My first self-published book (Amazon)! The Summoning is now available at: http://a.co/jaVi9HS
BLURB:
Within months, death claims Heather Morique’s husband and her infant son. Now, seductive whispers haunt her days and nights, promising to ease her agony. The romance novelist can’t write her way out of her own tragic story. The Whisperers tempt a grief-stricken Heather to visit Jahill’s homeland–Xaymaca, the Land of Wood and Water—Jamaica. In a remote beach cottage, she plans to settle down with a bottle of bourbon to drown the pain and a laptop to complete her work-in-progress.
The Whisperers aren’t finished with their prey.
Years ago, Jahill abandoned his people, an obscure tribe of the Arawak Indians, leaving a legacy of hate that Heather has inherited. The Shaman demands her life as payment for her dead husband’s sins. His murder weapon is The Whisperers. Half-mad with sorrow, Heather can’t resist when these constant, invisible companions lure her into the ocean to pay her debt.
Rescue comes from a completely unexpected—and frightening—source.
Heather’s dying plea summons a spirit from another dimension…Eyrael, the God of Wind and Sea. The handsome shapeshifter immediately understands the blonde sacrifice belongs to his dark brother Sofiel, God of Earth and Fire, but he desires her beauty. In the battle for Heather’s safety, Eyrael wins the first round. With his protection, she finds the self she’d thought lost and begins to understand love is immortal.
However, in this war of magic and sorcery, even with an ancient god’s help, one moment of inattention can forfeit Heather’s life.
EXCERPT:
With a fingertip, he brushed away her tears, becoming one with the gentle rain.
“Shush,” he whispered, searching for words of comfort. “How would you have me look?”
“I want for you to look gone. Put me down. I can make it to the shore now.”
“If you go ashore alone, the Shaman will bleed you out into a chalice as a sacrifice to—”
“To you?” She shrank back from him, her wide eyes angry, fear staining them darker blue.
“I am the God of Wind and Sea.” Eyrael arched a brow. Her pain beat in his chest, but her assumption offended him. “I do not demand blood sacrifice. I would have you as a man takes a woman. My brother Sofiel will be pleased by your death and come across to drink your blood.”
She shuddered. “You’re telling the truth.” When he nodded, she said, “Please change—I know you can—I can’t bear looking at you with Jahill’s face.”
“How would you have me look?” he repeated, wishing he could see her smile.
“Like you were.” A shaking hand lifted in a futile gesture, failing before her fingers touched his face. “I know you’re not human.”
“I am not human. I am…the Shaman calls me a spirit.” His ocean lapped at them, and on the shore the People waited. “A bound spirit he would have me, but he does not own the strength to control me. I shall protect you.”
She gasped when his form paled, and he reappeared in his own shape. The woman fondled a strand of his hair. “You’re beautiful. Disconcerting but beautiful. I shouldn’t be afraid. You have somehow come to rescue me.”
Eyrael smiled. “You should not be afraid.”
Strong and sure now, he pushed through the waves, carrying his reluctant burden shoreward. If she thought him beautiful, perhaps she would enjoy their coupling, her Pleasure increasing his. The wind between the worlds shrieked, but the sea whispered. She locked her arms around his neck, closed her eyes, and buried her face in the crook of his shoulder. Her lips quivered against his skin. The sensation was pure Pleasure, fire leaping along his shaft.
The Shaman flung his arms above his head. One long, bronze hand cupped the ritual powder, fragrant and potent, ancient magic handed down from father to son, mother to daughter. Eyrael tensed. He had promised to protect the woman, but could he keep that vow? He must act fast or lose her to a senseless sacrifice. Taino flung the powder into the fire. Sparks shot skyward. The Shaman pronounced the first words of the spell of binding. He would try to send Eyrael back and call Sofiel. His brother would relish her death and willingly perform any deed Taino set for him.
Feathered staff raised, the other hand fisting the sky, the Shaman strode into the surf. The symbols painted in blue on his bare chest gleamed in the moonlight. From the waist down, a garment of shells brushed his thighs, their soft clicking an ominous warning.
