DREAMS CAN BE DEADLY
She’s an ordinary girl with a nightmare problem.
For as long as she can remember, Kalila Montgomery has been tormented by
creatures from her nightmares. Doomed to a solitary life with a herd of
cats, she’s determined to go down fighting. Until the man of her
dreams—literally—kidnaps her and claims to know a cure. If only she
He’s not your average supernatural hero.
Lydon v’al Endrian will stop at nothing to be free of the V’alkara, a
dangerous brotherhood who feed on dreams. But the key to his freedom,
sassy dreamcaster Kalila, might be his toughest challenge yet. No matter
how much she protests, he intends to keep her safe from the
V’alkara…even if it requires the ultimate sacrifice.
Their love is forbidden.
Now on the run with a man she can’t quite trust or resist, Kalila must
decide—fight for her dream of a normal life? Or, embrace a power she
doesn’t want to save Lydon?
few customers watched her with suspicion and perhaps a hint of hostility. An
oily man in a dirty leather jacket muttered something to his companion,
glancing at her as if she might be the antichrist.
his stew. “You’re too skinny. Whenever a strong gust comes up I expect you to
float away with the leaves.”
off a chunk of bread. She stirred her soup in half-hearted interest, the
carrots, potatoes, and peas bobbing in crazy circles. How could she allow her
fascination for Lydon to take root, blossom, and ripen into fond feelings? For
a V’alkara? The man her night vision warned against?
from the jukebox. Alun squeezed her shoulder. The concern filling his eyes made
her cringe. How did he always seem to know what she was feeling?
lifted in warning.
come to life and murder hovered a second away. His voice seethed with
possessiveness. “We’re dancing.”
onto the dance floor. He hauled her against him and noosed her back with one
arm. His free hand curled around her neck, controlling.
by the man caging her. Her feet had become leaden blocks, her legs wobbling
like wet noodles. What should she do with her hands? Resting them on his
marvelous chest again was a bad idea. Wrapping them around his back would be
the point of no return. She settled for placing her fists on his hips.
murmur drifted over her neck. He nuzzled the sensitive area beneath her ear and
wanted to surrender, to sink into him, if even for a moment. To know how it
felt. In ten minutes, an hour, tomorrow she could go back to reality.
faded into the distance. He tightened his embrace, drawing her closer into his
imaginable, but I can’t take this anymore.” The unsteadiness of his voice drew
her gaze to his. He leaned near until their noses almost met and cupped her
chin. His large, warm hand caressed her spine in a slow path, driving shivers
up and down her body.
around his waist and relaxed into his strength.
surprised. Which made no sense. It shouldn’t shock him to know she wanted him
like every other woman in the world.
with the pad of his thumb.
I blame my love for reading and all things Medieval on my father, who plied me often with fantasy novels ranging from Sir Lloyd Alexander to Piers Anthony. My love for romance, however, lies completely at the feet of my best friend Michelle, who dared to give me a romance novel for my birthday. I smiled, politely said thank you, and tossed it in the corner, where it gathered dust. In a moment of desperation, when only the revolting romance remained in my almost-always toppling stack of awaiting books, I sucked it up and read the romance. Doomed. I started writing fantasy and paranormal romance for the cathartic experience, decided I liked it, and after two overlong, horribly written novels joined RWA and the Fantasy, Futuristic & Paranormal special interest chapter. Best classes and critique groups ever. Double doomed. Now, writing is a necessity, not just a hobby.In my spare time when I’m not writing or reading or actually working, I might be found in the dojang (4th Dan Black Belt, baby), rooting on the Mariners (who will some day win the World Series), working out (P90X, anyone?), gardening (a little dirt never hurt anyone), or playing Music of the Night on the piano (without mask or cape). I live in Oregon with my fabulous husband and daughter. Not to mention my minions, a herd of cats.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Connect with C.J.