Enchanted
Guardian
Camelot
Reborn Series
Book
Two
Sharon
Ashwood
Genre:
Paranormal Romance
Publisher:
Harlequin Nocturne
Date
of Publication: August 1 2016
ISBN:
978-0373009763
ASIN:
B01CNMT0DK
Number
of pages: 300
Word
Count: 85000
Book
Description:
Enchanted
Guardian- A love of legendary proportion
In
another time, in a place once known as Camelot, they had been lovers.
Torn apart by betrayal and lies, Lancelot Du Lac and Nimueh, the Lady
of the Lake, had each suffered greatly.
But
the magic of the fae had reawakened a man once trapped in stone, and
Lancelot was determined to find his long lost love. Only, Nim was
desperate to hide her fae soul, as she was marked for death by their
mutual enemy.
Though
centuries apart had not diminished their passion, they would once
again face a dangerous test to prove each was the other’s destiny.
Book
Trailer https://youtu.be/btP6qzxOmpk
Excerpt:
Lancelot
caught her arm, pulling her up short. Nim scowled down at the long,
strong fingers. Fine scars ran along his tanned knuckles, evidence of
a life around blades. Heaviness filled her, a primitive reaction to
the strong, aggressive male taking control of her in the most basic
way. Once it might have grown into anger or lust, but now it confused
her.
“Take
your hand off me,” she said, letting her voice fill with frost.
“No.”
He pulled her closer, turning her to face him. “You will answer my
questions.”
Nim
jerked her arm free. They were so close, she could feel his warm
breath against her skin. “About what?”
His
nostrils flared as if scenting her. Still, Nim studied his tense jaw
and the blood flushing his high cheekbones. The heat of his emotions
made her feel utterly hollow. His hand closed around her wrist again,
almost crushing her bones.
“There
are too many people here,” he growled.
“There
are enough people here for safety. Perhaps I don’t want to answer
you.”
His
eyes held hers a moment, dark fire against the ice of her spirit.
That seemed to decide him, for he pulled her close and took a better
grip on her arm. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
He
didn’t reply, but steered her toward the door, moving so fast she
skittered on her heels. She took the opportunity to pull against him,
but this time he held her fast. “Don’t.”
The
threat was real. Her fighting skills were nothing compared to a
knight’s. Lancelot could crush or even kill her with a single blow.
Still, that didn’t make her helpless, and she would not let him
forget that fact. Rising up on her toes, she put her mouth a mere
whisper from his ear. “You forget what I can do. My magic is
nothing less than what it was when I was the first among the fae
noblewomen. I can defend myself against your brute strength.”
Just
not against what he’d done to her heart. She closed her eyes a
moment, feeling his breath against her cheek and remembering the past
for a long moment before she denied herself that luxury. “Let me
go,” she repeated.
In
response, he pulled her to the side of the building, refusing to stop
until he was deep into the shadows. The ground was little more than
cracked concrete there, tufts of grass straggling between the stones.
He pushed her against the siding, her back pressed to the rough wood.
“Not until I’ve had my say.”
He
had both of her arms now, prisoning Nim with the hard, muscled wall
of his chest. Anyone walking by might glimpse two lovers in a private
tête-à-tête, but Nim drew back as far as she could, something
close to anger rising to strike. No one handled her this way,
especially not him.
“Then
talk,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Aren’t
you even surprised to see me?” he demanded.
“Why
should I be?” She needed to squash any personal connection between
them. Even if she was whole and their people were not at war, he had
betrayed her.
He
put a hand against her cheek, his fingers rough. She jerked her chin
away, burning where his touch had grazed her.
But
he was relentless. “I’m told you were caught by Merlin’s spell
along with the rest. I know what the fae have become.”
Soulless.
As good as dead inside. Lancelot didn’t say the words, but she
heard them all the same. “It’s true,” she replied. “It’s
all true.”
His
expression was stricken as if hearing it from her lips was poison.
Good, she thought. Better to be honest. Better that he believe her to
be the monster she was.
“Maybe
that’s true for some. I don’t believe that about you. You still
have too much fire.”
With
that, he claimed her mouth in an angry kiss. Nim caught her breath,
stifling a cry of true surprise. The Lancelot she’d known had been
gentle and eager to please. Nothing like this. And yet the clean
taste of him was everything she remembered.
His
mouth slanted, breaking past the barrier of her lips to plunder her
mouth. The hunger in him was bruising, going far beyond the physical
to pull at something deep in her belly. Desire, perhaps, or
heartbreak. She wasn’t sure any longer, but she couldn’t stop
herself from nipping at his lip, yearning to feel what she had lost.
A sigh caught in her throat before she swallowed it down. Surely she
was operating on reflex, the memory of kisses. Not desire she might
feel now. The warmth and weight of him spoke to something older than
true emotion. Even a reptile could feel comfort in the sun. Even she…
Still,
that little encouragement was all the permission he needed to slide
his hand up her hip to her waist and she could feel the pressure of
his fingers. Lancelot was as strong as any fae male, strong enough
certainly to overpower her. That had thrilled her once, a guilty
admission she’d never dared to make. She’d been so wise, so
scholarly, so magical, but an earthy male had found the liquid center
of heat buried under all that logic and light. They had always
sparked like that, flint against steel.
But
then his hand found her breast and every muscle in her stiffened.
This was too much. Memory was one thing, but she wasn’t the same
now and she refused to have a physical encounter that was nothing
more than a ghost of what it should be.
Nim
pushed him away. “I don’t want this.”
Something
in her look finally made him stop, but his eyes glittered with
arousal. “Are you certain about that?”
About
the Author:
Sharon
Ashwood is a novelist, desk jockey and enthusiast for the weird and
spooky. She has an English literature degree but works as a finance
geek. Interests include growing her to-be-read pile and playing with
the toy graveyard on her desk. As a vegetarian, she freely admits the
whole vampire/werewolf lifestyle would never work out, so she writes
her adventures instead.
Sharon
is the winner of the RITA® Award for Paranormal Romance. She lives
in the Pacific Northwest and is owned by the Demon Lord of Kitty
Badness.
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