I am so excited tonight - I've got the new cover for "In the Devil's Arms" to show off! I mentioned
some major changes to The Magiste Chronicles last time around, and this is
the first one I have to share.
Isn't it
gorgeous? Created by the lovely and talented Winter Bayne, it perfectly captures
Devlin and Helene, as well as the feel of the story. I really, really love this cover. In fact, I love it so much, I spend way too much time staring at it! lol
Here's the blurb,
and a little sneak peek to hold you until I have firm pre-order and release
dates:
Helene
Gaudet finds the perfect Dom in an internet chat room. When they agree to meet,
Helene realizes why he knows her so well – he's Devlin Marchand, the man who,
years ago, handed her over to a dark sorcerer – to be killed.
She
wants to forget the past, including badly impaired magical powers and an ex-husband
who cursed her, leaving her infertile. At first fearful of Devlin's intentions,
she finds her passion for him is so intense after each encounter, she can't bring
herself to leave.
Devlin's
guilt over past betrayals grows when they learn the curse dogging Helene was created
by the trove of magic by his very own family. Devlin fears for their tentative
relationship.
Will
he be able to keep his vow to heal her, in every way possible, or will their
enemies succeed in tearing them apart?
And
here's that promised excerpt, the night when Helene comes face to face with her internet Dom, and it is most definitely not who she expects:
Returning the
mirror to her purse, she took a deep breath. This could turn out to be the
biggest thrill, or the biggest mistake of her life. A quick pat to the inner
chest pocket of the coat assured her the amulet rested safely inside. Keeping
it concealed gave her an edge, should the situation turn dangerous. While Magiste and Mortal citizens usually
co-existed peacefully, there were plenty of Mortals who feared and loathed
anything related to the Magiste
community. Her amulet assured of the ability to make a quick escape, even cast
a quick memory spell, if necessary, ensuring no one remembered she had been
here at all.
Lifting her chin,
she took the last few steps toward the door, still wondering how he'd gotten
her to agree to this.
Upon stepping
inside, she blinked several times, her vision slowly adjusting to the dimly lit
décor, which was sorely in need of update and repair. Why had he wanted to meet
here? The dull rust-colored walls, and sconces that looked to be from the Dark
Ages gave the bar an ominous aura. She suppressed a shudder to think of just
how much dirt the muted lighting concealed.
Willing her racing
heart to calm, she made her way to the bar, taking careful note of the
occupants. The place was practically deserted, and her wariness spiked. Two old
men sat at the bar, pausing in their conversation when she walked across the
room. One other man, turned away, sat huddled at the opposite end. Judging from
his position, he looked like he'd had too much to drink. Frowning, she returned
to perusing the small room, the bartender the only other person present.
Warning bells went
off, but she remained calm. A burst of energy speared her, the risk, the danger,
adding to the cacophony of emotions. She squared her shoulders. She wouldn't
back down now. If any true danger presented itself, she had several ways to
make a quick escape.
While her one year
of Enforcer Training had ended badly, she'd learned several techniques to
combat her weakened powers. If only she'd been able to utilize them when Rafe
had... she forced the thought aside. How could she possibly be thinking of her
ex-husband now?
She forced
thoughts of failed marriage and her ensuing reclusiveness out of her head and
lifted her chin. She glanced at her watch. Right on time. She approached the
bar.
"Can I get
you anything, miss?" The bartender hadn't moved from his position in front
of the taps.
"White wine,
please." She slipped a few bills from her purse. She needed the drink to
steady her nerves. And bolster her courage.
The bartender
placed the glass before her. She left a tip and took the glass to the corner
table, just as Dragonslayer had instructed. She would give him ten minutes to
show, no more. With careful movements, she slid into the booth, grimacing as
her legs came in contact with the cracked vinyl covering, sharp against her
skin. She had to be crazy. She sipped her wine and drummed her fingers on the
table. A shadow fell over her.
"Waiting for
someone, Gaudet?"
She knew that
voice. She turned, her heart slamming into her throat to meet glittering silvery
eyes and a self-satisfied smirk. No! Impossible! What the hell was he doing in
this bar? Tonight? Now? His voice echoed in her head. Her throat tightened. It
couldn't be. Ridiculous. There was no way he could be ... she refused to allow
the thought to finish.
The shock of
seeing him ignited a knee-trembling panic; she gave a silent prayer of thanks
for being already seated. Forcing herself to stay calm, she responded to his
question, hoping to present an aloof picture.
"Marchand. This
is the last place I would have expected to find you."
She straightened
her spine, proud of the steadiness of her voice, even if her insides squirmed
like jelly. Mon Dieu, even after all
these years, he looked so damn hot. He had grown from an attractive boy to a
devastatingly handsome man; broad shoulders and a powerfully solid chest clad
in a silky white shirt tapered to narrow hips and muscular thighs encased in
black denim. His large hands rested on his hips, the casual stance belying the
tightly leashed power she sensed just beneath the surface. The image of her
fantasy captor sprang to mind and his current self replaced her remembered
image. She swallowed, but couldn't dislodge the lump in her throat.
"Usually I
wouldn't be caught dead in a dump like this, but circumstances required
it."
His eyes gleamed
in the dim light, and for a moment, her fantasies thrust into her
consciousness, fantasies where he moved above her and ... No! She wouldn't go there. She held his gaze steadily, hoping she
put enough ice into her expression to make clear she wanted him to leave.
Seemingly unfazed
by her scowl, he waved a hand, indicating she should move over and let him in.
She shook her head
and looked away. "I'm meeting someone, Marchand." Hopefully, he would
realize he'd been dismissed. She wanted him gone before Dragonslayer showed up.
Her stomach rolled
over. The ridiculous notion she'd forced aside resurfaced. Denial rose, sharp and
jagged, the pieces of the puzzle coming together despite her attempt to refute
it. Her gaze once more snapped to his, realization of the truth leaving her too
shocked to resist when he pushed in beside her. Jamming her against the wall. Trapping
her. His body, enticingly warm, pressed hard against her. She tried to ignore
the heat rushing through her, the tremor of excitement barely held in check by
apprehension. Recollection of the way he'd made her come while on the phone
last week worked against her resolve to ignore her body's reaction.
"So tell me,
Submissive Goddess, why are you here?"
"Batard!" She picked up her
wineglass, intending to empty it in his face, but his hand on her wrist stilled
the motion.
"Don't."
His eyes hardened to steel, his tone heavy with warning.
"You are
still the same rodent you always were. Why couldn't you just leave me
alone?"
He leaned in
close, his fingers tightening further on her wrist. The touch roused sensations
far more delightful than she cared to admit, the reality of facing him in the
flesh after all these years of fantasy scattering her thoughts. She needed to
stay sharp, but focus eluded her.
"You don't
really want me to leave you alone."
He smiled, the
lazy curve of his lips jolting her heart to skip a beat.
"And I'm
going to torment you, my little goddess. If you think the other night was
intense, wait until you see what I have planned for you tonight."
She swallowed a
gasp, flashes of their phone episode coming at her with blinding speed. She reached
into her coat. Panic stole her breath when her fingers encountered an empty
pocket. Her amulet had vanished! How the hell had he disarmed her? She didn't
want to waste time figuring it out; she had to get out of here.
"Give it
back, you loathsome prick."
"Now, now, no
need for name calling."
"I'll do
worse than that!"
His lips quirked
again, sending her anger spiking. Her hands itched with the urge to slap the
smile from his face. She turned toward the bar, but when she called for the
bartender, her voice failed. Horror that Marchand had silenced her chilled her
blood. How?
"I don't have
to be loud enough for you to hear me cast, sweetheart."
Had he used a
mind-reading spell as well? She needed to concentrate, maintain her barriers
and keep him from entering her thoughts. Doing so grew complicated, with his
face so close to hers and her amulet out of her reach. Without the pendant, defending
herself against his magic would be difficult, if not impossible. His warm
breath fanned her cheek and she suppressed a shiver. He smelled of mint and
musk, and if he had been anybody else, she might just turn her face into his
neck and inhale deeply.
Before she
realized it, he captured her mouth. She responded, despite her attempt to fight
the delight he stirred. His lips, soft and full, meandered over hers, and her
resolve to resist melted as her mouth melted against his. He kept kissing her
in that languid manner and her heart pounded. Oh God, already her wits had
crumbled, her entire body ablaze from just a simple kiss. Her nipples strained
against their lace covering. He drew away.
