Excerpt from first Episode: "Ghosts" from my "Blood-Mark" series. Coming soon!

BLOOD-MARK

EPISODE 1

GHOSTS

©2013 by Myristica

All Rights Reserved.

ACT I

1-1

Kevin Laredo hated getting into elevators. The feeling of literally being boxed in made his flesh crawl with anxiety and his heart rate increase. Over the years he had taken classes on how to ease away the fear, learning techniques such as closing his eyes and breathing deeply into the need to panic, but they only helped a fraction, never really pulling the fear from him. It helped when other people were in the elevators with him. He could strike up conversations and get his mind off the possibilities of earthquakes or cables ripping, but when he was alone, those fears took point.

He hesitated a moment before deciding he had no choice but to get in and start the breathing exercises.

Pressing the button for the garage level, the door closed, and the car began its twenty-story decent. (Why did his client have to live in a luxury hotel so high off the ground?) Kevin pushed himself against the far wall and locked his gaze on the elevator lights above the door. Eighteen more floors then he could get into his SUV and head back to Sapphire Ridge. Ben would be wondering what the hell happened to him.

As though being summoned, his cell phone rang. Pulling the device out of the case on his hip, he looked at the LCD screen to see Ben calling him. He smiled at the telepathic connection the two shared over the span of… how many years now? Eleven?

"Hey, Ben."

"Where are you? Time's wasting. I'm fucking ready to get drunk."

Kevin smiled. "I'll be there soon. Just finished delivering the bad news to the wife."

"How'd she take it?”

"Unconcerned, considering she was in bed with another woman when I got there."

He could hear the choking sounds coming from Ben and knew the former police detective was forcing down a shot of whiskey. Kevin didn't feel sorry for him. The man should know better than to put anything in his mouth when they talked. Kevin had a tendency to throw Ben some zingers.

Getting some control back, Ben sputtered, "Shit! That's got to be a first for us. Husband having an affair with another man, just as his wife is having an affair with another woman."

Kevin shrugged. "We live in California. The twilight zone was bound to creep into our reality sooner or later."

"Ain't that the truth? Okay, about when can I expect you? The Tiger's Lair has already started happy hour."

"I'll be there in about forty or so minutes baring traffic. No worries. I'm almost to the car. I'll see you then."

"I'll keep a seat warm for you, partner."

Kevin pocketed his cell. He looked up at the lights as the elevator descended the last two levels. As the doors opened he shoved all images of his phobia away, like stepping out of a roomful of clustered cobwebs…

…Directly into the arms of a madman.

A howling yell, a thunderous push, and a meaty arm clamped around his neck like an octopus. Everything happened so fast he almost thought it was unreal.

Ah, shit! All he wanted was to meet up with Ben and down a few beers, drown his blah attitude and hope it would die with the rest of his heart. His life was now suddenly passing before his eyes, and he had no time to think of anything except the hand on his head and the arm around his neck. If he was going to die, goddamn it, he wanted it to be on his terms. Giving that decision over to some fat-assed moron would not be his epitaph.

"I'll break his neck! I swear to God! Back off," the large man shouted, tightening his hold.

His assailant reeked of oil and gasoline, the fumes adding to Kevin's already growing headache.

Cringing, he tried to move, to utilize the self-defense techniques taught him at the Academy, but the guy was too large and positioned in such a way Kevin could not find enough leverage. He would have to wait for the bastard to do something stupid. The pressure on his throat increased. Silly me. Always look both ways before exiting an elevator. They should make that a new law.

He was yanked back and lost what little leverage he had to at least gain a proper footing. The stranglehold tightened. He managed to work his left hand between his neck and the man's arm, freeing some airflow. The man was meaty, but he was mostly fat. The flesh around the forearm allowed some give.

"I mean it, man! Back off!"

Kevin wondered what the man would do if he accidentally-on-purpose pinched the hell out of his pliable fat content?

Probably snap his neck.

Oh, well. It was a thought.

Then Kevin heard a low voice carrying a tone of calm confidence and an almost lackadaisical demeanor. "Whoa there, Benny-boy. You don't want to hurt this guy. We can take this real easy."

Kevin opened his eyes and what greeted them was a vision.

There, not ten feet away, stood a young man in his mid-to-late twenties, wearing tight stone-washed blue jeans, black cowboy boots, a white T-shirt and a black leather jacket. His shoulder-length, curly, sand-colored hair hung loose, but the bangs were short, and Kevin gazed into round dark eyes that stared down the length of a .45 automatic.   

The face of this young man was of both devil and angel, a hard and young beauty, with eyes showing he'd been around the block a time or two. A Zen-like mentality and intelligence poured out of his stance and gaze. Hints of recognition flowed through Kevin. Somewhere in his jaded past this young man had made a blurred mark, staked claim for a mere heartbeat, and then had disappeared like a specter, but where and when the meeting took place escaped him.

For a fleeting moment, Kevin tried to dig into the files of his brain for the answers, but the arm tightened its hold and remembering would have to wait.

"I don't wanna have to shoot you, Benny. I mean, I would rather get us all out of this mess without any bloodshed, but I also can't let you go, either."  

That voice. Damn it! Where had Kevin heard that voice before?

"I'll kill this guy, you bastard," the attacker screamed.

In spite of his fingers prying the choking flesh away from his throat, Kevin felt his airway restrict. Stars flared across his vision.

"You kill him, Benny-boy, and you won't live long enough to see him fall to the ground. I mean it, Cutthroat. You know how good I am with this thing."

Cutthroat? Kevin groaned at the nickname. Oh, geez! This can't be good.

He lifted his gaze again, locking with that of the demonic angel before him, and in a split second of understanding, Kevin knew he would be all right. The look in the gunman's eyes told Kevin all he needed to know. The body language, the stance, the handling of his gun—all testament to the fact this guy was not about to let Kevin die.

And suddenly he remembered. The name escaped him, but Kevin remembered where he had met this guy before.

Three years ago in another world, another life.

The younger man locked gazes with Kevin. He had recognized him too. A smile, a wink, a nod of acknowledgment, and they reconnected.

Kevin's body relaxed. He had trusted this guy before; he would trust him again.

The gunman held out his hands, palms out, clicking on the safety to his .45. "Benny-boy, Benny-boy. You know, your mama should have taught you to follow the rules."

Suddenly his body jerked. The bounty hunter broke into an American Indian dance and chant. As the chant grew louder and louder, the dance increased in tempo.

The performance so confused Cutthroat that the hold around Kevin's neck loosened. He quickly ducked and rolled away as his young savior moved in close enough to unleash a roundhouse kick to Cutthroat's chest.

Kevin joined his ally, and between the two of them, they managed to subdue the flailing arms, enough for the younger man to cuff the meaty wrists. It was a struggle, but the bounty hunter evidently knew how to subdue a man larger than his six-foot frame. No small feat, Kevin surmised, given the younger man's lanky but limber build.

Kevin held Cutthroat steady and grinned. "You always act like you're on crack when taking down a bounty?” he asked.

"I'm gonna kill you, Turner," Cutthroat shouted. "Kill you and cut you up in a thousand pieces!"

Turner! That's the name! Kevin felt the wave of a memory rush forward as the blood came back into his brain.

Turner smiled back at Kevin, ignoring his prisoner's taunts. "It worked, didn't it?"

Kevin shrugged. "Well, it was certainly creative. We've met before. My name's…"

"Kevin Laredo. I know. I'm Vic Turner. Pleased to meet you… again. Seems like I'm always getting you out of strangleholds."

Kevin chuckled.

The two stood, leaving the cuffed prisoner on the ground, and shook hands. Kevin rubbed his bruised throat. "More than pleased to meet you again. Buy you a beer? I mean, you just saved my life."

Vic's laughter flowed over Kevin, both warm and genuine. "True, but I did manage to get you into this mess by chasing the asshole down here."

Kevin let out a nervous laugh, releasing the tension built up in his body from the adrenaline. "Well, in that case, you buy."

Vic clapped him on the arm. "Anything you say there, Cochise."

Cochise? Kevin chuckled again.

"Something funny?"

Kevin sobered a bit, but the smile would not leave his face. "I remember you called me that at the precinct back then."  

Vic shrugged, inconsequentially. "It's a name I use for a lot of people. Just a habit of mine."

The light from Vic's eyes washed over Kevin's body and through his limbs. It brought a sense of knowing, of familiarity.

Kevin had felt an instant attachment to Vic at the precinct three years ago , possibly out of obligation for the young man saving his life, but this second meeting had been auspicious for other reasons. Somehow, he was looking into a younger version of himself. Not very much younger, to be certain, but younger just the same. A younger and less jaded soul was housed in Vic's frame, a soul Kevin had to admit was able to connect with his in just a few short encounters through their lives.

For one brief instant a shiver of electricity flooded through him and then disappeared like a snuffed candle with traces of smoke lingering in the air around him.

It brought back the memory of that moment in time when Kevin's life had been saved, and the hero had never stayed around long enough to be thanked. Vic had been a missing piece nestling into a puzzle long ago labeled incomplete; still full of fractured pieces, none of them glued down to keep them from breaking away.

An unspoken question filled the silence as Vic studied Kevin in return. Would there be more than just a few minutes between them this time?

Vic helped Cutthroat sit up but kept an effective grip on the man's shoulder.

"You took off before I could thank you last time," Kevin said, ignoring the grunting sounds of protest from Cutthroat who struggled in vain against Vic's hold.

Vic ignored him, too. Shrugging, his expression turned solemn. "Well, I'm here now."

A shiver went down Kevin's spine. His skin prickled.

I'm here now.

Those words conjured up another memory of Vic. It was faded, a wisp dangling just out of reach, more a feeling than anything certain, but the insinuation of 'I'm here now' had been the same. Kevin had seen Vic another time between the incident at the precinct and now, but where the second meeting happened remained in the shadows. Maybe it had been just a glimpse of Vic out of the corner of his eye, or maybe just a dream.

He shuddered. Waxing poetic was a talent that had died almost three years ago… when his estranged wife Crystal and his two boys had been murdered. It was a trait he used at one time to put some color into his life while on the job… and at home while trying to maintain a façade of lies. He hadn't done it since the bombing.

"Something bothering you?" Vic asked.

Kevin was about to reply when the cuffed man broke into another tirade. "Kill you, Turner! When I get off on this charge, I'm gonna come find you and rip your heart out. You bastard! You think you can take me in like this? I'll show you later on what it's like to be cuffed. What I'll do when I cuff you to a chair and rip off your clothes…"

The clearly implied threat sent a heavy wave of protectiveness surging through Kevin. He slammed his fist into the guy's gut, forcing him to his side with a loud groan.

Vic shot Kevin a surprised look, but a hint of a grin on those full lips belied any anger. "What'd you do that for?"

Kevin wrung his hand, flexing his fingers. He hadn't hit anyone in a damn long time. "Can't stand people who don't know when to shut up."

1-2

Like a seismic jolt, Thomas Hampton could feel the shift of thoughts warp within his mind. Bloody ribbons festooned his inner vision, and he knew the symbolic metaphor acted more or less as a warning that her claws had been unsheathed and arteries were spilling blood. A group of people were being killed as he stood there; a message to him. She could simply have come after him directly, bypass the subtle hints of revenge altogether, but his blood, or rather undead blood, would never satisfy the vengeful craving now unleashed within her immortal frame.

No. First she would bring him to his knees, make him suffer.

However, it wasn't as though he never expected her to escape. He knew her. And for the first time in over four hundred years terror gripped him. Not for himself, per se, but for what Arina could bring down on all of them; vampire, lycanthrope, elf, dwarf, dragon, fairy… the entire Dimenlien network was at risk.

He stood on the terrace of his high-rise apartment suite, located in the upper-west side of Sapphire Ridge, California. He had chosen this city over other more practical business locations in Southern California for one very simple reason. He enjoyed the view.

Though he couldn't see the green of the hills after winter brought its showers, nor the sunrises that modeled perfect poses for the nature photographer, neither of those things attracted him to this place. It was the view of the city at night that held him here.

The stars shone clearly on this night, particularly after an earlier high wind had blown smog from the atmosphere.

His bloodstained tongue roamed over his white teeth, feeling the familiar sharpness of his incisors. Most vampires acquired this habit: the need to rub their taste buds over their fangs in order to revel in the lingering flavor of blood hours after feeding.

Tonight the blood had been especially rich.

A young and beautiful man had graced his path, and Hampton had lured him home with both hypnotic energy and desire.

The sex had been rough and fulfilling, and when they had brought each other to completion, the young man had bared his neck willingly for Hampton to succumb to his nocturnal hunger.

Still alive, the mortal would wake up in his bed the next morning. He would be weak and disoriented, and with no memory of the night before, but he would live, perhaps to be fed upon another day.

Very rarely did any of the vampire clans kill their source of food. On some occasions, should a victim's will refuse to turn itself over to the trance, or should the vampire take too much blood (either by intent or accident), they were never to leave the body to be investigated by the police. Priority rule number one dictated no evidence was to be traced back to the clans.

The majority of humans believed vampires were myth and that belief could never be revealed as false. Such strategy had kept the vampires safe all these centuries.

Until now. What could keep them safe from another master vampire gone insane and forcing the media to take notice?

To be released soon from Kindle Direct Publishing.

Excerpt "Visions" Book 3 in the "Harp & Sword Chronicles"

The Death Knell...

Thaddeus felt the pall of death when he entered Stephen's chamber. The somber and hushed tones of the Death Knell played throughout the castle corridors—minstrels preparing those within the castle for Stephen's impending demise. Thaddeus would have ordered them quiet, ordered them to stop playing were it not for the fact their music would inform those who cared about the fate of their precious prince that he was gone.

At Stephen's last breath, a signal would be given to the minstrels from the chamber window. The final notes would drift away and the music would stop. The people within the castle and the surrounding courtyard would then know Stephen was dead.

Off to the side, as he had seen her many times before during this last year, Lieutenant Pemura stood at a podium recording in scrolls what was happening for the Caldysian chronicles. Her elfin-style face looked haggard with sorrow and weariness. How many times had she recorded Stephen being so close to death? Thaddeus had never asked her, and she probably had lost count, but the effects showed on her face. Her round brown eyes were heavy, clouded.

Her long auburn hair was pulled back only in a tail, the standard Rashule Braid forgotten for the sake of haste. She lifted her head to exchange a sorrowful look with Thaddeus for only a brief moment then returned her attention to the scroll.

In that one instant, Thaddeus saw a tear fall down her cheek, reflected in the soft torch light just above her station. How hard it must be for this woman, this scribe, to record all things of significance for the Royal Chronicles. How difficult it must be for her to divorce herself from her emotions. This time, however, though she fought bravely to control her composure, it was all too clear she was losing the battle. Thaddeus did not envy her.

He turned to the canopied bed, where he had shared every night this last year with Stephen, holding him, monitoring his breathing. Though the act of sexual connection could not be performed due to Stephen's illness, there were other things they did to express their love. The holding, the touching, the kissing… in Thaddeus watching over Stephen like a dragon guarding a valuable treasure, and in Stephen playing his harp for Thaddeus, his music as beautiful as Shevna waking up to Spring. In these things they had made love time and time and time again.

The bed had been their safe harbor in both sickness and in joy; a source of comfort when Stephen battled against the breathing attacks that sought to steal oxygen from his lungs and body. It had also been a shelter for them at the end of those long days after taking care of affairs of state, or Stephen's lessons and dealing with Megar and Folon. It was a place where they could rest in each other's arms and love each other simply by touch.

Thaddeus could not help but think how fitting it would be for Stephen's final moments to be in Thaddeus's arms… in this bed.

Both Benesh and Kinarr hovered over the dying youth, hidden from Thaddeus's eyes by the red velvet curtains that made up the canopy and served as a small means of privacy for Stephen.

Tamor sat by Stephen's side, holding his son's limp and pale hand between his own pale and shaking ones. He looked up at Thaddeus through a slit in the curtains and gave his son a smile.

"He has come, Stephen." Tamor eased Stephen's hand to the bed and stood, reaching out, no doubt, to brush the blond hair away from his son's face. "I'll send him over." He then turned and slowly walked up to Thaddeus. His stride was burdened and heavy, his stature slumped in the pending grief and obvious sickness coursing through his body.

"Thaddeus," he whispered, and took the younger man by the shoulders. The two gazed deeply into each other's eyes. Thaddeus did not bother to hide how he felt, his inability to accept what was happening.

Tamor's soul revealed his acceptance of this moment from years of preparation. This time, however, there would be no reprieve. Stephen would not make it through the night. It was clear in Tamor's face, written there like some noxious decree no matter how much Thaddeus wanted to deny it.

"We have been prepared for this since the healers told us of his sickness, Thaddeus," Tamor said. "You have only been with my son for a little over a year. You knew of his sickness, but you have had so little time to prepare for the outcome. I fear more for your heart than I do my own."

Thaddeus worked his jaw as he fought to bite back his tears. "Majesty? What are you saying?" He knew what Tamor was saying, but as with all cases of denial, to hear the words spoken rather than conjectured upon was a necessary evil.

Tamor gripped Thaddeus's arms tighter. "He will not live to see the sunrise," he whispered, the threat of tears choking his voice.

And there they were—the final words on the matter. No conjecture this time, no room for error or miscalculation of symptoms. Thaddeus tensed, and the need to weep defeated his attempts to hold back the tears.

"I can't accept that, Majesty. I won't accept that." If he kept faith in his denial, if he gave power to it, perhaps his belief would merit another day for him to bask in the love of his heart and soul.

Believe Stephen will live and he will. Believe it, believe it… believe it!

"You must accept it, Thaddeus," Erik said as he stepped closer and reached out to tenderly, firmly squeeze the tense shoulder. "You must be brave for Stephen's sake. Let him see your strength. He so fears leaving you behind. It is the one thing breaking his heart. Draw on that reserve of stubborn pride you harbor within you."

Thaddeus took in a few deep and shaky breaths and quickly brushed a hand over his eyes. "I wish to see him alone, if it would be permitted me?"

"It is permitted," Tamor said, his tone of anguish ripping into Thaddeus like a merciless sword cutting his heart in half. "I have said my farewells to him many times over the course of his life. He has asked for no more medicines. He is tired and wishes to sleep."

Thaddeus knew what Tamor was really saying. He needed assurance. "I will ease him into the next world, my king. I swear it."

Tamor lovingly put a hand to Thaddeus's cheek. "I know you will. Come to me when it is over. We will grieve together."

Thaddeus nodded, and a few tears escaped his eyes once again. He knew what this was doing to Tamor—what Stephen's death would mean to both the king and the land of Caldys, but neither were important to Thaddeus. He did not care for politics or family or any other thing in the world but the dying youth in the bed before him.

Nevome, Nevarie… my soul, my heart. To be parted from you will be death for me. But I vowed to protect you. I vowed to ease any pain inflicted on you. I vowed to hold you as dear to my life as my own breath. But you are my breath, you are my heartbeat. I live and breathe and will myself to feel because of you. Oh, I shall not tarry long in your wake, Nevome. Would that I could heal you in some way, but you shall not go into the next life alone. I know you will want me to live on, but without you I have no life.

Benesh and Kinarr approached, carrying away with them their bags of herbs and oils. Outside the rain fell in torrents as lightning flashed and thunder ripped through the sky. The elderly healer gazed out the window, his body weary, his spirit tired.

"The rain seems to know when shadows cross over a loved one's soul, as though coming to wash away the pain such shadows always leave behind." The comment was made possibly more for his own pain than that of the others around him. He too had lived with this burden since Stephen had become ill. He took in a deep breath and approached Tamor with reverence and compassion.

"It will not be long now, my king." He turned to Thaddeus. "Go to him. He needs you more than ever."

Benesh lowered his head, his face streaked with tears that glistened in the glow of the chamber's lit torches, but the torches were bitterly dim now, in the presence of impending death shadows.

Outside, the minstrels played on.

Kinarr drew close to Thaddeus, taking the warrior's arm. Thaddeus saw the tears streaming down the lieutenant's face, the soft green eyes full of pain. Kinarr loved Stephen. He had been the one who would have taken up the position of Stephen's warrior guard had Thaddeus not returned to Caldys. Now he and Shumway were back together, lovers in spite of their differences in rank. Kinarr would need his captain in more ways than just military focus now.

"Go to Shumway for your comfort," Thaddeus leaned in and whispered in Kinarr's ear, putting a comforting hand to his friend's neck. "You've done all you can for Stephen, Kin. Now it's my turn." A small kiss to Kinarr's cheek sealed the request.

Kinarr only nodded, trying to speak but unable to. He gave Thaddeus's arm an affectionate squeeze and followed Benesh.

The healer, Kinarr, and Pemura, who left her writing materials on the podium, slowly walked to the door, followed by General Erik, who turned to Thaddeus. "I will inform the other guards. The burden of telling them will not lie on your shoulders."

Thaddeus inclined his head in gratitude.

Tamor took his arm in a gentle and compassionate squeeze. "You were his hope, my son," he said. "When you entered Stephen's life, he saw a chance to live. You opened up a world for him he never was allowed to be a part of before."

Thaddeus nodded. The tears steadily flowing now, and he would not stop them. It would not be what Stephen wanted, but he could not deny them. They were as real as his pain, and he could not run from it or ignore it.

"As he did for me, Majesty," he choked.

Tamor pulled Thaddeus into a warm embrace, only for a brief but meaningful moment. Then he released him and hurried after Erik, Benesh, and Kinarr.

The door closed behind them and Thaddeus felt the weight of death hovering over the room. He turned to the curtained bed and feared what he would see, but it was Stephen who laid there. Thaddeus's soul.

"Thaddeus?"

Stephen's voice, weak yet full of need, broke Thaddeus out of his grief-stricken paralysis.

He ignored the threat of impending death and stepped closer to the bed, unbuckling his armor and setting it on the floor as he neared. "I am here, Nevarie," he said. "And I will never leave your side."

He undressed to his tunic, pulling out the rainbow cloth given to him upon their bonding ceremony from the pouch hooked to his sword belt. He let the belt drop to the floor, uncaring of the sound it made, for all sounds now, even the music of the minstrels that filled the air with their soft notes, were as dead to him as his spirit, dying in the presence of this merciless horror.

He opened the curtains and gazed upon the still, pale youth on the bed, propped against the headboard to allow more ease of breathing. His normally brilliant, golden hair was now dimmed in the moisture of feverish sweat.

Stephen opened his eyes, and even in the presence of a death patiently waiting for his body to expire, the prince was able to smile. "I am not afraid… Thaddeus. You taught me… not to fear."

Thaddeus stepped onto the dais where the bed was stationed. He slowly moved to Stephen's side, pulled back the covers as Stephen held out his arms. He slid in between the sheets and pulled his charge close to him, easing the prince's head onto his shoulder.

"Are you in pain?" Thaddeus whispered, tenderly kissing the sweat-covered brow. Stephen was warm, the fever engulfing his body. Thaddeus reached over to the table at his side and lifted a rag from the bowl of water. He wrung it out and used it to wipe the sweat from Stephen's hair and face.

"My body… is numb now. Benesh said… this would happen. It hurts to breathe… but that is… normal for me." He spoke haltingly, struggling to find what little breath he could pull into his lungs between the words.

Thaddeus gently ran the cloth over Stephen's pale features, combing it through his hair. "I will keep watch," he assured. "Rest now."

Stephen eased into Thaddeus's hold, placing his trembling palm over his heart. Could he feel the maddening beat under the flesh and ribs? Thaddeus fought to control it, but it was a losing battle.

"Before I sleep… I wish to… speak my heart," Stephen whispered.

"Then speak, Nevome."

"I want you to know… how much… I love you."

Thaddeus choked back the tears. "Such things we have said to each other time and time again, shown each other through action every day. I have never doubted. I have always known the depth of your love."

"Have you?"

"Yes."

"Still, I wanted to… voice the words… one more time."

Thaddeus kissed him again. "I love you as well, Nevarie."

"I wish I could… play for you… one more time."

Thaddeus looked up to a cloth with its swirling rainbow colors nailed to the wall above them. He positioned himself and pulled it from the wall, spreading it over Stephen. The youth reached out to grip it.

"Warriors burn the bodies of their dead, do they not?"

"Yes. To release their spirits to the heavens or to join with their lovers in soul."

"I would ask… such for me."

Thaddeus shut his eyes, forcing the stinging tears back. He choked down the sob that threatened to escape. The burn was preferable to the actual shedding of tears before this youth. A few minutes ago he needed the tears to flow. Now all he wanted was for them to vanish.

"As you wish, Nevome."

"And this will be… wrapped around… my body." Stephen gripped the cloth. "And the music… will fly into the wind… and surround you, Nevarie. And I will… never leave your side."

"Yes," Thaddeus whispered, unwilling to trust his voice to not quiver if he spoke louder.

"Take a piece of… this cloth for yourself… and carry it with you."

"I will. I will always carry you with me."

Stephen smiled as he rested his head one last time over Thaddeus's chest. "I remember the day… you gave me this cloth. The day after… our joining of souls. I played for you again, and… you told me how the music… reminded you of the birds in the jungle… you traveled through… with Jetar. How their mixed song… filled the air… and you were in wonder… over the different colors… of feathers that greeted… your eyes."

Thaddeus smiled as he wrapped his arms tighter around Stephen. "You carried the cloth with you for months afterward. Then finally we had to nail it above your bed when you saw how dirty it was getting."

"It was more… than just a piece of cloth… to me, Thaddeus. It was a symbol… of our union."

Stephen's voice faded off as his breathing grew more labored by the conversation. Thaddeus pulled him closer. "We need not speak anymore, Nevome. Ease your breathing. Let sleep come to you now."

"I do not wish… to leave you. I know if I sleep… our time here together… will be over."

"You will always be with me, Stephen. It is as you said. We have joined. How can I but believe you will always be with me? Now please, Nevome. Ease your fear for me. I will be fine. I promise."

Stephen wrapped his arm around Thaddeus's chest and tightened his hold. "My life… my soul… my heart, all these things… you made… better this last year, Nevome. Never… forget that."

Thaddeus nuzzled his cheek against Stephen's brow. "I won't. Not ever. Sleep, my prince. Close your eyes. I'll be with you… forever."

And with those words, Stephen closed his eyes. "Forever," he whispered.

Sleep took him into its peaceful realm quickly.

Thaddeus held him, his tears silent. He listened to the slow and erratic heartbeat… and waited for the end.
Kindle Version Here. 
Nook Version Here 
 

M/M Good Book Review of "The Connecting Flame"

Heart Rating: ♥♥♥♥♥5Hearts
Reviewer: Pixie
Blurb: Thaddeus: A warrior cursed with a Blood-Rage.
Stephen: A terminally ill prince.
Reunited after nine years, Thaddeus discovers Stephen is targeted by the Gods, but with his cursed rage, he wonders–Is he the wisest choice to become Stephen’s protector?
Thaddeus: A warrior cursed with a Blood-Rage. Stephen: A terminally ill prince. Separated for nine years, they are reunited again by two warring factions of Gods and a mysterious mist of light, all of whom have their eyes on Stephen. Knowing the dangers of his Blood-Rage, Thaddeus must determine if he is the best choice to become Stephen’s warrior guard. But with the Aggregate System of Gods involved, he may not have a choice. In spite of his terminal illness, Stephen may be the prophesied Catalyst who will bring about the downfall of the Aggregate. In order to hold on to their reign, the Aggregate have a plan… and that plan includes the manipulation of Thaddeus’s love for Stephen.
CONTENT ADVISORY: This title has a bittersweet ending.
Purchase Link: https://spsilverpublishing.com/product_book_info/products_id/755/
Review: Thaddeus is a warrior who has been cursed with Blood-Rage and his dreams are leading him home; a place where his family were slaughtered. The young prince needs him, but Thaddeus has a fear that his Blood-Rage will do more harm than good. Stephen is a young prince who is seriously ill and is also cursed. The only time he feels safe is with Thaddeus, the man who saved him years before.  Now, he needs Thaddeus more than ever.
What an absolutely fantastic fantasy that is well written and leaves you longing for more. Thaddeus has been cursed and is well known as The Marked One, who leaves dead bodies after his Blood-Rage. Stephen is a frail prince who has lived longer than anyone thought he would. These two, the warrior and the prince, are pulled together by dreams and a bond neither knew about and the gods who are manipulating them and those around them.
This story is not a romance.  It is a true fantasy that has elements of love that is just starting to develop. Thaddeus and Stephen are our main characters and both have their own form of anguish. Stephen, because of his illness and Thaddeus, because of the losses in the past and his curse. and they are both being manipulated by the Gods. We slowly learn, as we progress through the book, of the manipulation and the players the gods are using.  and we get an idea of why the gods are doing the manipulation, but things don’t always go to plan, as some gods are playing two sides.
Although there is sex in this book, it is between secondary characters that use it more for control.  Although Thaddeus does have sex, it is because of the Red Moon Day (his species mating time). There are some nasty characters in this book who you will cheerfully want something bad to happen to and some great characters who you want the best for. The world building is quite good, but I can see us getting even more in future books, so we can get a clearer picture of the game that is in play.  we get some fantastic descriptions of the surrounding areas and we get a good idea of what Thaddeus and Stephen are being shaped for.
Although we are given a warning that it has a bittersweet ending it doesn’t.  It has a ‘to be continued’ ending that made me want the next book…now.  I will be reading this book again when the next one is released, just so I can say ‘ahhh’ when I open the next book. Sighing in satisfaction, as I see how Thaddeus will rescue Stephen from the High Dolen (some of the god’s high priest). If you want to know more, read the book…Bwahahaha.
I recommend this to those who love fantasy, gods manipulation, human manipulation, nasty brothers, fierce warriors, a strong bond between prince and warrior, fantastic back stories and a brilliant ‘to be continued’ ending.

"The Connecting Flame" Excerpt

Blurb: 

Thaddeus: A warrior cursed with a Blood-Rage. Stephen: A terminally ill prince. Reunited after nine years, Thaddeus discovers Stephen is targeted by the Gods, but with his cursed rage, he wonders--Is he the wisest choice to become Stephen's protector?

REUNION...

 Thaddeus lifted his bow and placed the arrow to the string. The buck stood only twenty feet away, grazing calmly on the leaves of some lower tree branches. It was healthy and strong and would make for good meat. Whatever Thaddeus had left over, he would give to a needy family. As he pulled back the string and took aim, focusing on a clean, quick kill… until the growl of a lone predatory salar tore through the air and sent the buck leaping away in fear.

Thaddeus cursed in frustration. He turned to the source of the interruption and heard the frenzied growl again, but only one thing could make a salar sound like that before attacking… human prey.

Forgetting the need to hunt for that evening's meal, Thaddeus gripped his bow and hurried over the hills, darting around trees and brush. The growl had come from the area near the Weeping Boulder. He would have to get there quickly in order to do what he could to save the unfortunate person who had disturbed the salar's rest. The man-eating beasts were merciless in their killings, usually clawing the belly open and letting the scent of warm blood grip them. They would feed upon their victim as it lay slowly dying.

As he leapt up onto the crest of a ravine, he looked down onto the far bank of the river… and froze in place.

There, with his back against a huge oak tree, stood a youth, dressed in what appeared to be the traveling clothes of nobility: a light blue tunic with a dark blue cloak clasped at his neck. Straggly blond hair hung limply to his shoulders. His breeches were also dark blue and his black boots reached his knees. The young noble stood like a statue, perfectly still as a snarling salar growled and unsheathed its fangs before him.

For the first time in six years, Thaddeus felt his heart jump into his throat. It was a sign of life he had not felt within since his soul had died in the Verma camp. For his dream had come to life before his eyes. He saw the salar crouch into position, ready to leap, and that pulled him out of his shock. He lifted the bow and arrow and took careful aim. "Don't move!" he shouted to the young noble.

The sound of his voice forced the salar to growl once again. From the way the cat crouched, the rolling muscles of its shoulders and back, it would lunge at any second. Thaddeus aimed for the neck and let the arrow fly just as the man-eating cat leapt into the air.

With his Rantha strength, the arrow had enough force behind it to rip through the golden hide and muscle, piercing the neck all the way through. Thaddeus watched with uncertainty as he nocked another arrow to his bow, ready to let it fly if the animal tried once more to attack, but no. The salar fell at the youth's feet, dead.

Relieved, Thaddeus drew in a heavy breath and let it out, releasing the excess energy built up by what had happened. He quickly removed the arrow from his bow and stashed it back into the quiver hanging off his back, but he could not take his eyes from the young noble.

Was this what his dream meant for him to do, simply to save the life of this youth? No, there was something more to this than just felling a salar to keep a noble youth from a violent death, and Thaddeus needed to find out exactly what.

He started down the ravine wall. "Are you all right?" he called before he leapt and somersaulted over the river, landing just a few feet away from the dead animal. He turned, now able to focus clearly on the youth.

Small in stature, but still tall enough to reach Thaddeus's shoulder, the youth looked extremely frail and thin. In spite of his flushed face and skin, he had a very comely face. In fact, with a healthy complexion he would be considered beautiful. His eyes were round and the color of a clear spring sky, or would be if not for the glassy film of illness clouding them. His strong jaw smoothed down into a round chin. His had a small, straight nose, turned up a little at the tip. And his lips, though full and shapely, were also pale and dry, the symptoms of sickness clearly evident. Yet Thaddeus wondered why such a sick and flushed youth would not be sweating. Not even a face-to-face encounter with one of the deadliest creatures of Fuhrahl Forest had caused him to perspire.

Thaddeus then saw the stone around the youth's neck and his heart almost stopped. He hitched a breath as the reality of truth came at him from all around his mind. Memories, desire, hope long forgotten; all of those things culminated within his being as he locked eyes with the youth, uncertain he could accept, yet uncertain he could not accept what he knew to be true.

"Stephen?" he whispered, unable to give any more strength to his voice.

The youth smiled at him and reached out a shaking hand. Thaddeus hurried to his side, grasping that hand. And the second they touched, both reacted to the physical contact. A surge of energy flowed through them from one to the other, and Stephen clutched Thaddeus's hand with surprising strength that overwhelmed the warrior. He had not expected such a grip from this obviously very ill young man. He looked into those glassy blue eyes, now swimming in tears. A smile full of tender knowing and contentment shone from Stephen's face, and Thaddeus felt the ice around his heart start to thaw from a gentle and healing heat, which had been far too long a stranger to him.

What happened next was so natural and so welcomed it took a few seconds for Thaddeus to remember the curse on the child prince he had met all those years before.

"I knew… you'd come back."

Thaddeus blanched. Those words had come from Stephen's own mouth.

Stephen had spoken!

But Thaddeus had no time to revel in such a glorious revelation. Stephen's weary eyes rolled back into his head and his body buckled. Thaddeus caught him around the waist and eased him down, cradling him in his arms.

"By Enreak, what is going on?" Thaddeus wasn't sure if he had spoken the words aloud. As he held the unconscious prince, he gazed down at the face that had many times, since his becoming The Marked One, haunted his dreams. The veins within the eyelids were prominent, deepening the gray coloring around the eyes. Stephen looked so much like the child of Thaddeus's memory. He had grown taller, of course, but the lung sickness had ravaged him without mercy.

"How is it you are alive?" the warrior choked out, as he ran a trembling hand over Stephen's pale and beloved face. "You have grown up, my Prince."

He noticed the stone, now encased in gold, hanging from a leather thong around Stephen's neck. He carefully ran his fingers over it, the smooth, oblong surface echoing traces of memory in his mind. That day, so long in the past, now rushed up to greet him in the present and it felt like these last nine years had never come between them; as though Thaddeus had never lost his family to slaughter that night, never sought to learn how to fight in order to avenge their deaths, never met and fell in love with a member of the Swarrin race named Terahn, and never lost that love to an act of violence sending Thaddeus over the edge into darkness.

"Stephen," he whispered, his voice choking under the strain of the emotion fighting with his reason. Stephen could not be alive, but here he was, in Thaddeus's arms. And he had held onto the stone, onto the memory of a rebellious youth who had saved him on that fateful day.

"Stephen, Stephen, Stephen." Thaddeus brushed the tips of his calloused fingers over the stone, worn by Stephen like a medal or, even still, an amulet of protection, just as Thaddeus had told him it would be. "Stephen, is this how you survived… by holding onto my memory, just as I have survived by holding onto yours?"

The tears that fell from his eyes were of joy, and for the first time in what seemed forever, Thaddeus did not deny them. Stephen was alive! The source of his hope, the small candle of light in his darkness, the treasure still shining in his burned-out soul, was alive, and talking.

Unconsciously, he pulled the youth tighter into his embrace and lowered his lips to Stephen's ear, whispering; "Is this a dream?"

But in a shattering second, something happened to turn the dream into a nightmare. Thaddeus felt the chill of steel against his cheek. He heard the sound of a hard-edged voice full of violent warning.

"Release His Highness now, Marked One, or I will lay claim to the legend of being your executioner."
Kindle Version Here 
Nook Version Here