Title: Scarlet Gaze
Author: Foster Bridget Cassidy
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: April 20, 2020
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 69300
Genre: Fantasy, LGBTQIA+, MM romance, new adult, virgin, college students, British setting, magic, demons, time travel, teleportation
Add to Goodreads
Synopsis
After a paranormal encounter in his
youth with someone from his future, Collin Frey sets his sights on getting to
Marke Staple University. Now eighteen and with a full scholarship to the
prestigious university, Collin hopes to find an explanation to that
life-changing event. Unfortunately, it only leads to more questions.
Finding out he’s there to study magic is
the first surprise. The second is his roommate, Terrence, looks identical to
the person who started him on the path to Marke Staple.
Collin’s more than willing to sell his
soul to get closer to Terrence and uncover all the secrets hidden there. Can
knowing a man will change after making a horrible mistake ease the pain of
betrayal? Collin is going to find out.
Excerpt
Scarlet Gaze
Foster Bridget Cassidy © 2020
All Rights Reserved
Chapter One
Mom and Dad chatted softly as I gazed
out the taxi window. Occasionally, the driver would point out a well-known
sight, or something of interest. My parents oohed and aahed, but I barely
registered the words. My thoughts focused inward, to the red-eyed man, his
desperate pleas for forgiveness, and the total absurdity of the situation. When
my mind dwelled on the event from my youth, the rational side wanted to dismiss
it as a daydream, or some sort of hallucinated episode. The man had
disappeared. That sort of thing didn’t happen in real life.
Yet here I was. Following the clues that
could easily turn out to be nothing more than a figment of my imagination.
“And ’ere we are,” the cabbie said,
pulling the car to a stop. “Marke Staple University. Very prestigious.” He
turned around and smiled at me. “You’re a lucky one to get in.”
Mom leaned forward eagerly. “Not lucky
at all! Collin got a full scholarship! He’s very bright.”
I wrinkled my nose and unbuckled my seat
belt. “Thanks for the ride.”
I climbed out and gazed upon the school’s
gothic spires. They sent ominous shadows stretching across the school grounds.
One at the center of the campus stood higher than the rest. I recognized it
from the school’s website. And the coin. The familiarity of it made my heart
ache. So close.
The driver got out of the car and opened
the trunk. He lifted our bags out and set them on the sidewalk. Dad slipped him
a few American dollars, which he took with a wink. “Thanks a lot. And good luck
in your studies.” He waved before climbing back inside and disappearing the way
we came.
“So, here it is,” Dad said, following my
gaze to the spires. “Kinda creepy.”
Mom lightly smacked Dad’s shoulder.
“Travis! Don’t say things like that. It’s an old school, with old
architecture.”
“And old ghosts,” Dad muttered, then
shot me a mischievous grin. “I hope you don’t venture out at night.”
I laughed, and the tension filling me
lessened. A bit.
Dad threw his arm over my shoulder and
pulled me in for a side hug. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s check this place out.”
A man in a butler-type uniform headed
our way, a trolley in front of him. He stopped in front of us and gave a formal
bow. “Mr. and Mrs. Frey? I’m Stephen, Mr. Helmer’s coordinator. We sent a car
to pick you up, but apparently they were stuck in traffic and didn’t make it on
time. You’ll be compensated for the fee, of course.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dad said.
Stephen dipped his head, graying hair
falling over his eyes, but when he rose, he didn’t look happy with Dad’s
dismissal of the taxi fare. “Mr. Helmer will be here shortly, but he sent me
ahead to collect your luggage.”
“Thank you,” Mom said as he loaded our
bags onto the trolley.
“I’ll get them delivered to your rooms.”
Another bow, then he scampered off.
“That’s awful nice,” Mom added. “A car
to pick us up—even if we missed it—and a butler to carry our things. What else
will they do for us?”
“Well, they’re giving me a full
scholarship,” I said, walking forward. “That should be plenty.” The tuition
here was enormous. I had been lucky they’d offered me a scholarship, or else I
never could have afforded this place. Millionaires sent their children here.
Mom and Dad barely made enough to send Mindy—my older sister—to Florida State.
This was on the other side of the Atlantic.
Mom and Dad followed my lead. We stepped
past the stone gate and onto campus. As soon as my foot touched the ground on
the other side, a tingle ran up my spine. I glanced around, wondering if they
had a laser or infrared camera pointed at us. Nothing looked out of place. No
obvious surveillance. With the next step, the chill vanished, so I dismissed it
as a fluke and pushed it from my mind.
The campus was constructed of stone
buildings, most sporting tall spires. Nothing in Florida even came close to
this. In age or in design. An odd sensation permeated the air, almost like the
change in air pressure on an airplane. A hum sounded just a decibel below
hearing.
“Which way should we go?” Dad asked.
Mom pointed to a small sign in the
grassy area in front of us. “Freshman orientation. That way.” She gestured to
the right.
We started in that direction, but an
older gentleman jogging toward us slowed our steps. I recognized his
face—Patrick Helmer, the dean.
“Mr. and Mrs. Frey,” he called out,
waving his hands over his head.
We stopped and allowed him to catch up.
When he did, he smiled broadly, adding more wrinkles to his kindly face. “And
Collin, of course,” he said to me. “I’m glad you made it in safely. I’m Patrick
Helmer, the dean.” He shook all our hands enthusiastically. “I must apologize
for the mix-up with the car. We must have copied your flight time incorrectly.”
“It was no problem,” Mom said. “The cab
driver got us here quickly.”
“We wanted to do more, Mrs. Frey, to
show how excited we are to have Collin here.”
Mom smiled, happy for someone to be
singing my praises.
“We were just heading to orientation,” I
said, gesturing in the direction we’d been going.
Helmer waved his hand dismissively. “No,
that’s for the ordinary students. You don’t need to listen in. If you don’t
mind, I’ll give you a tour of the campus.”
“That would be lovely,” Mom said. “Are
you sure you’re not too busy?”
“Never too busy to assist our new
literature students. We take pride in both our programs, but literature is the
jewel in our crown. Collin won’t want for anything while he’s in our care, Mrs.
Frey.”
Some of the tension left Mom’s shoulders
at his words.
“Now, this way.” He led us deeper onto
campus. “Marke Staple is a very old, very selective school.”
“I know,” I said. When we’d returned
home from Colorado, I had looked into this place. I had the whole history of it
memorized. And when I’d found out they only had two degrees—literature and
business—I had applied myself to my studies and set my sights on getting here.
“You only select five students a year to be in your literature program.”
The dean grinned. “Correct. And we are
very happy you selected our school, Collin. I know you had plenty to choose
from.”
I nodded, but it wasn’t true. Oh sure,
my grades were so fantastic I could have gone to almost any I chose, but Marke
Staple was the only place for me. My encounter with the red-eyed man cemented
it.
“This”—Helmer said, lifting his hand
toward the closest building—“is Lapris Hall. It’s the administrative building.
My office is in there, as well as all the other teachers’. If you have any
problems, you can find your solutions there.”
The building was two stories, with a
dozen windows on this side. At each corner, elegant spires rose twice the
height of the building. Atop each spire was an animal statue. A dog. A cat. A
bird. A turtle. Curious. Most ancient buildings like this put statues of people
or crosses, or at the very least gargoyles.
Helmer noticed my study of the spires
and leaned close to me. “Wards,” he said softly. “They protect us.”
I shivered again, wondering what a
university would need protection from.
He continued walking. Mom and Dad
followed, but I lingered. Something about the building…wasn’t right. There was
a haze that drew the eyes to the top, to the spires.
“Come on, Collin,” Dad called.
I pulled my gaze away and hurried after.
“This,” the dean said at the next
building, “is Regalia Hall. All your classes will be in here. Besides the
Staple Spire, it has the most original stonework. Only the west wall was
affected by an earthquake in 1734.”
This building had one spire over the
entrance, although several cats sat atop the buttresses. If four protecting
Lapris Hall were enough, why did this building need a dozen?
“English departments are all the same,”
Dad said, lifting his chin to study the detailed stonework. “And I bet the
teachers all look like Dracula. That’s how it was at my college.”
Helmer laughed. “We don’t have any
vampires on staff. A few hybrids, perhaps, but nothing dangerous.” Then he met
my eyes and winked.
We continued around the rectangular campus,
passing the café, and then the math building, the economics building, and other
places the dean said I would have no use for. With only five students in each
year, the literature program hosted twenty students total. The business program
had four hundred. Naturally, most of the space would be devoted to their
courses.
Finally, we reached the dormitories.
There were three: lined in a row on the south side of campus. The school’s
rock-wall perimeter stood just a few feet from the rear of the buildings.
“The men’s dormitory is on the left,”
Dean Helmer said, gesturing. It was two stories, lacked any spires, and was
identical to the one on the right. “The women’s dorm is on the right. The
staff’s in the center.” The staff’s building was taller, and had two enormous
statues peering down at the students’ dorms.
“Let me guess,” I said, nodding up
toward the statues. One was a lion, the other a tiger. “They’re meant to keep
us in after curfew.”
The dean chuckled and clapped a hand on
my shoulder affectionately. “Ah, Collin. I do wish we could set them to that
task. Unfortunately, we rely on resident assistants to enforce the curfew. Our
statues are simply meant to ward off any danger.”
“Ah,” I said as if that made perfect
sense.
“Now, why don’t we leave you to get
settled into your room. You’ve got your room assignment?”
I wiggled my phone. “Yeah, it’s in my
email.”
Helmer nodded, then turned to my
parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Frey? If you’ll join me in my office, I’ll go over the
finer points of Collin’s scholarship. Give you our emergency contact
information. Get yours in return. That sort of thing.”
Mom looked at me, hesitating. “Will you
be okay on your own?”
“I’m fine, Mom. I don’t want you and Dad
being overbearing when I meet my roommate.”
Helmer glanced at his watch. “We can
meet in an hour at the cafe for dinner? Will that suit you, Mrs. Frey?”
She nibbled her lip, but dipped her
head. “All right. We’ll see you in a bit.”
The dean smiled. “Wonderful! Michael is
your RA, Collin. Ask him if you have any questions.”
Purchase
NineStar Press | Amazon | Smashwords | Barnes & Noble | Kobo
Meet the Author
Foster Bridget Cassidy is a rare, native Phoenician who enjoys hot desert air and likes to wear jackets in summer. She has wanted to be a fiction writer since becoming addicted to epic fantasy during high school. Since then, she’s studied the craft academically—at Arizona State University—and as a hobby—attending conventions and workshops around the country. A million ideas float in her head, but it seems like there’s never enough time to get them all down on paper.For fun, Foster likes to take pictures of her dachshunds, sew costumes for her dachshunds, snuggle her dachshunds, and bake treats for her dachshunds. In exchange for so much love and devotion, they pee vast amounts on the floor, click their nails loudly on the tile, and bark wildly at anything that moves outside. Somehow, this relationship works for all involved. While not writing, Foster can usually be found playing a video game or watching a movie with her husband. While not doing any of those things, Foster can usually be found in bed, asleep.
Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram
Giveaway
a Rafflecopter giveaway
.jpg)
No comments:
Post a Comment