Coming Soon; The Foxworth Coven, Book One, Death Of Innocence

The Foxworth Coven, Book One, Death Of Innocence

By Kayden McLeod

Website: http://www.kaydenmcleod.com/

Genre: Erotic Paranormal Romance (Vampires, Deities, M/F)
Publisher: Silver Publishing

Website: http://silverpublishing.info/

Release Date: May 2011

Tag-Line:

Even unconditional love cannot always banish an eternal nightmare

Summary:

The Foxworth family has blazed a trail through human and vampire history alike, changing the ways of both races in Canada for all time. The Council has demanded a full report for the long and twisted tale of how the Surrey Coven had come to be the most powerful and feared; an assemblage that anyone would question before coming up against.

The Leader of the Surrey Coven, Canya recalls how her family came to be. A story filled with pain and heartache, until she meets Gregory Foxworth: a debonair CEO to the family shipping company. Gregory remembers taking her away from a life that shocks him, hoping to shelter and love her. But little does he know all he has done, was make her a target for a sadistically warped man. One who will have her and his own personal brand of vengeance. Sometimes, a grudge isforever.

Excerpt One (Rated PG):

Prelude

Canya

Surrey, British Columbia, Canada

June 3 2010

The sky was overcast, grey and temperamental, much like my mood. The ocean was the flat colour of slate, reflecting the drab clouds above, while the waves lapped at the long expanse of sand making up the beach.

I loved my house in White Rock, a nice city in British Columbia within the Fraser Valley. It was our main residence, but we owned a lot of property all over the territory that was ours to tend.

I sat outside, on my patio with expensive white paper and a pen, with Gregory at my side. His hand was on my shoulder in a show of support, a silent partner, until it was his turn to write his account. The beginning, where we started, was my words. But I wasn’t sure where to begin. When a story went on for decades, where does one start?

I thought of my family to give me strength.

The Foxworths had grown and changed so much in the last century. They too were asked to tell their parts of the tale, but they’d decided that it was when I discovered the new world, remaining even now in shadows that this story should begin.

It was almost a century to the day, when we finally ended what plagued my family for so long. Was a hundred years too long to hold on to hope that your loved ones would eventually survive and thrive, even if some had to die in seeing it happen?

The Council, our governing body, paid me a personal visit yesterday. Though it had been an official visit, I didn’t have a great track record with those appointments. I was respected, but all in my Coven were also feared for their individual reasons, their individual pasts.

Over the years, our Coven had been allied with some of the most powerful entities this world would ever know. We have the forces of nature on our side, the power of dreams and the most feared monsters that make humans run and hide under their beds.

The Council only “requested” this document, because it is unbelievable, as it sounds. I believed they wanted to watch us fail to give the facts; to prove beyond doubt that what we said was real.

And we do have proof of all of our accomplishments. But I still suspected they don’t believe some of what my family and friends claim. Even to us, who are vampires and know of all sorts of real magic, our story is very far-fetched. Our experiences rip apart our own beliefs, not just the human view-point, and then stitch them back together again. To know the real truth of what lays just out of even our sight.

For a race with our real origin of beginnings, you’d think that they’d believe our tall-tale.

Personally, I wouldn’t have ever chosen to put this to paper, but when the Council decrees something, you refuse or disobey at your own risk. So, I will do so for our own well-being, and finally admit what we really are.

Some think the Foxworths were lucky for our “good” fortune. Others consider it a curse on top of the Curse that all vampires already share. I didn’t know which side to follow in that.

As a race, we’re the damned that had at one point been blessed. We were the ultimate oxymoron and the personification, if you will.

Our kind has seen both sides of the balance, and now we were precariously hanging by our fingertips, trying to protect mankind from ourselves. Most of us moved steadily forward to evolve with everyone else, but outlawed Rogues kept trying to throw us back into the dark ages.

Even so, we would always stand between the evil that rears its head within us, and the good in everyone else. Though we cannot protect humankind from their own forms of evil, we could do our part to keep the harmony on our end.

That was the Foxworth Coven’s mission statement.

We lived with humans, not just among them. We tried not to abuse our power, and assimilate into humanity the best we could. We raise our children with those beliefs, in hopes that one day we’d have real freedom and understanding. It was only one small step in the face of many, and so far, our ways had set the standard for Canadian ways.

We must be doing something right.

Possibly this record of our family would convince a few more of our kind that just because we are at the top of the food chain, manned with more power then any being had a right to, didn’t mean vampires had the right to abuse it.

Maybe it will show that no matter how bad life appears at the time, hope is always at the end of the tunnel. Sometimes it will just take a little time to get there.

I knew this better than most. In the end, I knew just how lucky I’d been.

As a child, I’d known real love existed out there—somewhere. But my parents had never been examples of that. They’d almost hated each other, and liked me even less. It was a match for necessity and nothing more.

Years ago, my cousin had told me, I’d been born to be a servant. Since the time I had been old enough to clean and mind the cattle, it’d been my life. Being taught to cook simple meals before turning the age of ten, I was expected to serve them nightly.

Under my mother’s watchful eye, I grew up alone and afraid. My father had been a big, burly man who was far too gruff to ever have children. I believe he had me, only because it had beenexpected of him. After me, they’d never tried for a boy. Something that enraged my father and something I had to suffer for continuously.

But it isn’t my childhood hell that begun my long journey, nor my terrifying family legacy. For generations my human family possessed magical gifts, but these required us to keep them quiet for our own survival. The differences between those who are gifted and those who did not understand them were vast in the early twentieth century, more so than they had in the nineteenth.

As a teenager I’d been starved for love and affection, something that all of my friends had received and gave so easily. I’d searched far and wide for it, a way to leave my past behind me. To finally get out from under my parent’s thumb or I would surely go mad.

They didn’t want me to go. They’d made no move to marry me off. I still believed that if the occurring events of my early life hadn’t taken place, they would’ve found a way to keep me tied to them forever.

Near the age of twenty, I was practically an old maid when I’d met Thomas. For months we had come together in secret. I’d thought nothing of it. Those were the times then. Plus, I didn’t want my parents to know, until it was too late to stop me.

I went to Thomas willingly, time after time, needing to feel human and liked. So much abuse from my parents made me desperate to jump into anything that would bring about my escape far too quickly. My normally intelligent mind hadn’t had the time to warn me of the impending dangers, in direct relation to the hard-pressed decisions.

I had mistaken lust for love, and that really had been my downfall, and breakthrough for survival.

If I hadn’t met Thomas, I doubted I would’ve met my true love.

Every cloud has a silver lining, even the darkest and most deadly ones.

* * * *

Coming Soon...Martyr of the Flaminian Gate

Martyr of the Flaminian Gate

Valentine's Day Story, released within the Heart And Soul Anthology (M/F)

Kayden McLeod

http://www.kaydenmcleod.com/

Publication Date:

February 12^th 2011

Genre:

Erotic Romance

Sub-Genre:

Time-Travel/Historical

Publisher:

Silver Publishing

http://silverpublishing.info/

Heat-Rating:

Three—Boiling

Tagline:

A love that spans through the ages

Summary:

In the times of the Roman Empire, it is declared that no solider would marry to distract them from battle, and their duties to their Emperor, Claudius Gothicus. Jacobus de Voragine hears these orders, but does not heed them. He seeks out a priest who would wed him and his love, Petronia. And that one decision of devotion causes them both unimaginable adversities. But there are some forces in this world not even the Emperor can circumvent. The priest, Valentio sees the good in the hearts of men, especially Jacobus. And gives him a chance of a lifetime: to love purely and freely, no matter who tells him he can’t.

Excerpt One (RATED PG)

Prologue

269 AD, the Roman Empire

Valentio stared up at Claudius Gothicus from under the brush of his eyelashes with an unpleasant glint inspired from these indecencies.

The guard had forced the martyred priest to his knees, chained in shackles and presented to their ruler—though he wasn’t Valentio’s. The priest followed his faith in honour, love and God. But the Roman Emperor had deemed it necessary to eradicate what Valentio held sacred, and impose his own to replace it.

“Do you still persist in these foolish notions, Saint Valentine?” Claudius’s index finger danced along the rim of his wine-filled goblet. “Has your incarceration not been enough? You have had ample time to reconsider.”

The priest bit his tongue in an effort not to laugh at the label some called him, in all ignorance. A saint he may be considered—but none here had any idea what responsibility this imposed on him. Miraculous occurrences would always happen and missionaries like Valentio and those akin to him distributed some, but not all.

“I persist in nothing that is foolish—nor have I ever. I will not convert to your ways. If you so choose to follow in your own beliefs, fine. But extend me the same courtesy. I do nothing wrong.”

The guard around the Emperor laughed—with a clear fake ring to it. They did not wish to anger the very man who held their fate in his hands, the power to do unto them, as what was done in the priest’s position.

At least, some of them. A few among these strong and intimidating men had come to change their faith—no longer seeing Christianity as offensive: not like Claudius had deemed it. But they would not allow the Emperor to have this knowledge, for it would only get them prosecuted. Valentio did not hold them accountable for this.

No one but Valentio would be to blame for his predicament, whether that was true or not. He had given himself up in many ways, all to save another who proved himself worthy of his specific attentions.

“Valentio, I am fond of you—your fortitude and rigid loyalty. It is why breath still fills your lungs and your heart continues to beat beneath your breast. However, is it possible you like living your waning life in chains, in a blackened cell? Because until your dying breath and the last beat of your heart that is how you will stay, if you do not come to see my way of things. Do not mistake my charity in your recently continued life to be my foolishness. I will kill you without a second thought.”

Valentio felt the cold weight of the metal binding his hands and feet. No, he did not care for the atrocities and the belittling of being bound in such a way. There’d be little doubt it would be his impending death, if his soul-deep convictions remained unchanged.

Yet, none of it mattered. To alter such a thing would be to lie to one’s self about fundamental needs. And that was something he would never do.

It took everything within Valentio not to snarl and rail against the injustice of this. Why could Claudius not see there should be freedom in religion? That people should have a choice?

“Then so shall it be. I will not have another way of life, thinking and being forced upon me. I will not go against who I am to please anyone—nor will I find variance in who I am, just to survive a pitiful existence of dishonesty. I hold true to fidelity in my faith.” Valentio calculated his words, though near reaching the end of his rope. “Perhaps it is not me that needs to look inward and see who or what is wrong.”
Claudius’s eyes filled with anger. “You dare question my beliefs?”

“You question mine. One does not judge another, until one judges himself first.”

“I do not have to judge myself. I am ruler here—what I say is to be heeded as the utmost authority. You are trying my patience, and I will not have that. Do you wish to spend another fortnight in the cells below, perhaps to gain some common-sense before I decide what your end will be?”

“I will spend the time there—but I will acquire nothing but hunger and friendship with rats. There will come a time, Claudius Gothicus, that you will see my ways are not as depraved as you have come to believe. You will see damnation for what you have wrought—and it will not be me who kneels before you, manacled to what he values. We all have a higher power to answer. You are not and never been mine. I sincerely hope yours has more clemency than you do.”

Claudius laughed at Valentio’s words. “You imagine that the Emperor of the Roman Empire will genuflect before a mere priest of a Christian Church? Who has knowingly gone against my dictates and wed my soldiers? It is you, and only you who will be arbitrated for these heinous crimes against me.”

“Those soldiers have want of families—children. Do you not desire for them to broaden your domain, and strengthen your rule? It is not fair to deny them a most basic principle—something all men covet. They fight for you, give their lives for your campaigns. Yet you will not give them a loving touch waiting in their homes, when it causes you no harm?”

Claudius snorted with distaste. “They are my legions—borne to violence and bred with a devotion to protect my lands. That is a much greater good than siring a few brats—who along with their women will distract them from battle, taking their focus away from what ismost important.”

Valentio took the chance for a sideways glance to the guards—those same soldiers who were condemned to live out their lives alone, barring brief visits to bordellos and rare contact with females, whom cared nothing about them, except for what lined their pockets.

The priest’s gaze strayed upon one of those—but not too long—lest anyone notice.

Jacobus de Voragine.

No one could know they were still friends after all that had happened. All the horror and pain Claudius had put him through—all the agony Valentio allowed him to continue to visit upon him, while the priest plotted out the best way to bring about the events destined to the solider.

Even if it was the very last thing Valentio did—and more than likely, it would be—he would see Jacobus’s family restored.

“I have had enough of this,” Claudius said, his voice a strange mix of musing and anger Valentio did not care for.

He had been jailed by the Emperor and his actions for too long not to know this wouldn’t turn out well for him. His gaze strayed back to Claudius, while everyone else in the room held their breath in anticipation of what punishment would be handed out this time.

“Decide my fate. We all know in the end, you will do so anyway.” Valentio raised his bound hands to display this fact.

“And what do you think I will do?”

“Kill me for impertinence.”

Claudius Gothicus regarded his prisoner with something broaching respect in the face of what would come. “While tempting, that will not be today, Valentio. I think I will try one more thing before condemning you to such a conclusion.”

“And what would that be?”

“My loyal guard—those who always serve me without question, will take you out into the street and flog you to show my people what will happen when I am disobeyed. If you come out of it alive, we will convene again. To think of all your attempts to convert me will do you no good. I will teach you that it is better to listen than to ignore.”

**********

Excerpt Two (RATED PG)

It was her. His Petronia in the flesh.

Her chestnut hair was sheared off, brushing her shoulders and gently curling outward at the ends. Petronia watched him like she didn’t know him, when all he wanted was to take her into his arms and hold her close.

To have thought her dead! And then to have the priest tell him all of that nonsense and being idiotic enough not believe him—to this! It was incredible, even to someone who had jumped damned near two-thousand years forward in time, just three days before.

Then Petronia snapped her fingers in front of his face. “You still in there?”

“Terribly sorry, my lady. My name is Jacobus de Voragine, and this is my daughter…”

“Aelia. We’ve met.”

“Do you know her?” Jacobus asked with hope. Valentio had promised she wouldn’t remember them at first, but something in her eyes said she wasn’t as ignorant as she put on.

A woman bustled past them, wafting Petronia’s sweet, seductive perfume his way. And that was all it took. His cock hardened for her right then and there. Thank the gods his pants were baggy enough to cover it! How would he explain it to her if she happened to look down and see his straining erection?

“No,” Petronia replied, an odd note to her voice, eyes downcast like she was uncomfortable. “But your daughter does look so familiar to me.” She shook her head, taking a half-step back. Jacobus held his breath, needing her to recognize them. “But I suppose many children took a like.”

Aelia looked up between them with a sweet, innocent expression before she took off into the aisles of clothes to play. His heart filled with joy to see her carefree and unburdened. It was hard to reprimand her and order Aelia back to his side when she wanted freedom she’s never had.

“Stay where I can see you!” Jacobus called.

Aelia giggled, weaving through the displays in figure eights, around and around again. He watched her, unsure what one would say to his unknowing wife.

“You sound so formal—dignified. And you stand so straight, like a general of some great army. Different from anyone I have met here.” Petronia said it as if it were praise. He turned back to her. “You haven’t been in Canada long, have you?”

“Only a few days. I come from a place that is so diverse in comparison to here. I am completely lost, despite promises on how easy it would be. There is so much to learn, and it’s quite overwhelming.”

“Aelia seems to have adapted.”

His breath held. “My,” oh, how he wanted to say our, “daughter has had to come to terms with a lot lately, and I am so proud of what she has accomplished. Her mother—died, I suppose.” Petronia’s brow lifted at that. “And then Aelia was cured of two maladies, only to be whisked away to this new land, where she knows nothing. I am pleased she does not struggle like I do, but I know it is still hard for her.”

* * * *

Petra winced at hearing the immense pain behind his words. Something about him tugged at her heartstrings, making her want to reach out to him and his daughter. Enough that she almost placed a comforting hand on his arm to try and dispel the darkness which had crowded his eyes as he stared off in the direction Aelia had gone.

“Children are resilient little people, who are capable of amazing feats.” Petra fidgeted, feeling nervous. Not of him per se. She just felt off-centre, like she’d known him forever and a day, but couldn’t recall a thing about him.

But that was impossible.

“Father!” Aelia called before she raced out of the store, back into the activity of the mall.

Jacobus launched forward to follow her, Petra close at his heels. His pace picked up as he weaved through the crowds, worry etching his features as the young girl stopped in front of greeting card shop. Valentine’s Day decorations adorned the windows in hues of red and shades of white. Pink streamers coiled across the ceiling in the store, with hundreds of holiday related items to entice the passersby to buy them for their loved ones.

“Are they not pretty, father?” Aelia pointed at the hearts in an array of Medias, which sat beside helium-filled balloons and stuffed animals. It was like she’d never seen anything like this before. “What are they?”

Jacobus’s stern appearance melted into affection at her excitement. “I don’t know. Decorations of some sort.”

“Haven’t you heard of Valentine’s Day?” Petra asked in surprise. But Jacobus’s confused look confirmed he hadn’t, not to mention that he winced at the reference. Why did he look so haunted?

“No. What is it?” His reply came out hoarsely.

Petra’s brow furrowed, wondering how best to explain it. She assumed it wouldn’t be as extravagant where he’d come from. Possibly, it would lean more toward the real origins of the date.

“Nowadays, it’s about buying gifts of chocolate, cards, stuffed animals and flowers to pass between lovers and school children, who pay twice as much for them.”

“But you know better, don’t you?”

“It is supposed to be in commemoration of Saint Valentine and the sacrifices he made. But today, too few remember that, only seeing flashy sales gimmicks.”

“And how do you know about this Valentine, if no one remembers him?”

**********

http://kaydenmcleod.com/index.php

NOW RELEASED, Masquerade, Erotic Paranormal Romance

Masquerade

Kayden McLeod

Buy-Link:

http://silverpublishing.info/product_book_info/new-release-c-1/masquerade-p-95

Erotic Paranormal Romance (Werewolves, Vampires and Zombies)

Silver Publishing

Heat-Rating:

Three Flames, Boiling

Tagline

What lies behind the façade isn’t always what it seems

Summary

Abigail claimed the land of North Vancouver as her own, sharing it only with a clan of vampires, the Jericho Coven, who accepted the werewolf into their territory without qualm. Within their numbers is one, Cyrus Jericho; a suave, brooding vampire who isn’t quite as he appeared. He declares Abigail for his own the moment they meet, despite the fact that another werewolf pack is in British Columbia looking to claim Abigail into their midst, no matter what they must do to see that goal complete.

Excerpt (Rated PG)

Cyrus stood alone at the bar when Ada walked back into the party with Dina and who he now assumed to be the party-planner, Abigail.

He liked to think himself suave and not so easily ruffled, but that single moment in time, both proved wrong. The moment he laid eyes on the she-wolf, he went weak in the knees and a fine sweat worked over his body.

And that was from across the room.

He stared at his hand that shook ever so slightly. And to make matters worse, Ada made eye contact with him and smiled, making a beeline straight for him with the wolves in tow.

It would be a very rough night.

“Cyrus, may I introduce you to Abigail Weber, the party-planner,” Ada said in a smooth voice that revealed nothing of her increased heart rate pounding in his ears, signifying her anxiety.

He discreetly sniffed the air, but what he came up with blew his mind. The wolf is in heat. When his mind filtered this information to him his cock hardened, making him crave the party-planner like nothing else. Not even the whiskey he treasured like a favored lover came even close.

The worst impact to his libido had to be how Abigail reacted to him. Her breath shuddered into her lungs, heart thumping and going far faster than Ada’s. Her hand curled around her black clutch, holding it tightly to her stomach, right over her womb.

Cyrus was thrilled to know he wasn’t the only one affected.

Her exquisite beauty! It rivaled and surpassed any female in the room, regardless of race. Even with her mask covering the top half of her face, he could still see it, the perfect lines of her face – and her body; it was enough to drive the sanest man mad.

“Hello, milyi,” he replied softly, and he swore she sighed at the sound of his voice.

“Ahh, Cyr, such a charmer,” Dina smiled gratefully.

Dina knew something he didn’t, though this didn’t surprise him. Surely a normal occurrence, one he had long since accustomed himself to. She was a strange animal, to say the least, but that was his Dina.

“You know him?” Abigail whispered to her friend.

“Very well. We have known each other for years.” Dina didn’t meet her eyes when she said it. Protecting him no doubt, as much as herself.

“Cyrus, I highly recommend you ask our Abby for a dance,” Ada asked – an order under the guise of a request. And keep an eye on our new friends. This most recent development, I am sure you have noticed by the state of your pants, has not gone undetected by them. I was foolish enough, not taking into account her going into heat. It will spur them on even more.

Then kick them out.

Cyr, the point of knowing what they do, and when they do it is still important to me. Abigail will fight to the death for her territory. And I outright refuse to leave her alone for this coming battle. Sabern wants her, badly. I can smell it on him. And while Abby is a strong wolf, she can’t take them all on, even though she will without thought or question. And if they threaten us, she will lay her life down in protecting our Coven for taking her in. I cannot stand that thought. I know there is much about your past life you have not told us and I do not pry now, but I have a feeling you are capable of adequately defending her.

Now that was definitely true. He looked Dina in the eye over Abigail’s head, seeing the cold expression she hid from everyone else, the feel of friendliness leaving her for a brief moment. Dina had full intentions of protecting Abigail. She cherished this rare, real friend in her life, and what these vampires didn’t know about his long-time companion, would and could, kill the rival pack.

And the same could be said about him.

Pre-Release Reader Review; Carnal Magnetism

The Cornwall Coven Series

Book Two

Carnal Magnetism

Publication Date:

January 8th 2010

Genre:

Erotic Paranormal Romance (Vampires, M/F)

Publisher:

Silver Publisher

http://silverpublishing.info/

Heat-Rating:

Five Flames, Explosive

Tagline:

Trust only works when it’s both ways

Summary:

The RedLine is the perfect haven for a man of Ryder’s extensive desires and tastes. He uses the women of the club, much like they do him, with little care to know anything more than their names, sometimes even less than that. His reputation for open-minded, tantalizing sex was renowned, and willing victims for this particular vampire were never at a shortage. At least until Catalym comes crashing into his life, taking over from the moment they’d met. And it isn’t long before her past life’s tribulations follow her, including a dangerous ex-boyfriend who is hiding far more than Ryder or his friends could ever guess.

Review:

Kayden McLeod spins a tale in Carnal Magnetism that sucks you in at the beginning and doesn’t let you go. You won’t be able to put down this entrancing story of a vampire family formed from need, but able to stay together because of love.

Ryder is a rogue gentleman, but with old world valor. He belongs to a vampire coven that protects and loves their members. Then along comes Catalym, a pureblood vampire that has been used horribly by her family. Sheltered and abused for most of her life, Catalym still manages to hold onto an air of innocence and wonderment. All of Ryder’s protective instincts come forth and will not be denied. Ryder quickly falls under Catalym’s spell, for she is charming, beautiful, and smart. What else could Ryder do, but protect Catalym from her crazy family?

However, protection from her family is not all she requires. Catalym must be able to feed not only on blood, but on the sexual energy she needs to survive. Ryder can handle it though, and doesn’t mind feeding Catalym anything she wants. Their sexual encounters are erotic and hot! Soon, under Ryder’s care, Catalym starts to blossom into the vampire she was always meant to be.

Not only does Kayden McLeod supply us with a sexy, erotic story, but humor as well. This coven of vampires’ antics will have you laughing out loud! These boys know how to have fun, and the girls can give as well as they get!

Plot twists and turns keep the action going and the reader on their toes! The cliff hanger ending leaves you wanting more. This is a great addition to The Cornwall Coven Series that you won’t want to miss!

Reviewer: Stacey Krug

SneakPeekWednesday; Masquerade, Excerpt One

Masquerade

Kayden McLeod

http://www.kaydenmcleod.com/

Publication Date: October 30^th 2010

Genre: Erotic Paranormal Romance (Werewolves, Vampires and Zombies)

Publisher: Silver Publishing

Website: http://silverpublishing.info/

Heat-Rating: Three Flames, Boiling

Tagline:

What lies behind the façade isn’t always what it seems

Summary:

Abigail claimed the land of North Vancouver as her own, sharing it only with a clan of vampires, the Jericho Coven, who accepted the werewolf into their territory without qualm. Within their numbers is one, Cyrus Jericho; a suave, brooding vampire who isn’t quite as he appeared. He declares Abigail for his own the moment they meet, despite the fact that another werewolf pack is in British Columbia looking to claim Abigail into their midst, no matter what they must do to see that goal complete.

Excerpt One (Rating PG):

A figure stumbled from behind the nearest trunk, one so incredibly wide, it was no wonder how it hid this man—what she thought to be a man.

The silhouette froze in motion, foot not even touching the dead grass when he saw her standing there, displayed so vulnerably beside the broken angel.

He snarled, gaze moving to the space on the ground at his side, before cutting back to her. Hisquiescence seeped into Abigail, and she stood at his mercy. Not that there would be any; not from him.

When he moved into the light, she shook in foreign cowardice. Somewhere, deep inside, Abigail knew him. Impossible not to recognize him, even if her mind wouldn’t bring up the facts associated with the creature before her.

He rushed into motion, leaping into the air. Abigail didn’t so much as flinch when he landed in front of her, revealing a masquerade of “human” flesh. For whatever this thing was, it had never been as such. It certainly wasn’t like her.

His long, dull hair lay upon his shoulders saturated with filth and leaves, falling around him in a disarray of stringy, dirty white. His red-rimmed blue eyes focused on Abigail, and her alone; flickering with a predatory nature that grated against her own.

She felt like he’d made a silent declaration while they maintained eye contact, and somehow she knew, he had claimed her in some form. But in which context, she had no idea.

Something within her flared, sparked back into being and reminded her that Abigail would never be weak or compliant. This time wouldn’t be any different, dream or no.

“Abigail,” he called in a shallow voice that grated on her nerves. In the back of her mind, the possessiveness in which he said her name angered her.

Then her eyes strayed to the rounded object in his hand; a gore–stained, severely mangled skull. With little room to doubt that it could be an old bone dug from the ground, she cringed. The only reason she knew this; the chunks of flesh still attached were fresh, the bone beneath luminescent in the moonlight.

Then her gaze moved to the base of the tree, seeing the decapitated corpse there. This entity must have killed and eaten parts of it – stripping it nearly bare before her arrival.

A monster, no less.

The stained clothes were enough evidence of that fact. Its garb wasn’t of this time, but that of olden days long since been seen – parted shirt baring a blood-coated chest, broken up with ties of blue upon ashen flesh holding the material together, tight-fitted pants flaring over grimy, sodden boots.

This thing had made a real mess of its snack, something she would never do. Abigail had seen and done a great many things in her life, but this had never been among them.

Run, damn it, run! She screamed at herself. Make your feet work. Do you wish to end up like its past meal? Turn tail, and get the hell out of here!

The man began to speak in a language she ill understood—or perhaps it did, in fact, speak English, but its growls garbled it past recognition. But eventually the words became clearer to her.

“Abigail, so beautiful,” he said calmly, not looking in her direction, but at whatever lay behind her.

She backed up until she collided with the nearest tombstone, stupidly pleased about the fact that she could finally move of her own accord, thinking herself safe. Surely now she could escape.

Wrong.

“Mine.” He looked pointedly at her, and she sneered in response.

“I belong to no one,” Abigail snapped. As usual, her tongue got the better of her.

His eyes narrowed on her. “I beg to differ, moj ljub. I want you, and I always get what I want.”

His hypnotic eyes enraptured her, for a moment seeing past the gruesome image he represented, and seeing just the man.

Distraction could be a bitch. In this case, that was a definite.

The dirt burst underneath Abigail’s feet, spraying up to her knees. She looked to see a bare-bone hand escape the soil and grab her ankle in a painful grip, joints biting into her flesh as the second arm revealed itself from the swirl of dirt.

“Abby, you will never escape me.”

And she screamed.