Sunday Snippet

 

My snippet for this Sunday is from my paranormal, fantasy novel A Tangled Legacy.  You can purchase a copy at all major retailers. This novel is not exclusively on Amazon but I've included the link for those who are interested. 

Blurb

Prince Colin of Sendorra would have been the spare instead of the heir if fate hadn’t intervened. Like his father and forefathers, Colin is expected to marry and father a child or his principality reverts to Spain at the time of his death. Filling the royal nursery with healthy babies seems easy enough until Princess Charlotte—his childhood friend and intended bride—breaks off their engagement.

Nobel Prize winner—and powerful gray witch—Alain de Gris isn’t looking for love. Science and research have taken center stage for years until he walks into a club and lays eyes on Colin, thirteen years his junior.

Bisexual by nature, Colin seeks to avoid another engagement repeat by shying away from a same-sex relationship. There are no acceptable alternatives to provide legitimate offspring if he follows his heart.

But Colin can’t stay away from Alain and the witch finds him irresistible. Ignoring the absolutes isn’t easy when a legacy is in jeopardy. And while magic may offer a solution, it could also create more problems.

Snippet

Alain's POV

After my stud was rescued by his meddling friends, I’d made inquiries, trying to find out more about this mystery man. No one had ever seen him before. Not surprising since Biarritz was primarily a vacation destination. Hooking up with total strangers wasn’t uncommon, but someone had to have seen this guy around town before now. He was too hot to be invisible. Unless he was straight or in the closet.

That might explain his reaction in the back room. The aversion to kissing, a case in point. If he was experimenting, locking lips with a guy for the first time might be a bit daunting. Still, there were undeniable sparks coming from both sides. The bastard who cockblocked us had insinuated the guy was drunk. He seemed more out of place than inebriated, like he’d just fallen out of the sky and landed in a gay bar by accident.

I left my business card under the windshield wiper of a BMW that supposedly belonged to him. The valet wasn’t certain, but I left the card regardless. The personalized license plate—HRH2—would be listed in some database. I had enough contacts in the area to help me uncover the owner, but I wasn’t sure I cared enough to go through all the trouble. I’d known the guy for what…five minutes? Not enough time to get invested. Maybe if he showed up again and actually followed through, I might rethink my need to know.

Taking my frustration out on my Porsche, I stomped on the gas. The drive up to my cliffside home consisted of a series of hairpin curves that were challenging at normal speeds, but I was gunning the engine, taking the turns like a Le Mans driver and loving each hair-raising second. My need for speed was inconsistent with my methodical personality, but there were some things even I couldn’t explain.

The wrought-iron gate guarding my property swung open with a thumb tap on my steering wheel. It was all preprogrammed and convenient as hell. The steep driveway was lined with bushes of pink and blue hydrangeas that were in full bloom. My home, a nineteenth-century Italian-style villa, overlooked the city. It was my sanctuary, the one place I could be myself. Not that I was a vampire or werewolf, but I was my mother’s son. Isabelle was the high priestess of the Simon Coven, and I had inherited her gift. I’d been told that my powerful aura could be daunting at times, a problem if you were looking to get laid.

Unlike my mother, I preferred to go it alone, steering clear of the politics and drama that went hand in hand with being a member of her coven. My mother scoffed at my views and warned me that I’d need her help someday, but thirty-three was a little late for an epiphany. I was an acknowledged loner, avoiding the witches and warlocks that existed in and around the Pyrenees. They called me a gray witch, one who strove for balance but recognized the existence of white and black magic. That was the main reason I legally changed my surname to de Gris. If I was going to keep my distance, it was better to drop the ancient, and more recognizable, Simon.

My goal was to only use my supernatural gifts to bring positive changes to the world. I was driven in my pursuit of answers that had intrigued me since I attended college in Edinburgh. Starting out as a medical student, I realized my thirst for knowledge lay in the world of herbs and pharmacology, in large part because of my ancestors. Back in the day, witches were known as healers, and people flocked to their cottages, hoping to find a cure. From skin rashes to more difficult cases of brain fever or pleurisy, they came from all over the countryside. Why not continue the family trade but with modern techniques? I switched my major, earning a degree in science, and eventually got my doctorate of pharmacology, a fascinating field with endless possibilities. 

There were cures for most diseases, and it was my job to find them. I had the edge on my classmates as I was more than familiar with the composition and efficacy of existing herbs, but there was much more to learn, and I applied myself with single-minded purpose. My biggest accomplishment to date had been a preventive for Alzheimer’s disease, a discovery that had changed the world and earned me a Nobel Prize. It had been rewarding in the extreme and justified long hours holed up in my laboratory buried in research. The personal toll had been inevitable, and I couldn’t begin to count the number of relationships laid to waste getting to this point. The fact that people now had a pill to forestall a disease from turning one into an empty husk made the sacrifices worthwhile.

I wasn’t a monk and enjoyed sex whenever the opportunity arose. Bisexual by nature, I was open to any and all possibilities, and never too embarrassed to admit it. But my self-imposed walls became impenetrable the minute my date du jour started asking questions. Intensely private for obvious reasons, I showed them the door the moment they overstepped. Opportunities were plentiful, and I didn’t have to look far to get someone new in my bed. College was a series of first dates that ended up with one of us being disappointed. Normally, it was me who drifted away. As much as I admired the soft curves of a female and the hard planes of a male’s chest, I was more drawn to one’s intellect than anything else. I could not tolerate stupidity in any form.

Because I’d disappointed my mother by stepping out of the preordained box, she was pressing me to marry and create a grandchild who might actually meet her expectations. I was no more interested in marriage than I was in taking up black magic. Each time I rejected one of her candidates, icicles formed around our tight bond, and the look in her eyes spoke volumes. I was two for two in her opinion, and even the meteoric rise in my chosen field couldn’t tip the scales in my favor.

My inherited abilities did come with some nice perks, and I didn’t hesitate to use my knowledge to accomplish mundane domestic tasks that were time-consuming and utterly tedious. Especially in an elegant home with too many flat surfaces accumulating dust. Why hire outside help when a few choice spells could get the same results? I knew I was considered high maintenance, but I liked beautiful things and took great pride in my home.

My front door swung open the moment I approached. As soon as I walked into the foyer, lights began to flicker, and one by one, they burned bright. Although it was summer, my granite home was always cool, and the fireplace routinely stacked with wood. With a snap of my fingers, the logs burst into flames, warming the cavernous space within minutes. My Norwegian Forest cat, Merlin, hissed in response to the pyrotechnics. After pouring a glass of wine, I toed off my shoes, and sat on my comfortable sofa to enjoy the warmth and the excellent vintage. Merlin hopped up beside me and nudged my arm, intent on finding a spot on my lap. His loud purrs set me at ease for the first time since I’d left town.

There was a possibility I would end up back at the club tomorrow. I tried to analyze my feelings. Why was I so intrigued by the one who got away? Yes, he was good-looking, with a body to match his face, but perhaps it was the vulnerability in his eyes that kept me interested. Our brief kiss had given me a hint of what was to come if I pursued the connection. Some unknown force—one I’d never experienced before—had swirled between us, and I couldn’t get him out of my head. Who was he, and why was I hooked?

You can purchase the novel and its sequel, A Noble Cause, at NineStar Press and all major retailers.