Kismet's Kiss: A Fantasy Romance (Alaia Chronicles) (48 page)

Anne Victory: You
’
re my very own victory angel. I
’
m grateful for all you do.

Beth, Diana, PJ and Susan: The Team may be silent now, but you
’
ve each inspired me. I
’
m fortunate to know you. Forever hugs.

Finally, I send my appreciation to everyone else who has touched this story, helped me become a stronger writer, or encouraged my imagination. You number more than grains of sand in the deserts of Kad, and writing is a joy because of you.

Novel Excerpts

T
he following pages include excerpts from other books I hope will intrigue you.

The first,
The Source of Magic
, is a prequel to
Kismet’s Kiss
. When a sexy mage prince abducts Jilian from modern Scotland, she must choose between saving his people or her dying mother—the woman whose dark secrets bind their worlds together. Yes, the sexy prince is Alvarr of Teganne! And Varene from
Kismet’s Kiss
has a role in their story.
The Source of Magic
has been a winner or finalist in sixteen contests.

The second excerpt comes from the amazing Kristen Painter.
Heart of Fire
tells of a deadly dark elf turned mercenary, a fire mage with powers she’s just learning to control, and their dangerous adventure that may give hope to the dying elven race, renew a beleaguered kingdom and offer an incredible chance at love…if they don’t kill each other first.

The third excerpt is from another award-winning novelist, Sandra Edwards. In the paranormal romance
Incredible Dreams
, a modern-day ghost whisperer travels through time to save the life of a WWII fighter pilot and ends up jeopardizing her own existence.

THE SOURCE OF MAGIC

CHAPTER ONE

Present day

Bhruic’s castle, world of Alaia

A
frigid draft slunk through the dungeon cell, chilling the muck-fouled cobblestones until even the rats looked miserable.

Jilian Stewart drew her thin cloak around her and tried to ignore her thudding heart. Each heartbeat seemed to reverberate off the clammy walls as if seeking a crack in her prison.

The linen chemise beneath her borrowed gown clung to her, damp with cold sweat. She licked her lips and caught the iron tang of blood leaking from the gash on her forehead. As her gaze flicked to the door, her breath hitched, then her lungs sped up of their own accord.

Stop, Jil. Panicking won’t help. You’ve got some brain cells left and you’re going to need them all.

Icy fingers of air flowed down the walls and skimmed across her collarbone. She shivered and pulled the cloak tighter, craving the warmth of Alvarr’s arms around her instead.

Alvarr.
His teasing smile played through her mind. He’d saved her life with his sword and wits, and shown her that love still lingered in the world.
This
world, anyway.

Now he probably cursed her name.

“Enough! Get a grip.” She shoved away from the rough wall, trying to leave the path of her thoughts behind.

A grip
. Her gaze snapped to the claw-shaped hinges of the iron door. Could she pry them open?

She seized the nearest one, cold and hard under her fingers. The hinge crackled. A piercing shock surged up her arm and flung her to the opposite wall.

Air scorched her lungs; her numbed hand shook.
Fantastic. First I’m yanked light years—or is it dimensions?—from home and Earth and useful things like 911, and now I’ve nearly had a limb fried off.
Hysterical laughter surged up, only to clog and die in her throat.

Her head sagged against the jagged stones.

Mom, how could you? How could you keep all this a secret?

Another shiver slid over her. The dungeon’s putrid stench roiled in her nose; the chill of the wall at her back seeped into her bones. In the growing hush, her heart echoed.
Thump. Thump.

Metal clanged beyond the boundaries of her cell, followed by the groan of a massive door. A squadron of footsteps thudded toward her in counterpoint to her accelerating pulse.

She clutched her cloak to her body and tried, in vain, to blend into the shadows.

CHAPTER TWO

Three weeks earlier

Fort Nevis, Scotland, Earth

J
ilian reached for the door to Room 309, then stopped.

She slid her palm down her face.
It’s going to be fine. It has to be.

Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and stepped toward the steel-framed bed. “Hi Mom,” she said softly.

“Hello, Jilly Love.” Sara Stewart reached up and gave Jilian’s hand a feeble squeeze. Her wrinkled face and smiling eyes seemed at odds with the white and anonymous hospital bed linens. The frail legs that could no longer move were tucked neatly under the blanket.

Without relinquishing her mother’s fingers, Jilian reached for a nearby chair and drew it close. When she settled upon it, silence grew between them and became entwined like their hands.

Finally, Sara spoke. “Ach, Jilly, no matter what happens, everything’ll be all right.”

Caressing the soft skin of her mother’s wrist, Jilian replied in cheerful tones. “Of course it will.”

Sara grinned and raised a brow.

“Fine, you caught me.” Jilian gave a wry smile. “I never could hide things from you.”

“No, m’girl. And that’s just as it should be.” Sara reached over and tucked an errant strand of dark hair behind Jilian’s ear. “Have ye been to yer father’s house yet?”

“I stayed in it last night. It seems…smaller than I’d remembered. His things—his clothes, the teapot, his books—they’re all there.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep in his room. The bed was neat, perfectly made, like most of the house. Waiting, almost. As if he were coming home.” She brushed her thumb over her mother’s knuckles. “The only place not spic-and-span was your old study. The door was stuck shut at first, and the room’s coated in dust. I doubt he’d been there in years.”

Sara’s gaze slid away and she picked at a loose thread on the sheet.

“I’m sorry,” Jilian said, and bit her lip.

Her mother squared her shoulders. “Don’t apologize, lass. It’s fine.” She took a breath, then began again. “Ye never really got to know yer father, and I wish it were otherwise. Maybe that’s why he left ye his house—because he wished it, too.”

Jilian gave a half-hearted shrug. Colin Stewart was a distant memory, and that was all he deserved.

But her mother…they’d shared love and dreams. For all Jilian’s twenty-five years, she’d felt safely anchored. No matter what happened, her mother had always been able to pull her back to calm waters and comfort.

Now her anchor was disintegrating.

Her mother tugged at her fingers. “Yer father’s heart attack, the house, me—everything at once, m’girl, I know. But chin up. Sometimes we must leave things to fate.”

Then fate’s a jackass.

Jilian leaned forward to fuss with the wool blanket, smoothing it over her mother’s motionless legs. The flights from their longtime home in San Francisco had been uneventful and then the train ride from Glasgow breathtaking, with the mountains curving up around them and the lochs shining in the sun. The raw beauty of Scotland still made her shiver in joy, even after nineteen years away, and had let her forget for a short while the reason she was back: her father’s death. But they’d been only a few miles from Fort Nevis when her mother’s face had pinched into frightened lines. “Jilly,” she’d whispered, “I can’t move my feet!”

Toes, feet, knees, thighs… Days and myriad tests later, the paralysis continued its slither up her mother’s body. “Acute idiopathic progressive neuropathy,” the doctors said, which really meant they knew zip—not what was causing it, nor how to treat it.

Her mother had refused to be moved to a hospital in Glasgow or London, muttering something about having traveled far enough already. Jilian had fought with her about that, to no avail. What would happen when the paralysis reached her mother’s heart, her lungs—her brain? She’d begged the doctors for answers, for a cure; she’d searched the Internet and contacted specialists far away. None of the treatments had helped.

At last the hospital staff had told them both to prepare for the worst. To find a way to make peace with that.

But now neither of them could talk about it.

Jilian straightened in her chair. “Are you sleeping well?”

“Thanks to some help.” Sara nodded toward the empty pill cup on the bedside table. “Otherwise, I’m awake all night and dozing the day away. Blasted time change still has me off. How about you?”

A hospital cart rolled in squeaking protest down the hall outside the room. Jilian gazed out the window at the hulking mountain beyond and the shadows of clouds that glided along its slopes. “I slept through the night for the first time since we got off the plane. Though I dreamed something strange.” Her fingers twitched as if collecting the memory.

“Oh?”

Strange indeed. A deep and sensual whisper had echoed through her sleep.
I need you. Be ready. I’ll come for you soon.
She’d woken with a gasp, clutching the blanket to her body, the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickling in alarm. There’d been no one in the room except her own imagination.

“I heard a man’s voice.” Jilian grinned and rubbed her nape, feeling foolish. “He told me to get ready, and that he’d come for me soon.”

Her mother stilled for a long moment.

When Jilian raised a questioning eyebrow, Sara let loose a giggle. “The devil spoke to ye?” Her eyes grew comically round, and she poked her daughter. “Ye must have done something really awful.”

“No, no.” Jilian laughed. “It wasn’t like that. The voice didn’t scare me—well, not exactly. It was deep, but quiet, too. And had a lot of layers in it, if that makes sense.” She tilted her head, trying to figure out what she meant herself.

“Hmm.” Sara looked at her solemnly. “Maybe it’s the voice of your true love, coming to find ye.”

“Ha.” She rolled her eyes. “I’d rather eat haggis than fall in love again.”

Sara clutched at her heart. “A child of mine who won’t eat haggis. I’ve failed as a Scottish mum.”

Jilian snorted. “Or I’ve succeeded as an American daughter,
Mom
,” she said, emphasizing the un-Scottish pronunciation.

After their smiles faded, her mother spoke again. “Jilly, there’ll be someone else for ye. Give it a chance.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.” Humiliation oozed back to her in memories of her wedding day with Matt. A flower-strewn chapel, the silk of her hand-sewn gown, the sun shining and glorious as she’d waited…for the absent groom who’d crushed her heart like a Dixie cup. Even now, five months later, Jilian winced and gripped the arms of the chair.

Her mother noticed and frowned.

Jilian leapt to her feet and grabbed the white mug on the nightstand. “So, Mom, what kind of tea can I get you today?”

With a sigh, Sara placed her order and let Jilian make a temporary escape.

T
hat night, alone again, Jilian heard him breathe.

A cool mist wafted over her, tingling against her skin as she listened. His breaths came fast and circled all around her.

The mist contracted and began to spin like the tendrils of a galaxy.

From the center of the whorl he emerged—tall and bare-chested, tawny blond hair framing high cheekbones and steel-gray eyes.

“I need you.” His voice was deep and certain. “Come.”

The haze spun into a hypnotic rhythm. Her heartbeat echoed, intensifying with the swirls of vapor and her fear.

The heartbeats, the mist—too fast! She was caught, trapped…

He held out his hand to her.