Laurel O'Donnell's Blog, page 88

Lord Warin Roke, Villain in Angel’s Assassin

Laurel O'Donnell - Author

Villain?  I should be insulted by such a title.  But I’m not.  Some people label me villain, some label me the means to an end.  But in the end, it is all about power.

I am Lord Warin Roke.  I am Damien’s master.  I bought a boy of sixteen years off the slave ship Redemption.  I liked the angry look in his eyes.  I taught him, like I teach all of my boys.  To kill.  To obey.  To follow orders.  My orders.

Damien was the best.  He was smart, he was skilled with many weapons.  He had the instincts of an assassin.  But he was also obstinate and disrespectful to me.  That is something I cannot tolerate.  But no matter what punishment I gave him, he would not change.  In others, there has always been a way to control them.  Some wanted riches, some wanted women.  But all Damien wanted was his freedom. 

When Lady Aurora of Acquitaine turned down my betrothal offer, I sent Damien.  There really was no other option.  My best for the most beautiful.  Kill her and be free.  That’s the offer I made him.  His freedom for one last mission. 

Could he do it?  I love good suspense and this game was too tempting to turn down.  I know Damien.  I know how he works, how his mind thinks.  It would be the most difficult mission of his life.

Read Angel’s Assassin and find out why, find out who wins. 

 

 

Tomorrow, drop by and read Chapter Two in Angel’s Assassin!

Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy

Chapter One of romance novel, Angel’s Assassin!

Laurel O'Donnell - Author

Chapter One

 Ten Years Later

Acquitaine

Villagers lined the tall walls of the Great Hall in small clusters.  Some sat beneath the large stained glass window depicting an elegant knight in his golden battle armor; others stood near the white marble statue of a warhorse.

While the groups were indeed dwindling, Aurora of Acquitaine knew she would not be able to hear all of their concerns, complaints and petitions today.  She had sat in the judgment chair for the entire morning, dispensing verdicts.  The sun was almost directly overhead and time was running out.  With the tolling of the bell for the noon meal, the hearing of petitions would come to an end.  Her gaze swept over her villagers waiting anxiously for their turn, all of their faces filled with anticipation and hope for a ruling in their favor.  She knew she could not please them all, but she would do her best to be fair.

She looked at the two men standing before her.  One was a big, beefy man with dark hair and a boyish face known by all as Peter the Drunk, and the other was a ruffled old man named Theodore, the owner of the Wolf’s Blood Inn.  Both stared at her with expectant eyes, waiting for her judgment.

Aurora glanced at Peter, the dark haired man, noticing the stains on his tunic, the rip in the knee of his breeches.  “You will carve Theodore a walking stick,” she proclaimed.  “After all, you did break it in half.”

Peter stared at the floor, shaking his head gently.  “But I ain’t got –”

“I will supply the wood and the dagger.  You will present yourself here each morn to Mary.  If you don’t, I will have Captain Trane look for you.  He won’t like doing that, so I strongly urge you to report to Mary in a timely fashion.”

Peter nodded, bowing his head humbly.  “Aye.  Thank ye, m’lady.”

“I want you to stay in the castle for now, Peter.  You can sleep here in the Great Hall with the others.  We will all help you resist your fondness for ale.”

Peter bobbed his head again, with a bit more enthusiasm and vigor this time, his floppy brown hair falling in his eyes.  “I will, m’lady.  Thank ye.”

Aurora turned to Theodore.  “Theodore –”  A loud commotion came from the back of the room, drawing Aurora’s attention.  Four men walked down the aisle.  She recognized the lead man as Lord Warin Roke.  She scowled at the disturbance and looked back to the two men before her, continuing, “Peter will carve you a new walking stick.”

Theodore bowed, half turning toward the men moving up the middle of the room.  “Thank ye, m’lady.”

“Take care of yourself, Theodore.”

Lord Warin Roke, dressed in dark silver from his leather boots, to his leggings, to the loose fitting tunic he wore over his slender figure, strolled up the aisle.  He was a tall, gangly man with a long face.

Behind him, three men followed.  One of the men was huge, easily six and a half feet tall.  One of his eyes was completely white.  Aurora didn’t like the cruel grin that seemed to be permanently etched on his lips.  The second man was smaller, but stockier, with oily dark hair.  His expression was blank as he pushed a thin man before him toward the dais.  This third man appeared to be a captive of some sort as his hands were bound behind his back.  The prisoner’s lip was cracked and swollen, and there was a large purple bruise on his cheek.  Dried blood stained his chin.

Sir Rupert stepped up protectively beside Aurora, his chain mail clinking softly.  Rupert was a handsome young man with a premature streak of gray running through his brown hair.  He was one of her father’s most trusted knights.

Aurora stood.  “Lord Roke, I am hearing petitions.  There are others before you.  You must wait –”

Roke stopped before the raised platform and bowed, sweeping his arm out across his body in a grossly exaggerated gesture.  “Excuse the interruption, my lady.”

Her gaze swept the three men behind him before returning to Roke.  She carefully schooled her face in a patient blankness, hiding the audacity she felt at Roke’s arrogance in believing his problem took precedence over the rest.

“I have a gift for you,” he said in a soft voice.  “For your consideration of my betrothal offering.”

Anger spiked through Aurora.  A gift when she was clearly busy attending other matters?  When others waited upon her to hear their petitions?  She pushed the anger down and regarded the quiver of happiness in Roke’s lips, the arrogance in his lifted chin.  A betrothal to this wretched man would be a punishment worse than death.  “How kind, Lord Roke.  But as you can see, I am conducting –”

A self-satisfied smile beamed from his wrinkled face.  His voice lowered as he announced, “I have brought you this assassin.”

Assassin.  The word sent tremors of fear and misgiving shuddering through Aurora.

Around her, villagers whispered and a murmur swept through the hall like a rippling breeze.  Sir Rupert stepped forward, his hand moving to the hilt of his weapon.  “You dare bring an assassin before Lady Aurora?”  He glowered hotly at Roke.

Aurora lifted her hand, stilling all around her.  Her gaze came to rest on the bound and bloodied man.  Rage charred through her and she forced her fists not to clench.  Assassin.  The most loathsome kind of human being.  “Who did he kill?” she asked.

Roke’s grin quirked to the side.  “Lord Delamore’s wife.”

A woman.  A victim just like her mother.  She carefully kept her face and her voice neutral, dispelling the warring emotions swirling within her.  Anger, anxiety, trepidation.  “Why bring him to me?”

“Why, my dear, I am ever vigilant for the assassin who killed your mother.”

Aurora didn’t move for a very long moment.  Emotions from the past threatened to tidal wave over her, but she kept a strong reign on her feelings, burying them deep inside.  She was Lady Aurora of Acquitaine, a figurehead to her people.  Always level headed, always fair.  She couldn’t just crumple into a heap of fear and dread even though her very limbs were threatening to give out on her.  She looked past Roke at William the Baker who met her gaze with concern.  His worry gave her strength.  Aurora swallowed and took a step forward.

“My Lady,” Sir Rupert hissed from behind her.  “Have a care.”

She snapped her gaze to the assassin as she moved toward him.  His jaw was tight and his eyes darted from side to side.  She moved by Lord Roke to stand before the assassin.  She could feel her heart hammering hard in her chest and willed herself to remain calm.

“I was hoping you could identify him,” Roke whispered.

A quiver of repulsion shook her at the sound of Roke’s voice so close.  She ignored it, concentrating on the assassin.  He was short, maybe half a head taller than her.  But that was not important.  She remembered one thing about the assassin from seven years ago.  One thing she would never forget.  She leaned closer to look into his eyes.

He reared back and turned his head away from her.

She grabbed his jaw and jerked his face back toward her.

He stared at her with a mixture of defiance and apprehension.

She held his face still, glaring into his eyes, searching for the monstrous eyes that still haunted her nightmares.  The most dead, cold and uncaring, unfeeling and distant eyes she had ever seen.  But the eyes staring back at her were not those eyes.  And their shape was more oval than the eyes she remembered.  She released him, pushing his face away with a resolved sigh.  She stepped back.  “It’s not him.  He is not the one.”

“Have no fear, my dear.  I will not rest until your mother’s killer is brought to you,” Lord Roke reassured her.  “It is my duty as your future husband.”

Aurora cringed at the certainty in Roke’s declaration of their future marriage.  She looked away from him and then noticed a red smudge on her fingers.  She lifted her hand, inspecting it.  Blood.  It was the assassin’s blood.  Aurora swung her gaze back to Roke.  He was still grinning as if this were some kind of amusing stage play he was performing in.  She could see he was not surprised at all by her declaration that this man was not the murderer of her mother.  Then she looked over her shoulder at the assassin.  There was too much blood on his chin for a simple cut lip.  Her eyes narrowed.  “What happened to him?”

“He was properly punished.”

“How?”

“He was spouting lies, so we cut out his tongue.”  Roke’s tone was gleeful, proud.

Gasps sounded from the villagers within earshot of Roke’s gloat.

“It is not for you to dispense justice,” Aurora said calmly, forcing herself to show none of the disgust she felt.  “Bring him to Lord Delamore.  He can bestow the proper justice to his wife’s murderer.”

 

*****

 

Aurora stared down at the smear of blood still staining her hand.  The assassin’s blood.  She had listened to one more petition after Roke’s interference.  Then, the bell had tolled.  Thankful, she dismissed the rest, promising to add an extra hearing for tomorrow.  It had been difficult for her to concentrate after Roke’s interruption.  She had used a rag to wipe the blood from her hands but no matter how much she scrubbed, the red stain had remained.  She moved through the hallway to her room and closed the door.

She stood with her back against the door, staring down at her hand.  At the smear of blood on it.  The assassin’s blood.  Fear swirled in the deepest recess of her soul as she lifted her eyes to search her room.  The murky corners, the gloom, taunted her.  She never felt safe near the darkness, always feeling as if someone were there in the shadows.  Watching.  Waiting.

Ridiculous, she told herself and pushed away from the door to the chamber pot on the table beside the wall.  She dipped her hand into the water, scrubbing at the red stain.

It had been seven years almost to the day since her mother’s death.  But the man who had killed her mother had never been caught.  The assassin was still out there.

Aurora rubbed at the blood harder, finally able to remove the last of the red smears from her skin.  This is my home, my castle, my lands, she thought.  I will not be afraid here.

The door swung open and she jumped, knocking the pot over as she spun around.  The water splashed across the floor.

Her father swept into the room, his gray brows angled over his eyes.  “Aurora?”

Aurora’s shoulders sagged with relief.  “Father,” she whispered as if reassuring herself.

He rushed up to her with hurried steps, his gaze moving over her in concern.  “Are you alright?”

Aurora bent to pick up the chamber pot.  “Other than being scared to death…”  When he didn’t answer, she looked up at him, noticing his unease.  She stood slowly, her hands empty.  “What is it?  What’s happened?”

He shook his head and glanced back at the door where Sir Rupert stood looking down at his boots.  When he looked back at her, he took her hand into his.  “Rupert told me Roke was here.”

Disgust and annoyance at Roke’s name churned within her, but didn’t reach her face.  “Yes.  He was here.”

The concern never left his eyes.  “He brought an assassin?”

Aurora nodded and then slowly shook her head.  “But it wasn’t him.  He wasn’t the one who killed mother.”

Her father’s hand tightened around her own.  “What else did Roke say?”

Her gaze swept his face in confusion and she shrugged.  “What else could he say?  It wasn’t him.”

Her father turned away from her, letting her hand slide from his own.  “He didn’t… say anything else?”

Aurora stepped toward her father, ducking her head to try to peer into his averted eyes.  “He said he would do all he could to find the man who killed mother,” she paused and then distastefully added, “as was befitting for my future husband.”

Haunted blue eyes lifted to Aurora.  “He wants to marry you very badly.”  Her father’s tone was flat and unemotional.

A shiver of trepidation snaked up her spine at the thought of marrying Roke.  “Yes.  I’ve been meaning to speak to you…  I mean ask you how the decision was going.”

He straightened.  “There are many suitors vying for your hand, Aurora.  Many.”  He hesitated, his chest deflating slightly.  “And any one of them would be most fortunate to have you as a wife.”

She grinned, but the slight smile quickly faded and she looked away, fingering the edge of the table beside the wall.  “What of Lord Roke?  Are you considering him?”

He walked to her window and looked out over the village.  “I have to consider all requests.”

It was Aurora’s turn to worry.  She nervously took a cloth from the table and knelt on the floor, soaking up the spilled water.  She would do what her father asked.  Misgivings churned within her.  What if he asked her to marry Roke?

He turned to her.  “Mostly, I want you to be happy.”

She sat back on her heels.  “I would do anything to make you proud, father.  Anything.”

He walked up to her and knelt before her, cupping her cheek tenderly.  “You already make me proud.”

She closed her eyes, grateful for his compliment.  “I don’t want to marry Roke.”  She opened her eyes, expecting to see disappointment.  Instead, she saw understanding.  “He is manipulative and uncompassionate.  Not a fitting father for your grandchildren.”

A sad smile touched the corners of his lips.  He nodded.  “So be it.  You shall not marry Roke.”

Relief swelled within her and she threw her arms around her father’s neck.

“He will not be happy,” her father muttered.  She couldn’t see the troubled look that filled his eyes as he squeezed her tightly.  “No,” he whispered.  “Roke will not be happy at all.”

 

Visit tomorrow and help boo the villain, Lord Warin Roke!

 

Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy

Gawyn, hero’s brother from Angel’s Assassin!

Laurel O'Donnell - Author

I know how that Prologue looks.  Like I didn’t care about Damien.  But you have to understand that I was 17 years old then.  And I was frightened. 

I’m Gawyn, Damien’s brother.  When I was on that slave ship, when I was running for my life, I promised Damien that I would be back for him.  And I meant it.  But when I found him after he was sold to Roke, he had no desire to forgive me.  And he wanted nothing to do with me.  I can’t blame him. 

There isn’t a day goes by I don’t wish I had that day to do over again.  I would stay.  I would have fought that monster Otis.  I would have helped Damien.  I would have…  done so many things differently.  Instead, I left him on that ship to be whipped.

Later, after I found him in Roke’s servitude, I vowed I would help him be free.  I wouldn’t leave him again.  I would make sure he was as free as I was.  I trailed him as he completed missions for Roke.  I watched him as he emotionlessly killed.  An assassin.  He was no longer the little brother I remembered.  He was skilled and deadly.

But I saw him change when he was around Lady Aurora.  At first I thought it was just that she was so beautiful.  But it went beyond that.  He didn’t even see his transformation, but he became a different man when she was near him.  It was like…like she brought out something in him, something good and heroic.  I was amazed.  And I realized he loved her.

I’m glad they ended up together.  And I’m glad that Damien forgave me.  But mostly, I’m glad he got everything he ever wanted.  His freedom, his woman and his redemption.

 

Visit tomorrow for a sneak peek at Chapter One of Angel’s Assassin!

Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy

Prologue for Angel’s Assassin!

Laurel O'Donnell - Author

Off the Coast of England

1392

Gawyn shoved the lock of his chained hands toward his brother. “Open them, Damien,” he urged, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. But even the hushed tone of his words couldn’t hide his growing excitement.

The wood beneath Damien’s bare feet creaked as a wave struck the hull of the ship. Damien instinctively braced himself for the gentle roll of the ship. In the moonlight piercing the slats of the floorboards above, he could make out the lock on his brother’s manacles. He steadied his shaking hand and thrust one of the keys into it. It fit on the first try. Damien stifled his jubilance. It was a good omen if there ever was one.

The ship rocked again. They were in port, anchored in the bay off the southeast coast of England. Captain Blackmoore and most of the crew were in town spending what little they made on the last crossing to France, stocking up for their next trip. There was no better time to escape. It had taken years for the right moment to present itself, years of watching and waiting and planning, but he had finally managed to sneak the key to their locks away from their brutish taskmaster. Damien turned the key, holding his breath. With a tiny clink, Gawyn’s manacles fell open. The sound of freedom. Damien sighed a breath of victory, barely able to keep the smile from his lips.

A grunt and cough came from the front of the galley.

Damien snapped his head around to stare at Otis. A stray beam of moonlight pierced the dark interior of the hold, shining directly on their sleeping taskmaster. Damien grit his teeth, trying to be quiet and patient. He watched Otis’s closed eyes and mouth, watched the fat man’s nostrils flare, listened to him snort and grunt. He fought down his growing impatience, waiting for the right moment to make his move. The ship slowly rocked to and fro, the gentle motion pushing Otis deeper into sleep. Drool accumulated in the corner of the brute’s mouth and oozed from between his corpulent lips.

Damien glanced at Gawyn with wide eyes.

Gawyn placed his leg next to Damien, displaying the keyhole of his ankle shackles for him. He waved his hand urgently for Damien to continue.

Damien shoved the same key he used on Gawyn’s manacles into the lock.

“Hurry,” Gawyn whispered.

Damien took a deep breath. He had watched the sun rise and set through the floorboards of the main galley above them for four years, two months and three days. He and Gawyn had been children when they came on board, he a mere twelve summers. Damien still remembered his father standing on the shore as Captain Blackmoore directed them up the gangplank of the ship. The sun had been shining that day, but its bright rays had not reached their father’s eyes. Damien recalled the look of satisfaction darkening his father’s stare… and the sack he held in his hand when he turned away, walking out of their lives forever. He sold them into bondage for a mere bag of coin.

Damien also remembered the promise he made that night as he comforted a sobbing Gawyn in a black corner of the ship.

They would be free one day.

Damien clenched his teeth as he turned the key. The irons around Gawyn’s ankle fell open, sliding to the ground. Gawyn was free!

Triumph bloomed in Damien’s chest and he moved to his own leg shackle, but his hands shook so badly he had to stop. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm, then shoved the key into the metal lock and turned it with vicious determination. Freedom. But the lock remained engaged. It was the wrong key. He tried another, but again no luck. Desperate, he searched the ring for another key. Despite his best efforts to keep them steady, his hands trembled again, rattling the keys. He did not pause; he was too anxious, too desperate. Freedom. It was within his grasp. He tried a third key from the ring and this time the lock of his leg manacle opened, the heavy metal slipping from his ankle. He lifted triumphant eyes to Gawyn…

And gasped! His brother had already moved from the bench and was at Otis’s side. He stopped before the massive man and stared down at him, obviously trying to figure out the best way around him. To Damien’s horror, Gawyn lifted a leg high into the air over the ogre’s bulbous belly.

Suddenly, the ship lurched, pitching to one side. Damien froze as Gawyn staggered.

For an eternity, Gawyn teetered on one foot, suspended over Otis’s stomach.

The ship rode the wave, rocking from side to side.

Gawyn fluttered his arms wildly to keep his balance.

Damien slowly stood, his eyes wide in dreaded disbelief.

Gawyn lost his balance, falling like a freshly cut tree onto the giant’s stomach with a sickening meaty slap.

With a sharp grunt, Otis opened his eyes in surprise. He reacted amazingly quickly for a fat man just woken from a sound slumber. His massive arms encircled Gawyn, catching him around the waist. “Got you!” he growled.

Gawyn kicked and flailed but the ogre’s grip was too strong, too tight. “Damien!” his brother shouted with a gasp.

Damien leapt on Otis from behind, wrapping the chain of his manacled wrists around the giant’s neck.

Otis gagged and reached behind him with one hand, feeling for his attacker. He still held Gawyn tightly around the waist as his free hand flailed about for Damien.

Damien evaded the hand, and pulled the chain tight. His arm muscles were strong from years of pulling the heavy oars. He grimaced as he tugged at the metal links, digging them deeper into Otis’s fleshy neck.

Otis’s eyes bulged and his hand grew taut, releasing Gawyn.

Gawyn leapt free of Otis and dashed for the wooden stairs that led to the deck above.

Otis reached over his head with both hands now, desperately searching for Damien, but Damien leaned back, away from the thrashing appendages. Behind him, Damien could hear the other slaves stirring, their astonished voices growing louder with each passing moment. Some urged him on, others called him a dead fool. He ignored them all, keeping his hold firm on the chains encircling the taskmaster’s fat neck.

Over the giant’s shoulder, Damien watched with growing panic as Gawyn began to climb the stairs. He had to go with Gawyn! He had to make it out. There would never be another chance. He released his grip on Otis and dove past the ogre, moving for the stairs behind Gawyn. He landed hard on the wooden steps and pain speared through his side, but he moved immediately, scrambling up the steps.

Freedom was within his reach. Ahead of him, Gawyn swung the hatch open. Black night poured into the ship’s hold; stars twinkled overhead in the night sky. It was a glorious sight. Damien’s heart ached to be above ship, to be free. He was so close… so close…

Suddenly, a fleshy hand encircled his ankle and jerked him violently back into the pit of darkness. Damien’s chin clunked hard on the wood as he thumped down the steps. The coppery taste of blood seeped into his mouth. He clawed forward with his manacled hands, frantically trying to sink his nails into the wooden stairs, desperate for any kind of grip he could find. Damien kicked at the hand, but Otis pulled him down another step and his kick missed the mark.

Damien looked back up toward his freedom. Gawyn paused at the entry to reach back for him. Damien stretched up, pushing his manacled hands forward, willing his fingers to reach Gawyn, just inches away from grasping his brother’s hand. One more surge and he would be free. One more…

Otis yanked him back, pulling him out of Gawyn’s reach.

Gawyn hovered at the opening, indecisive. Finally, he straightened. “I’ll be back for you, Damien. I swear.”

No. The word welled in Damien’s throat, in his heart. Then, the hatch slammed shut, sealing him back in hell. No!

Otis grabbed Damien by the scruff of his ripped tunic and hauled him to his feet. “You worthless, good for nothing wretch!” He punched him hard on his cheek. “Ya want to see what’s up there so badly?”

Damien’s head ached from the blow; bright white spots of light flashed before his eyes. Otis moved up the stairs, pulling a dazed Damien behind him.

The hatch opened and for a moment, despite all the pain, Damien tasted freedom. The fresh air purified the staleness in his lungs. The night was clean and cool against his hot skin.

And then heaven vanished and hell returned as Otis shoved him forward, slamming him into a thick wooden beam. Damien plowed into it with the force of a rock hurled from a sling. His world spun and his body dropped to the deck of the ship. He managed to glance up at the captain’s cabin and saw the name of the ship carved just above the door. The Redemption. The word swam across his vision. Yes, redemption, his pain-fogged mind thought. Gawyn is waiting in the darkness to deliver me from this evil.

He felt himself being lifted, saw Otis’s twisted face, saw his lips move, but he could not understand what the huge man had just said. All Damien knew was that Gawyn would set him free. He had promised to come back.

Otis spun Damien around and stretched his arms above his head. Damien glanced up to see the chain between his wrist manacles being draped over a large hook in the main mast. The manacles dug into his flesh, the rough metal edges slicing into his skin. A ripping sound filled the night as what was left of his tunic was torn from his back.

Gawyn will return. He promised to come back. Brothers always keep their promises. He won’t leave me.

Damien looked dazedly beyond the edge of the wooden pole he was now hooked to, searching the shadows of the ship for his brother. Was Gawyn behind the crates of supplies to his left? Or the netting to his right?

His mind was so foggy he didn’t realize what was happening until the first snap of the whip cracked the air behind him. His body stiffened in anticipation and dread.

Gawyn, where are you?

The whip snapped again, this time finding its mark, landing with biting accuracy on the surface of Damien’s flesh. He winced as hot pain flared through his back. His body jerked away from the coil of the whip as a second lash struck him, the thin tip of the cord digging deeper. He grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes tight.

A shout to his right drew Damien’s attention. Hope bloomed inside of him. It was Gawyn. It had to be Gawyn.

A shadow darted across the star-lit deck from behind the netting and the dark shape leapt over the side of the ship. Damien heard the distant splash of his brother’s freedom. Other crewmembers ran to the rail of the ship, peering into the dark waters below.

Gawyn!

The whip savagely bit his back again and again and Damien’s chin dropped to his chest in anguished defeat. Just before blackness took him, he knew the truth.

Gawyn was not coming to set him free.

 

Stayed tuned tomorrow for special guest, Gawyn!

Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy

Lady Aurora of Acquitaine, heroine of Angel’s Assassin

Laurel O'Donnell - Author

I’d like to welcome everyone to the Angel’s Assassin Week.  It truly is an honor that you are interested in my story.  It is a story of love and redemption.  Of course, I had my doubts at first. 

I suppose I should introduce myself.  I am Aurora, Lady of Acquitaine.  I try to be a fair ruler and judge with patience.  Damien keeps me in check these days.  I used to wear myself out taking care of everyone.  I remember days where I would sit in the judgment chair from morn til eve, or at least until I heard all the petitions and complaints.  Now, Damien makes me stick to a schedule.  When the time to hear petitions is over, he stalks into the hall, so brooding and commanding that my poor people cower.  I can only smile at him.  And when I do, his scowl eases and erases and he is transformed into the Damien I love.  My people don’t know his true nature.  They don’t know what a wonderful man he is.  I suppose it is his black eyes that scare many of them.  Or maybe that perpetual frown.  One can hardly blame him.  His past was brutal and hard.  His father sold he and his brother, Gawyn, into slavery when they were young.  He spent many years on that slave ship and even darker years under Warin Roke’s tutorage.  The marks left on Damien’s back from the lashings he received are horrible.  Damien won’t talk about it. 

Despite all of this, Damien has turned out to be a wonderful ruler.  The knights respect his skill.  And he is skilled.  Extremely so.  In hand to hand combat, with a sword…and most notably in bed. 

Where does our story start?  When Damien saved me from an assassin right in the center of Acquitaine’s square.  Even then, there was a connection between us.  He calmed my fear.  I saw safety in his black eyes.  I wanted to be with him, wrapped in his strong arms.  I knew he was a hero, even though he didn’t.  It took a little convincing, but I think I won on that account.

Tomorrow, the Prologue to Angel’s Assassin will be posted.  You can see for yourself what Damien had to endure.  I hope you enjoy it and come back for the rest of this celebratory week which will culminate on July 3rd when Angel’s Assassin will be released for your reading pleasure.

Damien and I have come through a lot.  I can only say that he is the Angel’s Assassin.

Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy

Angel’s Assassin Week!

Laurel O'Donnell - Author

Angel’s Assassin is coming out July 3rd!  So, please visit back every day between now and then for sneak peeks, characters interviews.  It’s going to be a great week!  Tomorrow, Lady Aurora of Acquitaine will be here to welcome you.

 

Here’s a quick excerpt!

Damien moved up beside Aurora as she stood looking out over the dark waters.  He had accompanied her as she retreated from the grisly sight of her slain friend to the comfortable confines of the tower.

She stared out at the ocean.  Tendrils of her golden hair whipped about her face like a cape.  When lightning speared the sky, it threw a turbulence of light and dark shadows across her face.  He saw the vulnerability in her eyes, saw the rippling of unshed tears.  And then the streak of lightning disappeared, plunging her features again into blackness.  Thunder rumbled above them.

“Why did you kiss me?” she wondered.

The abrupt question seemed out of place, but he knew she was trying to force her mind away from the gruesome scene she had just witnessed.

Lightning flashed in the distance, growing closer every second.  The wind picked up around her, snapping her hair behind her.  Damien watched the strands fly about her face, the face that sent his dark intentions soaring toward a bright light, toward a radiance that offered a shimmering ray of hope.  She had a face that was simply mesmerizing to look at.  The delicate, yet strong and regal, line of her jaw.  The cheekbones of a Greek goddess.  The lips that created the most sensual mouth any man could ever imagine.  A mouth that created a voice that would humble any Siren.

“Was it to punish me?  Was it to teach me something?” she asked

“To tempt you.”

“Tempt me?” she echoed, confused.

“I wanted you to be like me,” he answered truthfully.  She deserved to know the truth in her last moments.  “I wanted you to be flawed, weak.  I wanted you to be like everyone else.”

She faced him and Damien was shocked to find vulnerability in her large eyes, a deep sadness.  “You are my weakness.”

Shock speared through Damien.  Me? he silently questioned.  Why on earth would I be her weakness?  But her words rang true.  He remembered the look of concern in her eyes when she realized the arrow had poisoned him.  He recalled the way she lifted her lips to his when he tempted her.  Could it be?  Could she truly mean what she said?  Damien lifted his hand to brush one of those golden tendrils from her cheek.  It encircled his hand.  No.  It couldn’t be.  It was her grief talking.  She needed someone, anyone to distract her from her pain.  “You don’t know what you’re saying.”  He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

For a moment, she stiffened, but then she relaxed against his body.  The tight expression on her face melted into one of anguish.

Damien’s heart twisted at her pain.  He wanted to relieve her agony, to reassure her.  He bent his head to her lips.

 

Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy

Inspirational Quote Monday! #23 of 2012

Laurel O'Donnell - Author

It’s Inspirational Quote Monday!  Here’s the quote for the week – “Happiness is like a butterfly.  The more you chase it, the more it eludes you.  But if you turn your attention to other things, it comes and sits softly on your shoulder.” – Henry David Thoreau

Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy

Who Said It Answer! #6 of 2012

Laurel O'Donnell - Author

The quote was – “The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return.”

Christian said it from the movie Moulin Rouge.  Did you get it right?  I just love this movie!

Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy

Who Said It Wednesday! #6 of 2012

Laurel O'Donnell - Author

“The greatest thing you’ll ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return.”

One of my favorite movies!  Who said it and from what movie?

Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy

The Bride and the Brute Is Free

Laurel O'Donnell - Author

The Bride and the Brute is a medieval romance novella, so it is not a full length novel like The Angel and the Prince or A Knight of Honor, but we still think it’s an enjoyable story and a nice quick read. We hope you agree. There are some special offers on this novella we think you will like…

Read more about this romance ebook here:  The Bride and the Brute

Laurel O'Donnell - Author - Medieval Romance Novels, Paranormal Romance Novels and Urban Fantasy