by L. Penelope
March 31st, 2022
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Romance
For Talia, death is only the beginning of survival…
When a tragic accident cuts my lonely life short, instead of heaven or hell, I’m stolen away to a terrifying city of warring shifter clans—the Nimali and the Fai. The Nimali mistake me for their missing princess. Her father, the dragon king, is identical to my own. But in this world, he dotes on me with the love and affection I always craved. And in a land with no tolerance for outsiders, feigning amnesia and impersonating shifter royalty may be the only way to survive.
For Ryin, falling in love is the worst kind of betrayal…
As a Fai warrior in captivity, I’m forced to serve my enemy even as I plot their destruction. The lost princess returned much changed, now the heat between us crackles irresistibly. While helping her heal using my magical talents, I begin to question what I thought I knew about the Nimali. She remains as forbidden as ever, but she also might be the key to freedom for me and my people.
Caught between two enemy factions balancing on the knife-blade of annihilation, our lies are the only thing keeping us alive, but they just might be our undoing.
I stare at Victor, my head still spinning. Victor all grown up—which is something he never had the chance to do. The darkness and the cold fade away. I can’t tear my gaze away from him.
As a kid, he was a little awkward, sort of gangly, already six feet tall at the age of thirteen with dark freckles and a giant, reddish-brown afro that was perpetually lopsided. I was absolutely smitten. He was the son of my father’s housekeeper, and for a few months they lived in a little apartment above the garage. I used to spy on him through my bedroom window as he shot hoops in the driveway until my stepmother complained that the bouncing gave her a migraine. He and his mother found their own place after that, and I would only see him every once in a while, on school half-days or holidays. Then, when he was sixteen, he was in a park with some friends and was killed in a drive-by shooting.
If he’d lived, he’d be twenty-eight, and that’s about the age of the man next to me—the one with Victor’s face and a different name. He’s still lean, his hair still tinged with red. But there is no light of recognition in his gaze. I’d thought for a moment, blinking to look up into his eyes, that I was in heaven and would be reunited with people who were important to me, like the pre-teen crush I never quite got over. But that spark of joy flickers and dies. If this were heaven, would he have kept growing older?
A shiver races through me, cutting through the thin fabric of my gown. And heaven wouldn’t have me somehow on the top of a giant wall surrounded by men and women who dress like futuristic renaissance faire cosplayers. They’re all in black, the material tough and leatherish and fitted with reinforced shoulders and elbows and knees. It’s pretty badass, and I wouldn’t mind an outfit like that too. Looks warm. The only other person not dressed like Mad Max meets King Arthur is Victor—no, not Victor, Ryin. Who’s dressed all in dark gray, his clothes softer and less armor-like.
He won’t look at me anymore, and I miss his attention. He’s the only familiar thing here, and even if he’s not Victor, his presence is still a grounding rod in the electrical storm that has become my life—after life, whatever.
As a kid, he was a little awkward, sort of gangly, already six feet tall at the age of thirteen with dark freckles and a giant, reddish-brown afro that was perpetually lopsided. I was absolutely smitten. He was the son of my father’s housekeeper, and for a few months they lived in a little apartment above the garage. I used to spy on him through my bedroom window as he shot hoops in the driveway until my stepmother complained that the bouncing gave her a migraine. He and his mother found their own place after that, and I would only see him every once in a while, on school half-days or holidays. Then, when he was sixteen, he was in a park with some friends and was killed in a drive-by shooting.
If he’d lived, he’d be twenty-eight, and that’s about the age of the man next to me—the one with Victor’s face and a different name. He’s still lean, his hair still tinged with red. But there is no light of recognition in his gaze. I’d thought for a moment, blinking to look up into his eyes, that I was in heaven and would be reunited with people who were important to me, like the pre-teen crush I never quite got over. But that spark of joy flickers and dies. If this were heaven, would he have kept growing older?
A shiver races through me, cutting through the thin fabric of my gown. And heaven wouldn’t have me somehow on the top of a giant wall surrounded by men and women who dress like futuristic renaissance faire cosplayers. They’re all in black, the material tough and leatherish and fitted with reinforced shoulders and elbows and knees. It’s pretty badass, and I wouldn’t mind an outfit like that too. Looks warm. The only other person not dressed like Mad Max meets King Arthur is Victor—no, not Victor, Ryin. Who’s dressed all in dark gray, his clothes softer and less armor-like.
He won’t look at me anymore, and I miss his attention. He’s the only familiar thing here, and even if he’s not Victor, his presence is still a grounding rod in the electrical storm that has become my life—after life, whatever.
L. Penelope has been writing since she could hold a pen and loves getting lost in the worlds in her head. She is an award-winning author of fantasy and paranormal romance. Equally left and right-brained, she studied filmmaking and computer science in college and sometimes dreams in HTML. After living on both coasts, she settled in Maryland with her husband and their furry dependents. Sign up for new release information and giveaways on her website: http://www.lpenelope.com.
No comments:
Post a Comment