Lucan: Gods of the Highlands Series Book 4
Neala Comyn, wife of a powerful laird, wants to end the pain and suffering of an abusive marriage. She is a woman without hope, believing God has forsaken her. When she is kidnapped by a rival laird who claims to be a god himself, her faith is further shaken. Could Lucan Munro be the salvation she has prayed for? Or will her sins condemn her to eternal damnation?
Lucan Munro, has the power of a Celtic god. He can conjure his heart’s desire from thin air. But can he save the woman he loves from a demon hell-bent on claiming her soul?
Excerpt
From his vantage spot he saw her tiny bare feet touch the floor next to the bed. He crawled backwards in the opposite direction. She rushed across to the table beneath the window and began an onslaught of such proportions, he wondered again where she found the strength. He opened his mouth to speak, but thinking better of it, clamped it shut again. She appeared completely without reason, lost in her heated rampage. Perhaps it was best to let her calm down on her own.
“Ye gorbellied,” she threw the box containing his seal, “toad-spotted,” then the ink vial, “malt worm!” ending with the empty food tray that crashed against the tub only a breath away from his head.
Lucan had had enough. He was laird of the mighty clan Munro. He was not about to let some slip of a lass make him cower in his own chamber. He rose from his hiding place wrapping the plaid around his waist as he did so. “Now see here -”
They both jumped when the door burst open. Lucan turned to see Evie standing at the threshold, her mouth open wide in surprise. “Get out,” he bellowed at her. The maid barely had the door closed before the clay pitcher Neala had been about to throw at him crashed against it, shattering to pieces.
He took the opportunity of her distraction to close the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her, trapping hers against her body. She struggled like a cat who’d fallen into the burn, cussing and spitting insults at him that would rival the most battle-hardened soldier.
“Where did ye learn such language?” Lucan fought to control her, ignoring the effect her squirming against him was having on every inch of his body. He had not been with a woman since well before he had brought Neala here, and his cock responded eagerly to the pressure against it.
He fought the sensation, recognizing the debauchery in being aroused by a woman so obviously without her wits. He twisted away, clenching his thighs and trying to fill his mind with thoughts of his long-dead mother, the repairs that need to be done to the kitchens, his prized mare that was on the verge of birthing a new foal. Anything to take his mind off the increasing hardening of his body. If only she would stop writhing against him. He fairly growled when she deliberately pressed her thigh against his groin. He tried to shield himself, turning his body at an angle, but it was no use.
“What’s yer pleasure t’night, m’laird? D’ye want me to fight ye?” She pressed harder, painfully against him. “D’ye want me to play the whore?” She reached between them and boldly grasped his erection in her hand, squeezing it through his plaid and glaring up at him with the look of the devil. “Is this what ye want?”
Lucan clamped his teeth together, grinding them until an ache developed in his jaw. He would have thought her a strumpet of some renown if not for the tear that trickled from the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek. His grip around her waist softened. He reached one hand up to her face, wiping the single tear away with the pad of his thumb. The gesture only brought more tears. His heart ripped in half.
“Why did ye save me?” Her cracked voice was barely more than a whisper. “Another month and I would have been dead.” She closed her eyes and went limp in his arms.
“Ye gorbellied,” she threw the box containing his seal, “toad-spotted,” then the ink vial, “malt worm!” ending with the empty food tray that crashed against the tub only a breath away from his head.
Lucan had had enough. He was laird of the mighty clan Munro. He was not about to let some slip of a lass make him cower in his own chamber. He rose from his hiding place wrapping the plaid around his waist as he did so. “Now see here -”
They both jumped when the door burst open. Lucan turned to see Evie standing at the threshold, her mouth open wide in surprise. “Get out,” he bellowed at her. The maid barely had the door closed before the clay pitcher Neala had been about to throw at him crashed against it, shattering to pieces.
He took the opportunity of her distraction to close the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around her, trapping hers against her body. She struggled like a cat who’d fallen into the burn, cussing and spitting insults at him that would rival the most battle-hardened soldier.
“Where did ye learn such language?” Lucan fought to control her, ignoring the effect her squirming against him was having on every inch of his body. He had not been with a woman since well before he had brought Neala here, and his cock responded eagerly to the pressure against it.
He fought the sensation, recognizing the debauchery in being aroused by a woman so obviously without her wits. He twisted away, clenching his thighs and trying to fill his mind with thoughts of his long-dead mother, the repairs that need to be done to the kitchens, his prized mare that was on the verge of birthing a new foal. Anything to take his mind off the increasing hardening of his body. If only she would stop writhing against him. He fairly growled when she deliberately pressed her thigh against his groin. He tried to shield himself, turning his body at an angle, but it was no use.
“What’s yer pleasure t’night, m’laird? D’ye want me to fight ye?” She pressed harder, painfully against him. “D’ye want me to play the whore?” She reached between them and boldly grasped his erection in her hand, squeezing it through his plaid and glaring up at him with the look of the devil. “Is this what ye want?”
Lucan clamped his teeth together, grinding them until an ache developed in his jaw. He would have thought her a strumpet of some renown if not for the tear that trickled from the corner of her eye and slid down her cheek. His grip around her waist softened. He reached one hand up to her face, wiping the single tear away with the pad of his thumb. The gesture only brought more tears. His heart ripped in half.
“Why did ye save me?” Her cracked voice was barely more than a whisper. “Another month and I would have been dead.” She closed her eyes and went limp in his arms.
BUY LUCAN
Tanis: Gods of the Highlands Series Book 3
Tanis Cleary, laird of a small Highland clan, wants to protect what’s left of his family from the pagan god who hunts them. But even with his colossal strength, fed by the unholy blood in his veins, he cannot do it alone. His only ally is an insatiable angel with a chip on her shoulder. Will he desert his clan to follow the only woman who can save him from eternal damnation?
Kiah is an angel of God, tasked with guarding one of His most sacred vessels. Like any woman desperate to win her Father’s approval, Kiah will stop at nothing to succeed in her mission. Distracted by the lure of a man more compelling than any other, Kiah soon finds herself battling the fires of hell, her very existence in jeopardy.
Excerpt
When Tanis spoke, Kiah let his voice wash over her. She nearly wept, so great was her yearning to feel the vibration of its rich tone, accented with the lilt common among these Highlanders.
The only other time she had heard him speak, he had been bellowing at her. She could imagine what he would sound like speaking of love play in that sultry voice, whispering her name, expressing his pleasure.
When the others left, Tanis stayed behind. He walked back to stand by the bed, his expression unreadable as he stared down at the woman ensconced there. He was the finest example of man Kiah had ever seen. Tall and broad-shouldered, his body was sculpted from years of fighting and living, and from the influence of pagan blood in his ancestry. He wore his raven-colored hair long and wild. He had rich brown eyes, windows to his spirit she longed to stare into. He was the kind of man who did everything with a fierceness that made one long to feed on that essence. He was irresistible.
And dangerous. He had an allure that called to her, despite better judgment. He was proud and arrogant, every bit her equal. She grudgingly admitted that Tanis was not as weak as most humans. She recognized that.
He was the kind of man Kiah avoided.
I ken yer spirit, lass. Kiah drew up when he spoke directly to her.
Have ye come to sate yer desire for me? She was as tempted as if Lucifer himself was standing there. Her wings twitched, anticipating her transformation. But she resisted, easier for her than these weak humans.
Do ye have sin on yer mind? The urge was almost more than she could hold back. She reminded herself of her recent failure. She was in enough trouble.
Perhaps ye are afraid of me? ’Tis no surprise. Most lasses flee in fear after just a few days in my bed. Why should ye be any different?
She could only resist so much. She drifted around the bed and pressed against him. He was tall and wide. She imagined herself in human form, laying her head against that broad back, wrapping her arms around him.
Show yourself and learn the true meaning of sin. Kiah moved away from him, prepared to change into her human form and give in to temptation.
The only other time she had heard him speak, he had been bellowing at her. She could imagine what he would sound like speaking of love play in that sultry voice, whispering her name, expressing his pleasure.
When the others left, Tanis stayed behind. He walked back to stand by the bed, his expression unreadable as he stared down at the woman ensconced there. He was the finest example of man Kiah had ever seen. Tall and broad-shouldered, his body was sculpted from years of fighting and living, and from the influence of pagan blood in his ancestry. He wore his raven-colored hair long and wild. He had rich brown eyes, windows to his spirit she longed to stare into. He was the kind of man who did everything with a fierceness that made one long to feed on that essence. He was irresistible.
And dangerous. He had an allure that called to her, despite better judgment. He was proud and arrogant, every bit her equal. She grudgingly admitted that Tanis was not as weak as most humans. She recognized that.
He was the kind of man Kiah avoided.
I ken yer spirit, lass. Kiah drew up when he spoke directly to her.
Have ye come to sate yer desire for me? She was as tempted as if Lucifer himself was standing there. Her wings twitched, anticipating her transformation. But she resisted, easier for her than these weak humans.
Do ye have sin on yer mind? The urge was almost more than she could hold back. She reminded herself of her recent failure. She was in enough trouble.
Perhaps ye are afraid of me? ’Tis no surprise. Most lasses flee in fear after just a few days in my bed. Why should ye be any different?
She could only resist so much. She drifted around the bed and pressed against him. He was tall and wide. She imagined herself in human form, laying her head against that broad back, wrapping her arms around him.
Show yourself and learn the true meaning of sin. Kiah moved away from him, prepared to change into her human form and give in to temptation.
BUY TANIS
Sirona: Gods of the Highlands Series Book 2
She has the power to heal his body, but can she heal his soul?
Sirona Cleary tries to hide her unholy healing powers from everyone around her, denying her divine heritage even as she saves those who would see her punished. When she is kidnapped by a rival clan, she is sure her execution is near. Rhain Comyn is dying from a mysterious disease, and he couldn't be happier about it. After the atrocities he has committed, Rhain believes he has no right to a decent life and welcomes the ailment that leaves him with unquenchable thirst and hunger, extreme fatigue, blurred vision and ultimately drives him into a deep slumber from which no healer can awaken him. Can a witch from the clan of his enemy save him?
Excerpt
Alone with her patient, Sirona relaxed a little. She crept closer to the bed and leaned over him. Rhain Comyn was by far the handsomest man she had ever seen. Long, thick lashes, dark as soot, laid against cheekbones made more prominent by whatever ailed him. She wondered if behind that facade, softened in slumber, was a cruel bully, equally revolting as his brothers.
Without remorse she realized that if Fergus were lying there instead of Rhain, she would not hesitate to let him die. She was already damned to Hell, was she not? Everything about her existence went against God. Saint Peter would never allow such an abomination past the gate. She tried to deny the powers that marked her a pagan, in the hopes He would not punish her for her tainted blood. But in the end, she could no more ignore her gift than she could refuse breathing.
What if she defied God and saved this man, only to discover he was the spawn of another sort, evil and deviant, and she had unleashed him on the world? Was it worth the risk for the promise that she would be returned to her home? Could she trust that promise?
Sirona eased down on the bed. She took one of his gaunt hands in both of hers. Warmth spread through her at the touch. Her heart clenched at the possibility she could not save him. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts fall away, focusing all her energy on the sensation of his skin against hers.
His hand was limp in hers, cold and frail. She sensed his longing for death, born of a sorrow so deep it seeped into his bones. Tears clogged her throat as she was overcome with profound despair.
What had happened to him to cause such anguish and torment, such hopelessness? She tried to recall what little she knew of the clan. The Munro had been feuding with them for generations, but it wasn’t until the laird, Gregor Munro, had been killed, that the hatred and fighting had escalated. Now there were skirmishes every few months.
Comyn men were renowned for their ruthless brutality. Legend stated they came out of the womb filled with bloodlust and savagery. Comyn women seldom survived childbirth. The laird’s own sons had been born to three different wives.
Despite the frailty of their women, the boys grew strong and healthy, populating the clan with a merciless fighting force. Their only weakness was their small number.
Rhain, the youngest of the laird’s sons, was rumored to be the most ruthless of them all. He had hired himself out as a mercenary, it was said because there weren’t enough Munros to quench his thirst for blood.
Sirona shuddered and opened her eyes. Her heart tripped when she found him staring at the rafters over the bed. She dropped his hand as if it burned and shot to her feet. She took several deep breaths as she watched him. When he did not move, indeed he did not even blink, she inched closer. “Can you hear me?” she whispered.
No reaction.
She pressed the backs of her fingers against his cheek. No fever. With one finger beneath his chin, she gently turned his face toward her until she was in his line of vision. She stared into rich brown eyes, windows to a deep, dark abyss that promised endless suffering.
“Rhain?”
His eyes focused on hers when she whispered his name.
“I’m here to help. Can ye speak to me?” His eyes wavered back and forth between hers. “D’ye want something to drink?” She surveyed the room for the first time. Near the hearth stood a table, laden with food and drink. She crossed to it and poured a cup of water from a flagon.
Returning to the bed, she sat next to him and slid her free arm beneath his shoulders. With her help, he sat up enough to the drink from the cup she held for him. When he’d drained it, he fell back, what little strength he had depleted from the exertion.
Sirona cradled him against her. She brushed silky locks from his face and spoke to him in a soothing voice. “I need you to tell me what you feel. Do ye ache?” He was weak, but did not seem to be in any pain. She cast relief over him just the same. “Can ye speak to me?” she asked again.
He seemed to be trying to say something, but his voice was so faint, she had to lean close to hear him. His breath was warm on her ear, but sent a cold shiver down her spine.
“Let-me-die.”
Without remorse she realized that if Fergus were lying there instead of Rhain, she would not hesitate to let him die. She was already damned to Hell, was she not? Everything about her existence went against God. Saint Peter would never allow such an abomination past the gate. She tried to deny the powers that marked her a pagan, in the hopes He would not punish her for her tainted blood. But in the end, she could no more ignore her gift than she could refuse breathing.
What if she defied God and saved this man, only to discover he was the spawn of another sort, evil and deviant, and she had unleashed him on the world? Was it worth the risk for the promise that she would be returned to her home? Could she trust that promise?
Sirona eased down on the bed. She took one of his gaunt hands in both of hers. Warmth spread through her at the touch. Her heart clenched at the possibility she could not save him. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts fall away, focusing all her energy on the sensation of his skin against hers.
His hand was limp in hers, cold and frail. She sensed his longing for death, born of a sorrow so deep it seeped into his bones. Tears clogged her throat as she was overcome with profound despair.
What had happened to him to cause such anguish and torment, such hopelessness? She tried to recall what little she knew of the clan. The Munro had been feuding with them for generations, but it wasn’t until the laird, Gregor Munro, had been killed, that the hatred and fighting had escalated. Now there were skirmishes every few months.
Comyn men were renowned for their ruthless brutality. Legend stated they came out of the womb filled with bloodlust and savagery. Comyn women seldom survived childbirth. The laird’s own sons had been born to three different wives.
Despite the frailty of their women, the boys grew strong and healthy, populating the clan with a merciless fighting force. Their only weakness was their small number.
Rhain, the youngest of the laird’s sons, was rumored to be the most ruthless of them all. He had hired himself out as a mercenary, it was said because there weren’t enough Munros to quench his thirst for blood.
Sirona shuddered and opened her eyes. Her heart tripped when she found him staring at the rafters over the bed. She dropped his hand as if it burned and shot to her feet. She took several deep breaths as she watched him. When he did not move, indeed he did not even blink, she inched closer. “Can you hear me?” she whispered.
No reaction.
She pressed the backs of her fingers against his cheek. No fever. With one finger beneath his chin, she gently turned his face toward her until she was in his line of vision. She stared into rich brown eyes, windows to a deep, dark abyss that promised endless suffering.
“Rhain?”
His eyes focused on hers when she whispered his name.
“I’m here to help. Can ye speak to me?” His eyes wavered back and forth between hers. “D’ye want something to drink?” She surveyed the room for the first time. Near the hearth stood a table, laden with food and drink. She crossed to it and poured a cup of water from a flagon.
Returning to the bed, she sat next to him and slid her free arm beneath his shoulders. With her help, he sat up enough to the drink from the cup she held for him. When he’d drained it, he fell back, what little strength he had depleted from the exertion.
Sirona cradled him against her. She brushed silky locks from his face and spoke to him in a soothing voice. “I need you to tell me what you feel. Do ye ache?” He was weak, but did not seem to be in any pain. She cast relief over him just the same. “Can ye speak to me?” she asked again.
He seemed to be trying to say something, but his voice was so faint, she had to lean close to hear him. His breath was warm on her ear, but sent a cold shiver down her spine.
“Let-me-die.”
BUY SIRONA
Camulus: Gods of the Highlands Series Book 1
Camulus Vass wants a simple life, absent the power and responsibility that can consume a man. But being laird of a clan as large as the Munro does not offer such luxury. Always under the domineering heel of his uncle, Cam has allowed himself to become a pawn. But the arrival of a mysterious newcomer awakens a beast within him that will not be tamed.
Màili has been given the task of rooting out the spawn of an ancient god. It’s the only way to take her revenge against the man who betrayed her. But getting what she wants means taking the life of the man she loves. Will her hunger for a mortal man wreak further havoc on her already bleak future?
Excerpt
Excerpt
FIRST KISS:
Cam pulled the linen from his shaggy, ebony mane and locked his rich brown eyes, glistening with excitement, on hers. He stepped out of the tub, dropping the linen to the floor. "Come to me, woman." Cam wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He claimed her mouth with his, prying her lips open and invading her with the sweetest tasting tongue she had ever known.
Màili lost herself in that kiss. The power of it sent jolts of pleasure to every pore in her body. She tingled all over, her senses melding until she could no longer remember anything other than the man before her. She kissed him back with all the self–pity of a woman who had been betrayed by love and yearned to get even a piece of herself back.
The power of her desire for Cam surprised her. Màili was certainly no stranger to the ways of men and women. She had learned a lot over the centuries. This was the first time she had found anyone she thought could teach her anything. A nagging possibility tickled the edge of her thoughts, but she pushed it aside.
Màili dragged her mouth from his, nibbling along his jaw and across the pulse at his throat. With her hands on his chest, she urged him back toward the bed all the while trailing her lips, her tongue down his body. He tasted like nectar and all Màili could think of was more, more, more.
Cam pulled the linen from his shaggy, ebony mane and locked his rich brown eyes, glistening with excitement, on hers. He stepped out of the tub, dropping the linen to the floor. "Come to me, woman." Cam wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against him. He claimed her mouth with his, prying her lips open and invading her with the sweetest tasting tongue she had ever known.
Màili lost herself in that kiss. The power of it sent jolts of pleasure to every pore in her body. She tingled all over, her senses melding until she could no longer remember anything other than the man before her. She kissed him back with all the self–pity of a woman who had been betrayed by love and yearned to get even a piece of herself back.
The power of her desire for Cam surprised her. Màili was certainly no stranger to the ways of men and women. She had learned a lot over the centuries. This was the first time she had found anyone she thought could teach her anything. A nagging possibility tickled the edge of her thoughts, but she pushed it aside.
Màili dragged her mouth from his, nibbling along his jaw and across the pulse at his throat. With her hands on his chest, she urged him back toward the bed all the while trailing her lips, her tongue down his body. He tasted like nectar and all Màili could think of was more, more, more.
BUY CAMULUS
Author Bio: Yes, Bambi is my real name.When not plugging away at my keyboard, I teach World History. I love to ride my big, black Tennessee Walker, Jamaica. My husband and I each have a Harley to go with our collection of classic cars and hot rods.
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