Four brothers... Four maidens... Four challenges...
Publication Date: May
6, 2015
Genre: YA Romantic Fantasy
Series: The Brother's Keep (4 Novellas in 1)
Four
brothers are appealing in appearance and stature. Yet beneath the striking
features, magnitude and charm, they are monsters, for each one of them have
fallen to darkness and are cursed for all time. Possessed with unique power,
along with the wrath to destroy, the brothers consume all in their paths …until
unlikely maidens challenge them apiece.
Each of the four young maidens ventures out, vulnerable and alone, to battle unknown elements, demons, and strange magic. Risking all for the journey, they are set to find the demise of their monster. But the question of motive begins to infiltrate each of their minds. Are they really trying to save their people from the harm of the monster or redeem a heartless being for the sake of love? Because somehow, while daring, their own hearts are stolen in what could be the quickest path to destruction, the greatest betrayal of all.
Along the way, meet Lily of the Valley, Bright & Morning Star, Promise the King, and The Messenger, characters potentially aiding these impressionable young women who find themselves quite lost in the keeps of alluring yet unscrupulous brothers.
WIND’S ARIA
“Who are you?”
He pushed further back into
the shadows as she strode closer. “Someone you need not know.”
“What’s that supposed to
mean?”
When he didn’t answer, she
sighed.
“What a strange, terrible
day,” she mumbled. “Well, at least tell me your name . . .”
He stood, speechless, knowing
he shouldn’t be there at all—conversing with a Meleyan—especially not their
musical deliverer that he was set to doom the day after tomorrow.
A peculiar grumbling
interrupted her insistence, to his relief.
“Sorry.” She patted her
stomach. He could see, even in the blackened night, how her face turned a
deeper shade of red than her hair. “I’ve forgotten to eat. I guess I’m hungrier
than I realized.”
He plucked an apple from the
tree he’d nearly become a part of and held it out to her. The girl approached
tentatively. She reached for the fruit but recoiled when her fingers brushed
his.
“Is touching me so horrible?”
he asked.
Her jaw dropped open and her
delicate brow furrowed. She inclined her head. “It . . . hurt.”
“How?” he asked, for her fingers
felt good to him, soothing. Warm. He wanted to try again.
“I don’t know how to explain
. . .”
“Hum.” Unsatisfied with the
answer, he tossed the apple to her and watched as she crunched her teeth into
it.
SEA
GOD’S SIREN
“You’re not
being very nice.” Syrena glanced in the direction of an especially loud wave
that crashed against the shore, reaching to kiss the tips of her toes. She
pulled her legs in and rested her head on her knees.
The three sisters lingered in
silence for a spell, absorbing the sun’s offering for the day.
“Well, anyway,” Steffi said.
“It’s high time you got over your fear of the sea. You’ve lived at its edge
your entire life and you haven’t even put your feet in.”
“I don’t have to. And I don’t
need to listen to you.” Syrena didn’t budge.
Gwyn snorted. “Grumpy this
morning. . . .”
Syrena stood then, brushing
off sand. She took several steps into the unknown, this time without her
sisters, trying to feel her way back home but stumbled over driftwood.
“Here,” Gwyn said
impatiently. “We’ll help you. We always do, you know. It’s because we love you
and want to see you happy.”
“I know,” Syrena whispered.
“Love you, too. Thanks,” she said, as her sisters grabbed a hand each and led
her up the path from the beach.
A head popped out of the water
not far from the coastline. Not one of the sisters noticed the keen eyes that
watched the back of one girl in particular and had done so every day for a very
long time. The wave he sent almost reached her this time, pulling her into his
world. When would he ever hold her again?
Syrena.
Dagon dove to the darkest,
deepest crook of his domain and sulked.
TREE LORD’S ORACLE
Gaping,
Arekel tried to find words but couldn’t speak—only stare. Her heart palpitated
in fear, yet she couldn’t pull away from him—couldn’t move.
He cocked
his head. His brow furrowed. He pressed closer as if examining her. His snarl
slowly wilted.
A strange
sort of languish grew on the man’s face. His mouth and jaw shifted. Evil
prevailed in him, yet it seemed as if Arekel opened a door to a dark room and
in its depth a flicker of light, though very small, subsisted. In an odd way,
it made her ache.
With tentativeness the man finally
took hold of her face . . . but then his grip began to soften. He inclined his
head again. “Warm,” he said, as if he’d never felt warmth. A long, cold finger
delicately traced the line of her jaw. His voice purred like silk. “Fortunate,”
he said, one side of his mouth curling upward. “You will live another day.”
ICE DANCER’S
HOLD
Sasha’s
heart hammered against her chest. She stared at Kilian, distrusting the
vampyre. But after he had lifted her hands and brushed her palms with his
sensuous lips, he sat upright with a deeply furrowed brow. “I don’t want to
hurt you.” She could detect the tendon in his jaw that shifted as he glanced
out the window at the falling snow. “That’s what’s strange.” He released her
hands and stood.
She
watched him, and felt the cloud of doubt that seemed to materialize from
nowhere.
“The
province from where I came is in the middle of an arctic.” He sighed. “My
fortress is made of ice.” He lit a candle and then moved again toward the
windows, whispering, “How I miss it.”
“I’m
sorry for your unhappiness, Master.”
He
turned partway and said, “Yes, you’ve said that before. At the water’s edge.”
“It’s
true.”
“Well,
then, I thank you.” He pursed his lips. “You are virtuous.”
She
bowed her head.
He
exhaled what sounded like the weight of his and her worlds combined. “Walk with
me, Sasha.”
“I
beg your pardon, Master?”
“A
stroll. Come.” He extended his arm. Around his other arm draped a fur coat
while heavy boots appeared at his feet.
She
didn’t question his magic, but donned the items and then took his hand. “Will
you not be cold, Master?”
“I
cannot be touched by what I am. I am the cold, my dear.”
For
whatever reason, Sasha felt glad Kilian didn’t address her as his sweet like he had Princess Kristyana.
When he’d called her my dear, the
endearment sounded dipped in a degree of respect. But that couldn’t be. She
rubbed the fading sleep from her eyes. She was a slave and he, her master; she
a fae and he a vampyre. Vampyres and faes didn’t go well together.
Tessa
Stockton is a veteran of the performing arts and worldwide missions, having
come from a long line of musical arts professionals. She loved seeing the world
and absorbing the beauty of other cultures . . . an enriching life full of
dance, music, faith, and interesting cuisine. Over the years, she also
contributed as a writer/editor for ministry publications, ghostwriter for
political content, and headed a column on the topic of forgiveness. Today, she
writes fantasy, romance and political intrigue novels.
