Blood
Royal
Legacy
of Albessind
Book
One
Genre: Romantic Fantasy
Publisher: Wild Rose
Press
Date of Publication:
February 26, 2015
Print ISBN
978-1-5092-0606-3
Digital ISBN
978-1-5092-0607-0
Number of pages: 333
Word Count: 85k
Cover Artist: Debbie
Taylor
Book Description:
Struggling artist Eva
Milaras is in the midst of buying groceries when a bomb blast tears the store
apart. A handsome man with mysterious powers saves her life and stuffs her into
a limo without a steering wheel—while treating her like royalty. Caught in a
deadly web of magic and murder, Eva faces an aristocratic destiny she didn’t
know about and doesn't want. Now in a strange world she has to survive the
deadly schemes of her new-found relatives as they maneuver for advantage in a
murderous royal court.
Talak has loved Eva long
before he saved her life, but that love is doomed. She must marry a man from a
royal bloodline, and Talak is duty-bound to protect her until she
marries—regardless of his torn heart. Together they battle intrigue and
betrayal, only to discover they must choose between letting go of each
other...or certain death for treason. A choice Eva refuses to make.
Instead of
the large, perfect fruit shown in the flyer, the Granny Smiths at Budget Foods
were small and beaten up—yet another disappointing win for reality over
promise. Eva Milaras gazed at the poor things as she tore off the coupon and
stuffed the rest of the pages back into her bag. I guess we’re all bruised in
one way or another.
Still, she
was sure she could find half a dozen decent ones in the stack. She’d get some
yams and put them together in a casserole—a tasty and inexpensive declaration
that she was now back in charge of her life in spite of being broke.
She’d tough
this out with what little cash she had in her purse until the gallery could
figure out what was causing the mysterious delay in her payment. They owed her
for two large paintings, and that money would be more than enough to get her
back on her feet again. It was just a matter of time. She yanked a plastic bag
from the dispenser and began picking through the apples.
She flashed
on her little studio. It had great light, decent ventilation, and was within
walking distance of most everything she needed. So what if she had to maneuver
around her bed to get to the tiny kitchen? With Derek gone, it was all the room
she needed for her easel and canvases. She’d love to keep it if she could, but
the rent was due in two weeks and...well, she’d go to the gallery this
afternoon, see what Leslie had to say. She found two more unbruised apples and
took them as a sign of better times coming. She really would take charge of her
life—simplify, concentrate on her work, and avoid complications like an
unemployed boyfriend.
“Pardon,
Serenissima.” A strong, warm voice from behind pulled her from her reverie.
Turning, she
saw a man, early thirties probably, tall and well-built, dressed completely in
black. Who wears such an expensive silk shirt and slacks to Budget Foods on a
Saturday morning? They had to be club clothes, but he didn’t look like he’d
been out partying all night. And what a great face to paint! A delicious olive
tone to his skin, deep eyes, strong angular face-planes, so... compelling,
framed by black hair that fell unbound, thick and dangerously sexy, past his
shoulders. Great shoulders. Lean waist. Yes, he’d make a terrific model. She
found herself smiling at him, realizing too late that it probably wasn’t a good
idea. He was already standing uncomfortably close.
“Are you
talking to me?” She backed away and tilted her head at the apples. “I’m afraid
I’ve picked through these already. Good luck finding more decent ones.”
“Forgive my
abruptness,” the man said, reaching toward her, “but you must leave this place
with me immediately. You are in gravest danger. Please—we must leave this
instant to avoid disaster.”
Suspicion
chilled the spark of interest she’d felt. “Look, I came here just for apples.”
She slid one hand into her purse, locating her pepper spray. “Leave me alone,
please, or I’ll call store security.”
She hoped
this guy didn’t know that Howard—the entire security staff of Budget Foods
currently on duty— was in his seventies and would never be able to stand up to
someone like this man, who carried himself with the smooth precision of a
dancer or a martial artist. But at least Howard had a radio.
The man
dipped his head and upper body in an odd, twisting bow. “Milady,” he said, his
voice tight and urgent. “Please, I beg you. Your life is in real danger. You
must trust me in this. I will explain later, but first we must flee.”
Flee? Eva
looked around at the worn ordinariness of Budget Foods, with shoppers inching
their carts along the aisles. There was nothing here to flee from except
boredom.
Her finger
found the directional notch on the tiny canister in her bag. “Look, I don’t
know you, what you’re on, or what your deal is, but you’re scaring me.” She
pulled out the spray and held it up. “This is nasty stuff, and I’ll use it on
you if you don’t back off—right now.” She backed away from him again and bumped
into the stacked apples. Several of them tumbled to the floor—even more
bruises, she thought, as if they didn’t have enough already. She kept her eyes
on the stranger, wincing as the apples thumped and rolled on the scarred wooden
floor.
In a single
fluid motion, the man flicked the can out of her hands and wrapped his arms
around her, pushing her toward the floor, covering her with his body. Before
she could scream for help, an explosion ripped the storefront window open, and
she heard the screams of others.
In a strange,
time-suspended clarity on the way to the floor, Eva could feel the muscles of
his torso flex and twist, pushing hot against her in a symphony of coordinated
physical power. How the heck did he know this was going to happen? Her back hit
the floor, and her breath whooshed out in a grunt. She looked up into his face.
His eyes stared into hers, fierce as a looming storm. Blue gray, she thought.
No, slate. He was heavier than he looked, and she needed to breathe. But he had
great eyes. “Get off me!” She pushed against him, and he rolled away without
protest.
She sat up.
Her ears hurt. The store—or what was left of it—was a mess. She could see two,
no, three shoppers on the floor, not moving. In fact, nothing moved, and the
stillness was horrible.
A soft groan
floated through the smoke from somewhere. Still in its pink sweatshirt sleeve,
an arm without an owner lay on the floor. And blood. Lots of it. This was so
wrong. Oh, my god. She swallowed several times against a wave of nausea. What
on earth had happened?
Then there
was movement. All around her, shards of glass began to twitch and shift,
becoming dark red scorpions scuttling toward them—dozens of them, different
sizes, all the same. Glass shouldn’t do that, she was certain of it.
“Do not move,
Serenissima,” the stranger commanded, his voice icy. He turned his back to her,
putting himself between her and the scorpions. She stared at his back. He’d
been hit by several pieces of glass—two of which stuck partway out of his
flesh. All of those would have hit her if he hadn’t thrown himself over her.
What the hell is going on?
His hands
glowed, and pale fire flowed from his fingers in dancing streams—first carving
a circle around them, then striking out at each scorpion. As his fire hit each
one, the creature sparked into smoke and dropped, again becoming an inert piece
of glass.
What did he
just do? Eva looked around, trying to locate her pepper spray, but couldn’t see
where it had rolled. She needed to get out of here. But her body was too heavy,
felt too far away to respond.
“I don’t know
how,” the man growled, “but your enemies have discovered who you are, milady.
Now you will have no peace until you reach your Ceremony or they have destroyed
us both, for I swear I will not outlive you.”
He stood,
bending down. His hair tumbled forward, as if reaching to touch her. “I
apologize, Highness, but I have no choice but to carry you to safety. With or
without your permission.”
Why is he calling
me these strange names? As he reached for her, Eva saw another shard of glass
sticking out of his arm. Blood drenched his shirt down to the cuff. His hand
dripped red, but he seemed oblivious of the injury. Still dazed, she felt him
reach under her shoulders and knees and pick her up as if she weighed nothing.
He was
kidnapping her. “Stop!” she screamed. “Put me down! Help!” She twisted against
his iron-hard grip and grabbed a coconut from an end display as they passed.
Eva pounded it against his chest and face, but he didn’t even look at her as he
strode through the carnage to the rear of the store, kicked open the warehouse
doors, and jumped off the loading dock to the ground.
On the other
side of the alley sat a sleek limousine with darkened windows. As they
approached, a passenger door swung open. The man deposited her inside, wrested
the coconut from her, and tossed it away. He climbed in opposite her and pulled
the door shut, wincing at the reach. The limo began to roll.
Lloyd A. Meeker credits
Walter de la Mare’s “The Listeners” as the first poem to steal both his heart
and his imagination. That was in seventh grade, and he’s never been the same
since. At university he devoured Lord of the Rings in a single weekend. Then came
Bradbury’s Something Wicked This Way Comes, and Le Guin’s A Wizard of Earthsea.
Fantasy became his home turf.
He’s led what can only
be described as an eventful life, and he’s grateful for all of it. He’s been a
minister, a pilot, a janitor, a drinker, a cancer survivor, and a software
developer on his way to becoming a writer. His work includes five novels, two
books of poetry, a few essays, and several short stories.
He’s happily entangled
in a life-long love affair with metaphor and the potent mystery of the Hero’s
Journey, especially in its metaphysical and psychological aspects. He lives in
southern Florida among friends and family with his husband, working on his next
novel, practicing subtle energy healing, reading, wallowing in classical music
and celebrating a very active retirement.
