Now that I'm into the edits on Ghost in the Mythe, Book 3 of the Guardians of the Pattern series, it's time to share a snippet. This is unedited, subject to change, blah blah blah...
Miko clenched his hands into fists. He shouldn’t have come here, should just close his eyes and not look. But he couldn’t look away. Tarrin’s sword dance was the most beautiful thing Miko had ever seen, and even if watching him did make Miko feel like his blood was on fire, not watching would be worse.
Wouldn’t it?
Tarrin continued to move through his routine, faster now, muscles stretching and flexing as he worked, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on that golden skin. Miko licked his lips and wondered what it would feel like to lick the sweat from Tarrin’s skin. Heat pooled low in his belly for a moment until he remembered where he was and what he was doing. His chest tightened painfully, and he clapped a hand over his mouth.
How could he even think something like that?
That was sex he was thinking about. DeMira had made him do things like that, and even the seemingly harmless things that didn’t hurt had always led to pain. Sex, in Miko’s experience, always ended up hurting, even if it started out feeling good.
He scooted deeper under the pile of mats on belly and elbows, folded his arms in front of him, and buried his head, determined that he wasn’t going to watch anymore.
It was only a few moments before he lifted his head to peek again, unable to keep his eyes off of Tarrin.
Except Tarrin wasn’t moving anymore. He was standing in the center of the gym, sword lowered, eyes narrowed as they scanned the pile of mats in front of him.
Miko worried his lower lip between his teeth. Had he let his mythe-shadow slip loose when he was imagining the taste of Tarrin’s skin?
Tarrin set the sword down on the floor and strode across the gym, straight toward Miko. He stopped right in front of Miko’s hiding place and peered in. “I know you’re in there, Miko. You can come out. I don’t mind you watching me.”
Miko froze. His face felt hot, and he could feel the shakes starting. He scooted forward and slipped out. Tarrin took his hand and helped him to his feet, then looked down at him, a crooked grin on his face.
“Was there something you wanted, or do you just like watching me?” Tarrin asked in a voice that sounded soft and easy, not sharp or biting.
Miko thought fast while he loosed his mythe-shadow and sensed, with relief, that there wasn’t any anger spiking through Tarrin. Amusement, perhaps, though Miko wasn’t sure what was funny. And something else — something warm and glowing that Miko couldn’t quite read.
<Will you teach me?> Miko asked, hoping to shift Tarrin’s attention away from the fact that he’d been spying on him.
Tarrin raised an eyebrow. “Teach you?”
<How to move like you do. How to fight with a sword.>
“Why do you want to learn to fight?”
Miko set his jaw and hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt like it was. <So nobody can hurt me.>
Tarrin nodded, his expression grave, belying the prickles of excitement Miko could feel lancing through his mythe-shadow. “I can teach you how to fight, but I don’t think a sword is the best weapon for you. They’re heavy, and you’d have to be a bit stronger and taller to use one effectively. A sword isn’t the sort of weapon you’d be allowed to carry with you all the time, either, not in the Federation. You’re more suited to learning to fight with a knife or a dagger, and those can be concealed quite easily.”
<So you’ll teach me?>
“I’ll teach you. Shall we begin now?”
Miko nodded slowly. Anything to keep Tarrin’s mind off of why he’d been watching him.
“Then the first thing we should do is get your hair out of the way. May I braid it for you?”
Miko blinked and nodded again. Tarrin moved behind him and began running his fingers through Miko’s hair. Usually such close contact with another person was uncomfortable for Miko, often to the point of pain. All he felt now was the intoxicating song of Tarrin’s mythe-shadow as it mingled with his own.
There was a gentle, calm feeling about Tarrin as he stroked Miko’s hair, massaging his scalp with strong fingers. It felt good, and Miko closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.
The massage didn’t continue nearly long enough before Tarrin swiftly divided Miko’s hair into sections and began weaving them together. Miko had to fight the impulse to turn his head and watch what Tarrin was doing.
When Tarrin was satisfied that Miko’s hair was out of the way, he moved back to the center of the gym and pointed to the spot where he’d been standing. “Come, then.”
While Miko made his way across the gym floor, Tarrin bent to pick up his sword and carried it to the wall where he’d left his clothes and the sheath. When he returned, he stood before Miko and looked him up and down, studying him with a faint frown. Miko looked down at himself. He wasn’t wearing anything different—a pair of white jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of battered sneakers that were too comfortable to throw away, even though Cameron kept hinting that he should order new ones.
“Tomorrow, wear something looser,” Tarrin said. “Sweats or shorts. Something you can move around in easily. Today, I’m just going to show you some basic positions. We’ll do some warm-ups first. For now, try to mirror me.”
Miko watched Tarrin move and tried to copy his movements. It quickly became apparent to him that what looked as easy as breathing when Tarrin did it was not so easy at all. Miko hadn’t ever done much in the way of exercise. He spent most of his time hiding in the net, so he was sweating and panting and after only a few stretches.
Tarrin didn’t say anything about how out of shape he was. He set his feet a little bit apart, one forward a little, one back, and bent his knees slightly, saying, “This is a good, loose stance—knees bent a little, with your weight resting on the balls of your feet. Feel how stable you are.”
Miko studied Tarrin’s stance and attempted to copy it.
Tarrin shook his head. “You need to distribute your weight more evenly, otherwise you’re off-balance, and it will be too easy for your opponent to knock you over.” He moved toward Miko and set his hands on Miko’s hips, shifting him a little.
The moment Tarrin put his hands on him, something wild and wanting flared through Miko, and something in Tarrin’s mythe-shadow answered. Miko’s groin felt hot and tight, and his breath quickened. He needed... needed...
He stared up at Tarrin, and saw heat and hunger flaring in the blazing violet eyes that locked onto his own. Flames twisted through Tarrin’s mythe-shadow and spilled over into Miko’s, licking along his limbs and making him want so badly he could hardly stand it.
Tarrin’s hands tightened, gripping his hips as he drew Miko closer. “Miko...” he whispered.
Miko could only stare at him in horror. The burning-needing-wanting that twisted through Tarrin’s mythe-shadow was far too familiar. It was the same thing DeMira and his men had felt when they looked at him, and it had always led to pain and humiliation.
But it was Miko’s own feelings that frightened him the most. Because there was a part of him, deep inside, that wanted Tarrin’s hands on him, wanted nothing between them but skin.
His body burned with the same feelings he’d had when DeMira had drugged him, except this time there were no drugs—everything he was feeling was coming from inside himself. His own body was betraying him, and the only way Miko knew to stop it was to get away from the thing that was making him feel so crazy with want.
With a cry that made no sound, but cut through the mythe in a keening wail of anguish, Miko wrenched himself from Tarrin’s grip and fled. He heard Tarrin’s bare feet slapping against the floor, heard him call, “Miko! Wait!”
But he couldn’t wait. He couldn’t bear to be near Tarrin for one more moment. The things his body wanted right now could only lead to pain. The last thing he wanted was to watch the colors of pain and suffering infusing Tarrin’s beautiful mythe-shadow. He couldn’t stand the thought of hurting Tarrin, and he couldn’t understand how people could possibly want to do those things to each other.
Wednesday, February 4, 2015
Monday, January 12, 2015
Burn the Sky is Live!
What begins as a simple teaching assignment becomes both an affair of the heart and a life-and-death struggle. Cold-hearted Wytch Master Ilya must teach headstrong Prince Garrik how to control his dangerous Wytch power--or put him down, for the safety of all.
My M/M fantasy novel, Burn the Sky, is now available at Amazon, All Romance and Smashwords.
This is a 65,000 word stand-alone novel, but I do have ideas for more stories about these characters kicking around in my brain. This story takes place in the Kingdoms of Skanda, which is part of the same world as my other fantasy stories (Human Frailties, Human Strengths, and Human Choices).
My M/M fantasy novel, Burn the Sky, is now available at Amazon, All Romance and Smashwords.
This is a 65,000 word stand-alone novel, but I do have ideas for more stories about these characters kicking around in my brain. This story takes place in the Kingdoms of Skanda, which is part of the same world as my other fantasy stories (Human Frailties, Human Strengths, and Human Choices).
Saturday, January 3, 2015
Update, January 2015
1. Burn the Sky is set for a mid-January release. It's back from my copy editor, and I'm doing the final proofread now. Then I get to spend a day in Formatting Heaven. *happy sigh* (yeah, I'm weird... so sue me...)
2. Ghost in the Mythe (Book 3 in the Guardians of the Pattern Series) is in the rewrite stage (77,000 words out of a projected 100,000 words as of this morning). It's in much better shape than the last two were (she says hopefully), so I'm thinking I might be able to get it out for beta reading by mid-January.
3. Leythe-Blade. NaNo Project. Epic. Fail. But that's okay--it was meant to be a distraction during the early part of the month so I could think about something other than Husband Beast's upcoming Super-Scary Brain Surgery Adventure. I did get 17K into the story. This is another Guardians of the Leythe novel, and I'm guessing it will end up around 50K, time I've had my way with it. The whole thing is outlined, and I'll pick it up again later this month, while Ghost in the Mythe is out for beta reading.
4. Adventures in Brain Surgery. Went surprisingly smoothly and successfully, much to the relief of all concerned. Seriously, who would have thought one could come home three days after brain surgery? Husband Beast is well on the way to recovery, and should be getting back to work soon. It'll be a relief to have things back to normal (or as normal as they ever are around here!).
2. Ghost in the Mythe (Book 3 in the Guardians of the Pattern Series) is in the rewrite stage (77,000 words out of a projected 100,000 words as of this morning). It's in much better shape than the last two were (she says hopefully), so I'm thinking I might be able to get it out for beta reading by mid-January.
3. Leythe-Blade. NaNo Project. Epic. Fail. But that's okay--it was meant to be a distraction during the early part of the month so I could think about something other than Husband Beast's upcoming Super-Scary Brain Surgery Adventure. I did get 17K into the story. This is another Guardians of the Leythe novel, and I'm guessing it will end up around 50K, time I've had my way with it. The whole thing is outlined, and I'll pick it up again later this month, while Ghost in the Mythe is out for beta reading.
4. Adventures in Brain Surgery. Went surprisingly smoothly and successfully, much to the relief of all concerned. Seriously, who would have thought one could come home three days after brain surgery? Husband Beast is well on the way to recovery, and should be getting back to work soon. It'll be a relief to have things back to normal (or as normal as they ever are around here!).
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Burn the Sky: Cover Reveal and Excerpt
Burn the Sky is on track for a mid-January release, so I (finally) get to show you the cover Chinchbug did for it.
And here's a little taste to whet your appetite:
Master Tevari opened the saddlebag that Kian had abandoned. He pulled out a set of chains and manacles, similar to the ones Garrik had glimpsed in the castle dungeons on the rare occasions when he and Jaire had crept down there to explore.
“What are those for?” Garrik asked, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he eyed the chains.
“Protection.”
Garrik let out a nervous laugh. The Wytch Master arched an eyebrow. His expression was deadly serious, and Garrik swallowed his laughter. “Whose protection?”
“Yours. And mine and Kian’s, should things come to such a pass.” Tevari handed the chains to Kian and motioned for Garrik to enter the nearest bedroom. Garrik sat on the bed and removed his boots and his heavy overtunic.
A few moments later, the Wytch Master entered the room, wooden cup in hand. He offered it to Garrik. “Drink this, Your Highness. All of it.”
Garrik sniffed the liquid and wrinkled his nose. It had a foul smell, and bubbled and fizzed ominously in the wooden cup. “What is it?”
“It will help lower your natural defenses, easing the way for me to seek your power.”
He drank it down, nearly gagging at the taste, then lay back on the bed. Kian’s movements were brisk and efficient as he locked the metals cuffs around Garrik’s wrists and ankles.
“Kian,” Garrik said in a low voice, “look at me.”
Kian finished securing the chains to the bed frame and slowly met his gaze.
“Are you truly so frightened?”
Kian’s eyes flicked toward the Wytch Master and then back to Garrik. “It is your safety and your sanity I fear for, Garrik,” he whispered. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
“It is,” Garrik said. “Not just for Altan, but for Jaire. What kind of life will he have if the Wytch Council forces him to take the throne?”
“What kind of life will he have if you are dead?” Kian whispered fiercely. “Have you thought of that? Who will protect him then?”
Dead? Garrik’s certainty began to waver. Kian and the Wytch Master surely knew what they were about. If they were both frightened…
He gave himself a mental shake. What Kian and Tevari thought didn’t matter. There was no other way to protect Jaire. He tore his gaze from Kian’s and focused on the Wytch Master. “I’m ready. Do it.”
The Wytch Master moved to his side. “Then prepare yourself, boy. Because this will hurt.”
And here's a little taste to whet your appetite:
Master Tevari opened the saddlebag that Kian had abandoned. He pulled out a set of chains and manacles, similar to the ones Garrik had glimpsed in the castle dungeons on the rare occasions when he and Jaire had crept down there to explore.
“What are those for?” Garrik asked, worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he eyed the chains.
“Protection.”
Garrik let out a nervous laugh. The Wytch Master arched an eyebrow. His expression was deadly serious, and Garrik swallowed his laughter. “Whose protection?”
“Yours. And mine and Kian’s, should things come to such a pass.” Tevari handed the chains to Kian and motioned for Garrik to enter the nearest bedroom. Garrik sat on the bed and removed his boots and his heavy overtunic.
A few moments later, the Wytch Master entered the room, wooden cup in hand. He offered it to Garrik. “Drink this, Your Highness. All of it.”
Garrik sniffed the liquid and wrinkled his nose. It had a foul smell, and bubbled and fizzed ominously in the wooden cup. “What is it?”
“It will help lower your natural defenses, easing the way for me to seek your power.”
He drank it down, nearly gagging at the taste, then lay back on the bed. Kian’s movements were brisk and efficient as he locked the metals cuffs around Garrik’s wrists and ankles.
“Kian,” Garrik said in a low voice, “look at me.”
Kian finished securing the chains to the bed frame and slowly met his gaze.
“Are you truly so frightened?”
Kian’s eyes flicked toward the Wytch Master and then back to Garrik. “It is your safety and your sanity I fear for, Garrik,” he whispered. “Are you certain this is what you want?”
“It is,” Garrik said. “Not just for Altan, but for Jaire. What kind of life will he have if the Wytch Council forces him to take the throne?”
“What kind of life will he have if you are dead?” Kian whispered fiercely. “Have you thought of that? Who will protect him then?”
Dead? Garrik’s certainty began to waver. Kian and the Wytch Master surely knew what they were about. If they were both frightened…
He gave himself a mental shake. What Kian and Tevari thought didn’t matter. There was no other way to protect Jaire. He tore his gaze from Kian’s and focused on the Wytch Master. “I’m ready. Do it.”
The Wytch Master moved to his side. “Then prepare yourself, boy. Because this will hurt.”
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Thank You!
The nomination period for this year's Goodreads M/M Romance Group's Member's Choice Awards has just finished, and the first round of voting has begun. If you're a member--go vote now!
I was thrilled to see that two of my stories have been nominated. Gremlin's Last Run was nominated for both Best Paranormal and Best Sci Fi/Futuristic/Post-Apocalyptic/Steampunk, and Human Choices was nominated for Best Love's Landscapes Story. Thank you so much to the people who enjoyed my stories enough to nominate them!
I was thrilled to see that two of my stories have been nominated. Gremlin's Last Run was nominated for both Best Paranormal and Best Sci Fi/Futuristic/Post-Apocalyptic/Steampunk, and Human Choices was nominated for Best Love's Landscapes Story. Thank you so much to the people who enjoyed my stories enough to nominate them!
Saturday, November 15, 2014
WIP Excerpt: Burn The Sky
By the time the sun had set, Garrik had had enough of breathing exercises, and his failure to master even the simplest one had him prickling at the Wytch Master’s every comment.
When Ilya calmly suggested he start again for perhaps the hundredth time, Garrik’s irritation finally bubbled over into anger. “Enough! What’s the point of this? How is this going to teach me to control the shift?”
Ilya said nothing, but regarded his student with an expectant expression, as if waiting for him to continue.
“Breathing is simple,” Garrik tried to explain, “and… and I don’t even have to think about it. Shifting is… it just happens. I can’t stop it.”
“But you can stop your breathing.”
Garrik stared at him helplessly. “It’s not the same thing.”
“It is very much the same thing. The difference is simply a matter of degree. Both your breath and the shift are within your control.”
He had nothing to say to that. How did one control something that was so utterly beyond control? Garrik wasn’t the one causing the shift — it was happening to him, whether he wanted it or not.
“Begin again,” Ilya said in that infuriatingly calm voice.
That cool air of superiority sent a surge of white hot fury coursing through Garrik.
As before, the shift began without warning. One moment, he was drawing breath to fuel a caustic tirade, the next he found himself in the grip of unspeakable pain. His anger turned to acidic fire racing through his blood, and his flesh began to stretch and tear.
He was dimly aware of his body changing shape and lifting into the air on wings of flame. Everything was fire, inside and out. Garrik burned, and so did the darkening sky.
Lost to the raging fire, Garrik forgot everything until a quiet song of ice wound its way through the inferno of madness. It was the only thing in the world that wasn’t made of flames, and it riveted his attention as it moved through him, dousing the fire, freezing the madness. Garrik clung to it, knowing the cold was the only thing that could save him.
A breath of icy vapor ghosted across his burning skin, and huge frost-rimed wings wrapped around him, smothering the flames in their dark embrace.
The ice took the pain with it, and when Garrik came back to his senses, he was lying on the cold stone of the watchtower roof. There were arms around him, and a warm, male body pressed against his back. With a start, Garrik realized that he was naked and so was the man who held him.
His body responded with shocking swiftness, and Garrik turned over and pulled the man to him. A different kind of heat surged through him as his mouth moved over warm flesh.
The man in his arms responded to his touch, arching against him and turning his face to meet Garrik in a heated kiss. Garrik’s hands moved to explore slender limbs, narrow hips, and long, tousled hair—
The man tore his mouth away from Garrik’s and let out a needy whimper. Garrik caught a flash of pale eyes in the moonlight and a glint of copper hair.
Ilya…
It was the Wytch Master he held in his arms, the Wytch Master who writhed and moaned at his touch.
Garrik jerked back, shoving Ilya away from him. “What in Aio’s name—?” His voice sounded rough and harsh in his ears.
Ilya stared at him with wide, stunned eyes for a long, frozen moment before turning away and rolling gracefully to his feet. Before Garrik could say a word, Ilya turned on his heel and strode toward the stairs that led down into the watchtower.
When Ilya calmly suggested he start again for perhaps the hundredth time, Garrik’s irritation finally bubbled over into anger. “Enough! What’s the point of this? How is this going to teach me to control the shift?”
Ilya said nothing, but regarded his student with an expectant expression, as if waiting for him to continue.
“Breathing is simple,” Garrik tried to explain, “and… and I don’t even have to think about it. Shifting is… it just happens. I can’t stop it.”
“But you can stop your breathing.”
Garrik stared at him helplessly. “It’s not the same thing.”
“It is very much the same thing. The difference is simply a matter of degree. Both your breath and the shift are within your control.”
He had nothing to say to that. How did one control something that was so utterly beyond control? Garrik wasn’t the one causing the shift — it was happening to him, whether he wanted it or not.
“Begin again,” Ilya said in that infuriatingly calm voice.
That cool air of superiority sent a surge of white hot fury coursing through Garrik.
As before, the shift began without warning. One moment, he was drawing breath to fuel a caustic tirade, the next he found himself in the grip of unspeakable pain. His anger turned to acidic fire racing through his blood, and his flesh began to stretch and tear.
He was dimly aware of his body changing shape and lifting into the air on wings of flame. Everything was fire, inside and out. Garrik burned, and so did the darkening sky.
Lost to the raging fire, Garrik forgot everything until a quiet song of ice wound its way through the inferno of madness. It was the only thing in the world that wasn’t made of flames, and it riveted his attention as it moved through him, dousing the fire, freezing the madness. Garrik clung to it, knowing the cold was the only thing that could save him.
A breath of icy vapor ghosted across his burning skin, and huge frost-rimed wings wrapped around him, smothering the flames in their dark embrace.
The ice took the pain with it, and when Garrik came back to his senses, he was lying on the cold stone of the watchtower roof. There were arms around him, and a warm, male body pressed against his back. With a start, Garrik realized that he was naked and so was the man who held him.
His body responded with shocking swiftness, and Garrik turned over and pulled the man to him. A different kind of heat surged through him as his mouth moved over warm flesh.
The man in his arms responded to his touch, arching against him and turning his face to meet Garrik in a heated kiss. Garrik’s hands moved to explore slender limbs, narrow hips, and long, tousled hair—
The man tore his mouth away from Garrik’s and let out a needy whimper. Garrik caught a flash of pale eyes in the moonlight and a glint of copper hair.
Ilya…
It was the Wytch Master he held in his arms, the Wytch Master who writhed and moaned at his touch.
Garrik jerked back, shoving Ilya away from him. “What in Aio’s name—?” His voice sounded rough and harsh in his ears.
Ilya stared at him with wide, stunned eyes for a long, frozen moment before turning away and rolling gracefully to his feet. Before Garrik could say a word, Ilya turned on his heel and strode toward the stairs that led down into the watchtower.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
NaNo 2014: In Which I Attempt to Warp Space and Time
Since I started this blog a couple of years ago, I've gone from having absolutely no one in my life who writes, to having a huge on-line community of M/M writers that I hang out with, get inspiration and advice from, and generally have a good time with.
These guys are awesome, and when a bunch of them started getting excited about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) I started thinking about it. I might have even mentioned that it looked like it would be fun, but I have a ton of Family Stuff to deal with later this month, and I didn't think I could manage it.
Then I started thinking about how I have all my releases planned for 2015 except there's this big hole in the summer labelled Still To Be Written Fantasy Novel.
Next thing I knew, I was all signed up.
So this will be the month when I shall attempt to bend the laws of physics to my will, warping space and time in such a way that I create a little bubble of writing time that's all my own.
50K in a month?
No sweat.
The project is tentatively titled "Leythe-Blade", and it will be another story that fits into the tapestry I've started weaving in Human Frailties, Human Strengths, and Human Choices.
Here's a brief description:
Sasha is a healer with dreams of being a warrior. When he takes up his grandmother's sword in order to defend his Clan from attack, he gets far more than he bargained for. The sword--Ryka--is a leythe-blade, a magical weapon with the power to send gentle Sasha into a ruthless, killing frenzy. When the berserker rage subsides, Sasha finds himself the sole survivor of the attack.
A healer with blood on his hands does not deserve to live, and all Sasha wants to do is crawl away and die. Ryka has other ideas; Sasha is now her bond-mate, and she will do whatever it takes to keep him alive.
Lukas is a mercenary soldier, charged with protecting his commander’s younger brother on a journey through the Middle Kingdoms. When Lukas and Gwydion find Sasha alone and in agony, Gwydion's prophetic visions tell him that Sasha's survival is vital to the future. Gwydion's visions are seldom wrong, so Lukas turns his mind to helping Sasha find meaning in the tattered remains of his life.
But the last thing the shattered young healer wants is a reason to live, and the last thing Lukas expects is to become Sasha's reason to live.
If all goes well, you can look for it sometime in the summer. Now, I'm off to down a pot of coffee and get on with this time-warping thing. Can't be that hard. They do it on Star Trek all the time.
These guys are awesome, and when a bunch of them started getting excited about NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) I started thinking about it. I might have even mentioned that it looked like it would be fun, but I have a ton of Family Stuff to deal with later this month, and I didn't think I could manage it.
Then I started thinking about how I have all my releases planned for 2015 except there's this big hole in the summer labelled Still To Be Written Fantasy Novel.
Next thing I knew, I was all signed up.
So this will be the month when I shall attempt to bend the laws of physics to my will, warping space and time in such a way that I create a little bubble of writing time that's all my own.
50K in a month?
No sweat.
The project is tentatively titled "Leythe-Blade", and it will be another story that fits into the tapestry I've started weaving in Human Frailties, Human Strengths, and Human Choices.
Here's a brief description:
Sasha is a healer with dreams of being a warrior. When he takes up his grandmother's sword in order to defend his Clan from attack, he gets far more than he bargained for. The sword--Ryka--is a leythe-blade, a magical weapon with the power to send gentle Sasha into a ruthless, killing frenzy. When the berserker rage subsides, Sasha finds himself the sole survivor of the attack.
A healer with blood on his hands does not deserve to live, and all Sasha wants to do is crawl away and die. Ryka has other ideas; Sasha is now her bond-mate, and she will do whatever it takes to keep him alive.
Lukas is a mercenary soldier, charged with protecting his commander’s younger brother on a journey through the Middle Kingdoms. When Lukas and Gwydion find Sasha alone and in agony, Gwydion's prophetic visions tell him that Sasha's survival is vital to the future. Gwydion's visions are seldom wrong, so Lukas turns his mind to helping Sasha find meaning in the tattered remains of his life.
But the last thing the shattered young healer wants is a reason to live, and the last thing Lukas expects is to become Sasha's reason to live.
If all goes well, you can look for it sometime in the summer. Now, I'm off to down a pot of coffee and get on with this time-warping thing. Can't be that hard. They do it on Star Trek all the time.
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