought was dead is very much alive and wants her back!
It’s Christmas Eve and Lexi’s seen a ghost. Or . . . she thought he was a ghost until her mom admits to faking his death so Lexi would come home for Christmas.
After a humiliating run-in with her ex—which results in Lexi disowning her mother—she hides out at her best friend’s tree farm, babysitting a nameless puppy while her friend and hubby tend to a family emergency.
But farm life comes with a few perks Lexi isn’t expecting—mainly a hunky farmhand who’s helping Lexi run the place until her friends return.
While Lexi ran from Little City, John ran to it, and she quickly learns he’s healing from past hurts of his own.
Can Lexi and John stop running before it’s too late?
Who could possibly be here this early? How did they get past the gate? I know I locked it last night. Footsteps echo on the front porch as if the guy out there is moving around to peek in the other windows. Prince William whines as if I’m crushing him. I’m thankful for the distraction. I press my finger to my lips to tell him to be quiet, as if he knows what I mean.
“Lexi?” Okay, that definitely isn’t Dad’s voice. How do they know my name? And what kind of idiot waits until Christmas morning to get their Christmas tree?
“Lexi, it’s John.” My shoulders suddenly slump down as they release all the tension they’ve been holding. Right, of course. Briar mentioned John had his own key. There’s more shuffling on the porch as I stand. “John Johnson,” he says.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment and I hope the blast of cold air I get when I open the door is enough to keep them from turning red.
“Sorry, John. I . . . uh . . .” I have no idea what to say. Here I’m meeting Dax’s cousin for the first time, and I thought he was some sort of axe murderer. A very good-looking axe murderer, mind you. He’s older than I thought, and Dax wasn’t kidding, John could pass for Dax’s brother instead of his cousin. His close-cropped, dark brown hair is lightly sprinkled with grey, unlike Dax’s. He’s old enough I feel like I should not have been thinking of him as good looking, but handsome enough I’m thankful I wiped that drool off my cheek.
After slipping on my shoes and stepping outside, I put Prince William down so he can finish what he started in the house. He sniffs John’s feet then follows a winding scent trail leading him a few feet away from the front steps.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” John says, noticing Prince William’s pee puddle from last night. “I hope it’s not too early.”
I have no idea what time it is, but it seems a little less dark than it was when I was in the house. Must be near dawn.
“Just thought I should let you know it’s me heading to the barn and not some random stranger.” He gestures past the large greenhouse, but it’s still dark enough the greenhouse is really all I see since it’s lit from the inside. I make a mental note to explore the property with Prince William once it’s light enough. “In case you saw the truck lights,” he adds. “The horses like to be fed at the same time every day.” All right then. So, I guess I can expect an early wake-up call every day.
Then I pause as what he says sinks in. There are horses here. I wrack my brain. Briar never mentioned horses—I’m sure of it.
“Okay,” I say, feeling like the conversation has come to an end but not sure how to excuse myself. I’m such a dork. My t-shirt and sweats aren’t enough layers for this Christmas morning, and I fold my arms into my chest and rub my arms a little.
“I won’t keep you,” he says, extending his right hand and glancing at my sock feet. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ll be back later. There’s always at least one person who’s forgotten a hostess gift on their way to dinner and stops in hoping to grab a poinsettia.” He chuckles. “The horses will be wanting theirdinner by then too.”
“Nice to meet you too,” I say, shaking John’s hand. His hand is warmer and softer than I expected. He turns around and heads toward the greenhouse, stopping to scratch Prince William’s ears. He turns back at the last minute.
“Merry Christmas, by the way,” he says and waves as he gets into his cherry red Chev.
Michelle Cornish is a recovering CPA with a passion for stories. Writing mostly romance and women’s fiction with strong female heroines, Michelle’s books often include nods to her former life as a CPA. When Michelle’s not writing, she’s hanging out with her two boys and husband in the beautiful Okanagan Valley, BC, Canada.
When Miller Hobbs finds himself on a winter vacation in Colorado with the giant, exceedingly loud, Marian and Wilde families, he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’s not really a Marian or a Wilde despite having DNA ties to both.
So every morning before the rest of the family wakes up and fills Rockley Lodge with holiday merriment (and noise), he escapes to the quaint downtown of Aster Valley where he spies a man through the bakery window kneading dough and dancing to music only he can hear. Miller is entranced by the dancing baker, and when Darius looks up and catches Miller staring, the interest suddenly goes both ways. Can two strangers find love among the quaint chaos of an Aster Valley Christmas? Even if it includes the two most overwhelming and meddling families vying for the title of greatest matchmakers of all time?
Title: Glory Unbound Author: Julia Kent Genre: Women’s Fiction
IN THIS SECOND BOOK of the series, Glory Bishop has finally broken free of her mother’s oppressive grasp and is offered a new life by a seemingly altruistic Chicago socialite, but there may be more than good intentions at play. Against the advice of trusted friends and family, Glory chooses the protection of Malcom Porter, her adoring, much older, bad-boy-turned-minister fiancé.
Thrust into a gilded world of wealth, society and privilege, Glory struggles to overcome the guilt of loving her new life. The whirlwind of 1980s designer clothing, penthouse views, and first-class travel is a far cry from her former existence.
With this new reality, comes unexpected complications and temptations. As she struggles to remain true to herself and her fiancé, Glory wonders if she will ever truly feel at home in this new world. Follow Glory Bishop in her continuing search for freedom and independence, as she once again strives to be her own savior.
Deborah King has been a writer and storyteller her whole life. She published her first short story when she was seven years old. When she’s not writing, Deborah enjoys cartoons, cooking, photography, and Star Trek. Born and raised in Chicago, Deborah has managed to achieve all of her childhood dreams and still lives in the area with her husband and two youngest children. According to her daughter, she has “literally aced her life!”
Detective Darby Adler is about to hand in her badge.
After inadvertently taking the mantle of Warden of Knoxville, Darby has painted a huge target on her back. With bridges burned and the ABI on her tail, she’ll have to decide between staying a small-town detective or leaning into her new role.
“You know that’s a trap, right?” Thomas growled, his face condescending, but his mind was a whole other matter. Thomas’ thoughts were on my sister—on protecting her. And what was funny about it all was I doubted she knew.
“No shit.” Sloane sneered. “I hadn’t thought, what, with my brother’s penchant for deadly notes that could ever be a possibility. Whatever will I do without your ancient knowledge, Thomas?”
He raised a perturbed eyebrow, but internally he was trying very hard not to laugh.
“Well, if you wouldn’t go running into the fray at every available opportunity, then I wouldn’t have to say painfully obvious things, now, would I?” he shot back, rolling his eyes like a certified teenager.
I couldn’t help it. I snickered.
Sloane narrowed her eyes at me, her skeleton face gone for the moment. “Like you’ve got room to talk.”
It was true I had zero room to give her shit, but it was still funny. Hence why I stuck my tongue out at her. Her gaze fell back to the ground, the silly cardstock catching her focus. Mine followed, the mirth dying in my chest. I wanted to keep it—mainly to get it off the ground and away from prying eyes—but I wanted to burn it, too.
The rustle of a plastic bag startled me out of my destruction plans. J had somehow gotten from the other side of the group and over to me without me noticing, and in his hands was a pair of blue Nitrile gloves and an evidence bag. I swallowed hard, struggling not to lose it at the sheer awesomeness of my best friend.
“Thank you,” I croaked, taking the gloves and donning them by rote. How many times had J handed me a pair of those damn blue gloves? How many times had he been right here for me when I needed him?
And how many times had he been hurt because of this life—the one I dragged him into? J was human, fragile, and that fact was no more apparent now than it had been two days ago when he’d been standing right next to my father as he died. Losing Dad had been a blow, but so was the knowledge that it just as easily could have been J. It could have been him in the ground, could have been him I was mourning. “No problem, D. You know I’ve always got your back.”
Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she’ll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, an old man of a dog, and a young pup that makes life… interesting.
First impressions are hard to shake… Big-headed ex-rugby star, Daniel Dante, refuses to believe a word celebrated ceramicist Kanako Janssen says, though why her new landlord’s opinion bothers her so much is anyones’s guess. She has enough to worry about, with her soon to be ex-husband refusing to sign divorce papers, Daniel’s dog appearing regularly to freak her out, and an exhibition date looming.
Kanako is everything Daniel isn’t, and nothing he’s used to. Trust doesn’t come easily to a player who’s been burnt so publicly before, but if he can’t learn to lean on this fresh-faced, quirky artist, he could well lose her altogether.
Like the swallows, Kanako’s only in Otago for the season. But willing or not, the self-proclaimed introvert is being slowly absorbed into small town life on the lake, and she’s in grave danger of falling in love with it.
RUBY ISLAND is the second story in Stephanie Ruth’s Otago Waters series, set in the beautiful South Island of Aotearoa, New Zealand. Each book stands alone, but reading them in order provides a deeper experience. Intended for readers who enjoy their feel-good romance on the steamy side, and promising a happily ever after.
Kana didn’t know when her hands had come up to rest on Daniel’s chest, but that’s where she found them—complete with half a crushed yoyo biscuit and slightly crumpled take-out cup—when the man pulled back by slow degrees. He was smiling down at her when she opened her eyes.
He should smile more often. It softened all his hard edges.
Daniel. Her landlord. Mr Rugby. Dante bloody D.
“Still not attracted to me?”
“Nope. Don’t think so,” Kana lied—barefaced—as she blinked up at him.
“Truth serum worn off then?” Daniel teased.
“Maybe.” She allowed a small return smile before stepping back, out of Daniel’s reach. “But I think your minute’s up, Mr Dante.”
“Call me Mr Dante again, and I won’t be held responsible for my actions,” Daniel called after her, but there was a smile in his voice, and he didn’t make any move to stop her as she left.
Kana could feel his eyes on her as she slipped away, slightly kiss-drunk and brushing crumbs off the front of her sweater. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?”
Award winning New Zealand contemporary romance novelist and short story writer, Stephanie Ruth lives in the South Island, Te Waipounamu, with her husband, three children, and an ever expanding array of animals. If it doesn’t have a happy ending in some form or other, Stephanie’s not writing it.
The Dark Prince will stop at nothing to save his people—even if it means kidnapping the one woman with the power to destroy them all…
Garrin Branimir, Prince of Dark Kingdom, has been trapped in endless winter for centuries, along with his people. His only hope of saving them is to find the woman with the power to destroy the magical barriers imprisoning Dark Fae. With her by his side, he and his kinsmen will finally be free.
But Lex Meinrad isn’t full Fae, and she wasn’t raised in his land, content to obey her prince’s every order. She refuses to do his bidding—no matter how intense the sparks between them fire.
With time running out, Garrin must convince this impossibly stubborn woman to cooperate before his enemies bend her to their will. And, unlike him, they’ll choose force over seduction…
Garrin Branimir, Prince of Dark Kingdom, strode down the dingy hallway where the Fae kept their half-human, half-Fae Halven, and paused near a dark-haired female on his right. The woman grinned as she passed.
She was attractive. For a human. Or Halven, given the building.
Hundreds of years ago, Fae from other kingdoms in the Faery realm of Tirnan built Dawson University to monitor their half-blood offspring, known as Halven. Particularly those Halven who developed magical powers. As far as anyone knew, no Halven born of Dark Fae blood existed due to the Land of Ice that blocked Dark Kingdom from any other living being, including in the Earth realm. But Garrin suspected the one he searched for could be hidden here.
The prophecy stated a female with Dark blood would save his people. Garrin had run out of options in Dark Kingdom. No one possessed the power needed to create safe passage to other lands. The Earth realm was his last hope for finding the one.
He fanned his hand in front of the female’s face before she passed. He’d been testing all females in the building for weeks. So far, none had deflected his magic.
The brunette blinked, then stumbled. Then her lips turned blue, and she began to choke, her dark eyes watering as ice formed across her face. Sounds of suffocation came from her throat.
She was indeed Halven. He wasn’t as good at sensing magic levels as those with the ability, but he could tell she was more than human now that he was close. Only she wasn’t the one for whom he searched. She was simply a half-blood, like all the rest.
Garrin sighed and waved forward the two soldiers behind him. “Heal her and blur her memory.”
This girl might not be the one, but Garrin would search for the female who was until his dying breath, which should give him a millennium, give or take.
“Your Highness,” Amund said, a portal creator and one such Fae with the ability to sense energy levels. “The earthbound Fae soldiers have discovered our presence.”
Garrin let out a long-suffering sigh. He’d spent the last hundred years attempting to cross the barrier separating his kingdom from the others of Tirnan. It had been nigh impossible to make it across the Land of Ice weakened, only to be attacked by deadly Fae soldiers from other lands. Until an uprising left said lands vulnerable. He’d finally breached the borders of the other kingdoms and made it to the Earth realm, and he wasn’t about to turn back now. “The Fae living on Earth are a nuisance. How am I to find the girl with them nipping at my heels?”
Amund stared off in the distance. “We have two minutes before they discover us.”
His men had returned the brunette to the dwelling from whence she came, and Garrin looked down the hallway one last time. “Very well. We will return another—”
Someone exited a door halfway down. A female. Tall.
Garrin didn’t get a good look at her face because she’d pulled a hood over her head that dipped below her eyes, but he held up his hand in a staying motion. There was something about this one… He was drawn to her.
“I sense no power,” Amund said.
Fae were taller than humans, and many Halven took on the trait. “I will test her anyway.” The closer she got, his urge to be near her grew.
“Your Highness, please hurry.” Amund glanced back. “We have a minute at most.”
The female kept her head down as she moved closer. She didn’t appear to see Garrin standing there.
Odd, that. At over seven feet, Garrin wasn’t easily missed in the Earth realm. The girl was so preoccupied, in fact, that she nearly ran into him.
She stopped abruptly a couple of feet away, and her chin tilted up. Her face flushed, and she averted her gaze. But not before Garrin caught sight of her beautiful golden eyes, the mysterious energy behind them hitting him like a bolt of lightning.
There was no time. Garrin needed to test her quickly and be gone. He pursed his lips and exhaled, giving her more of his powers than he’d given other females they’d encountered.
She blinked, and ice crystallized around her nose and lips…and melted as quickly as it had formed.
Her gaze collided with his, her expression one of surprise.
Garrin’s entire body lit up with desire so powerful it took his breath away.
He stepped back, astonished at his reaction to the woman, and at what he’d discovered. For so long he’d fought death and starvation and battled enemies to reach the one. No Dark Fae were thought to live in the Earth realm, but Garrin suspected she was hiding here, and now he’d found her in the form of a Halven.
Elation coursed through him. After all this time, he’d succeeded where no other Fae had for hundreds of years.
He would save his people from isolation. He would make his father proud…and he would have the female. A smile slowly pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Take her.”
Jules Barnard is a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romance and romantic fantasy. Her contemporary series include the Never Date and Cade Brothers series. She also writes romantic fantasy under the same pen name in the Halven Rising series Library Journal calls ”…an exciting new fantasy adventure.” Whether she’s writing about sexy men in Lake Tahoe or a Fae world embedded in a college campus, Jules spins addictive stories filled with heart and humor.
When Jules isn’t in her sweatpants writing and rewarding herself with chocolate, she spends her time with her husband and two children in their small hometown on the Pacific Coast. She credits herself with the ability to read while running on the treadmill or burning dinner.
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To learn more about Jules, visit her website at: julesbarnard.com
