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327 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 16, 2016





“I’m just like that flower. The cinquefoil.” She reared up on her elbow, cupping his jaw. “I was torn apart. But you, my knight, you found all the pieces and put me back together.”





“Humans were made for love and beauty; their vulnerability was what made them feel on the deepest level and what could also crush their will to live.”


Angels, demons, supernatural fighters, what's not to like? Starting in the early 1800's in England, George meets Lady Katherine, an average woman married to an asshat. What Katherine doesn't know is that her husband is in league with demons and George is destined to fight them. A deep attraction begins that endangers them both. George will stop at nothing to save the woman he loves, even if he puts the future of the world in danger.“How do you know about the world of demons, George? How did you move as they did? I thought I had fainted by the pond and awakened beside the barn, but I didn’t, did I?”
Had she imagined being transported from the horses to the barn in a long blink?
“No, you didn’t faint. It’s called sifting. A power of the angels, to move from place to place at will.”
“But they weren’t angels.”
“They were once.”
Fallen angels. Could this be possible? What did that make the man standing before her? He inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Perhaps I should define the two realms for you.”
“That would be lovely.”
His mouth quirked at her sarcasm, though he chose not to comment. “There is the Flamma of Light and the Flamma of Dark.”
“Flamma?”
“Fire, in Latin, which is the common tongue between the heavenly and demonic hosts.”
She pulled her hand from his and stood, staring into the flames. “Why fire?”
He joined her and removed his wet coat. “I asked the same question once.” He winced as he peeled the coat off his right arm. A pool of red had soaked through his undershirt.
“Oh God, your arm, George. You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.”
Just as he had unbuttoned her jacket, she swiftly unfastened his waistcoat, then his shirt and peeled them off him. Steering her gaze away from his finely sculpted chest and broad shoulders, she examined the cut more closely. She bent over and, with a quick rip, tore a long strip from her shift.
“You needn’t do that, Katherine.”
“Be still and let me mend you as best I can.”
He held his arm straight so that she could wrap the fabric around his arm.
“Why fire?” she asked again, busying herself with the makeshift bandage.
“Flamma are all touched by fire, an otherworldly power given to each of us.”
She remembered the way he moved, the way the demons moved, with supernatural speed and agility. A drop of rain dripped from his tousled hair, landing on his shoulder before rolling forward. She followed its path as it slid down and over his pectoral. Trying to regain her composure, she inhaled a deep breath, which was a mistake. She breathed in the heady scent of rain and beautiful man, her agitation amplified by his proximity and the undeniable power surging through his body. She longed to touch him, to know what all that strength would feel like under her fingertips, but she was paralyzed by her own desire and wavered on a dangerous precipice. When she’d cinched the bandage into a neat knot and finally chanced a glance at him, his smile nearly buckled her knees.
“There,” she whispered. “That will stop the bleeding.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“What do you mean?”
His shoulders went rigid as if he were holding himself in tight control. Katherine knew his thoughts had wandered away from the wound in his arm. She asked again, “What do you mean, George?”
His eyes slid closed. “I love to hear my name on your lips.” He opened his eyes again, his jaw set in grave lines. “What I mean, my lady, is that I am bleeding inwardly, and I know of only one way to stop it.”
Katherine was well aware of the tension filling the room, of the rise of her heart rate, of the longing in his gaze, which surely matched her own. She realized she was tumbling over that cliff. And she didn’t care, quite content to drown in his aquamarine gaze.
“How can I stop it, George? Tell me.”
“I’d rather show you.”