Title: Raven
Author:
Stacey Rourke
Genre: NA
Paranormal Thriller
Hosted by: Lady Amber's Tours
Blurb:
An infamous love, destined nevermore,
For death could not claim, the enchanting Lenore.
Cursed by the malevolent spirit of the Headless Horseman, Ireland Crane ventures to Manhattan in search of a way to break her soul crushing bond. Instead, she discovers the lines between fact and fiction are blurring once more. Croaking ravens. Telltale hearts. Could the works of Poe be coming to pass with handsome Wall Street Midas Ridley Peolte as their unwilling target?
She walks the Earth, a plague on mankind,
searching for he, her rotted heart doth pine.
Together, the two unknowingly release a dark force death itself could not tame. Surrounded by the unrelenting violence and mayhem they’ve unleashed, Ireland feels her control over the Horseman slipping. Before the beast within consumes her, she and her crew must follow the clues of the dead to right a centuries’ old wrong. Will it be enough to sate the Horseman’s appetite?
Hell hath no fury like a ghoul scorned.
For death could not claim, the enchanting Lenore.
Cursed by the malevolent spirit of the Headless Horseman, Ireland Crane ventures to Manhattan in search of a way to break her soul crushing bond. Instead, she discovers the lines between fact and fiction are blurring once more. Croaking ravens. Telltale hearts. Could the works of Poe be coming to pass with handsome Wall Street Midas Ridley Peolte as their unwilling target?
She walks the Earth, a plague on mankind,
searching for he, her rotted heart doth pine.
Together, the two unknowingly release a dark force death itself could not tame. Surrounded by the unrelenting violence and mayhem they’ve unleashed, Ireland feels her control over the Horseman slipping. Before the beast within consumes her, she and her crew must follow the clues of the dead to right a centuries’ old wrong. Will it be enough to sate the Horseman’s appetite?
Hell hath no fury like a ghoul scorned.
Excerpt:
Lifting her
skirt enough to allow herself movement, Ireland ventured further down the line
to those patiently awaiting her attention. Her breath caught, the next two
faces turning to her like flower petals meeting the rays of the sun. Rip Van
Winkle, not the decrepit shell of himself she knew but the man he had once
been, knelt before her. Strong, strapping, and staring up at her with a level
of trust and admiration that made a flush of guilt stain her cheeks. Forcing
her troubled gaze to travel farther still, she found her heart seized in
desire’s iron fist.
His name
escaped her parted lips in a breathless sigh, “Noah.”
A crooked
smile meant just for her curled the corners of his lips. “You know what we want
and why we’re here …” his words trailed off as he tipped his head, offering her
his throat.
Beside him,
Rip matched the gesture.
Ireland
stumbled, her heel tangling in the hem of her skirt. “No! I-I could never hurt you!
You know that! You know me!”
Catching her
hand, Noah reeled her body back to him. One strong arm hooked around the rise
of her hips and pinned her to him. “Your gift is beautiful. Don’t ever doubt
that.” Turning the inside of her arm skyward, his mouth teased the tender flesh
of her wrist. The heat of his breath and delicate caress of each dotted kiss
sent waves of desire coursing through her. Hazel eyes, warmed to molten gold by
palpable desire, locked with her own and refused to falter. “Please, don’t deny
me.”
The adoration in his gaze, and the seduction
of his touch made Ireland feel like the most beautiful being on the planet …
until she caught sight of Rip out of the corner of her eye. He was wearing that
matching mask of longing. It wasn’t her they wanted—it never had been—but a
taste of what she could do. To be near death, and delve into the darkness.
Their own twisted yearning to thumb their nose at mortality led them to follow
her.
Clamping her
eyes on the wash of tears that threatened, Ireland ignored the wailing of her
heart … and laid a palm to each of their cheeks. One lone tear snuck between
her lashes at the cascade of tingles seeping up her arms.
“You can’t
blame them for not understanding,” a familiar voice drawled behind her.
She spun as
he neared, leaving Rip and Noah wheezing for breath—or, more likely, completion
of her task.
Techno-colored
flowers bloomed in a colorless world each time the sole of Ridley’s shoes met
the earth. The crisp cut of his white, tailored suit was accented by a burst of
color from the button-down shirt beneath that changed in hue to match the
species of flowers that sprung to life. Hydrangeas blue. Orchid purple. Lily
fuchsia. Rose coral. As he neared, Ireland noticed his eyes morphed to match as
well. The result hypnotic.
His haggard
and troubled façade was a thing of the past. The man before her exuded
confidence and a zest for life from every pore. The draw of which was so
magnetic Ireland had to fight to keep her feet planted while her body insisted
she close the distance between them.
“To them this
is a thrill, a game of chicken against the Reaper himself.” Ridley paused
beside her, his shoulder skimming hers. Even then he didn’t grace her with a
glance, his attention fixed on Rip and Noah. Tipping his head toward her, the
warmth of his breath teased over her breast bone. “For us, it’s destiny.”
The moment he
stepped away from her, the chill of solitude lashed at Ireland’s soul and cut
deep. Bending eye-level with her withering subjects, Ridley pursed his rose
petal lips to blow a soft, healing breath over both of them. Wan complexions of
the dying were ripened to plump apricot. Both men blinked away their
disappointment before dipping in a low bow—foreheads to the ground in a show of
respect.
“No need for
that, boys.” Ridley smoothed the front of his suit coat, a self-depreciating
chuckle playing over his lips.
Neither
humbled servant budged.
“You’re like
me?” Pacing in a slow circle around him, Ireland’s eye narrowed.
He matched
her steps, leading them in an intimate waltz normally reserved for predators—or
lovers.
“Like you?”
He tsked. “Oh no, my darling flower. There is no other like you. Our only
similarity is being pawns in a game that began centuries before either of our
fathers got an amorous gleam in their eyes.”
Ireland’s
gaze lingered over the soft curve of his mouth, wondering if his lips could
possibly taste as delectable as they looked. “How do we play?”
Curling one
finger into a ruffled tuft of her skirt, Ridley pulled her to him. Bowing his
head, he brushed his cheek over the delicate curve of her collarbone. “The game
is already in motion,” he murmured. “The rule sheet not meant for our eyes. All
we can do now is stay alive.”
Ireland
weaved her fingers into his hair, yanking his head back with a passion driven
force that bordered on violent. “I’ve taken lives. I’m a monster,” she snarled
against his lips, tormenting them both with the agonizing veil of energy that
denied their touch.
His hand
snaked up her arm to find her fingers and loosen her grasp. Palm to palm.
Fingers entwined with fingers. “Does granting it make me any better?”
Ridley didn’t
give her time to answer. With one hand pressed to the small of her back he
crushed her to him. Their lips met with
a desperate urgency that caused Heaven and Earth to quake in nervous
anticipation of what was coming …
Author Bio:
Crane is the fifth full length novel written by award winning author Stacey Rourke. She lives in Michigan with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and two giant, drooly dogs. Stacey loves to travel, has an unhealthy shoe addiction and considers herself blessed to make a career out of talking to the imaginary people that live in her head.
Visit her
at:
Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/pages/Stacey-Rourke/
or on Twitter @Rourkewrites
Buy Links:
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/476394
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