Authors: Vivian Arend
Silent Storm (12 page)
Warning: This adventure is blatantly Scottish and dives into save-the-world sex with two of the hunkiest magical men you’ll ever meet.
Enjoy the following excerpt for
Dark Currents:
When Xia shuffled into the kitchen, still finger-combing her hair, she stopped in awe. An acre of food stretched out along the counter space between the living room and the kitchen. Sausage and bacon and toast and fish and scrambled eggs and jam and butter and scones and yogurt and granola and Cheerios and strawberries and orange juice and a china teapot that was not hers, along with a new two-cup personal coffee brewer.
“Whaaa?”
Adam stood in the kitchen, wearing the clothes he’d come in with last night. He clicked off the stove and slid the crunchy mess onto a plate. He added it to the last spot on the counter.
Taking the serving platter she’d never used from the highest cupboard shelf, he began to fill it with a bit of everything. “I need to leave in a few minutes.”
Xia closed her gaping mouth with a snap of her teeth. “Good morning.”
“Aye.”
See, now, this man was going to drive her to drink. During breakfast. “Where did all this come from?”
“Anne.”
“Anne? Delivered this?”
“Most of it, aye.”
“How do you know Anne?”
He just slid a look at her and went to sit in the living room. With his platter.
“I didn’t know she opened so early.”
“She doesn’t.” He began to eat the food like he’d never seen any before.
Xia looked over the impressive outlay. “The teapot is beautiful. Is it hers?”
“’Tis yours.”
Delighted, Xia picked it up, studying the wild roses hand-painted on the side. “Really? Where’d you find it?”
“I asked Anne to pick a nice one.”
Oh. She put it down. “Adam, what is all this?”
“Breakfast.”
She was going to brain him with the lovely teapot. She got a mug and filled it half-full with honey, then poured her tea. Taking it to the couch, she sat next to him. Maybe it was time to buy a chair, a nice lady’s recliner. He stood and went to the counter, filling his plate again.
“Are you going to eat any of the pudding and kippers?”
“No, thank you. I don’t care for meat at breakfast.”
He shoveled it all onto his plate and sat back down, eating with a steady motion. Between bites, he managed, “Only one nightmare, and I detected no magic in it.”
Xia froze. A sudden image flashed and faded in her brain.
A tiny round boat, a rawhide stretched over a wood frame, very old, strangely deep, but the edge rode only a few inches above the water. A storm blowing up. She crouched in it, wearing a wool dress and leather shoes that were cold and wet. Staring up at the seething sky, she despaired as the gray water around her began to toss.
Looking over at Adam, she blinked to see him considering her as he thoughtfully munched through a strip of bacon. His eyes looked flat today.
She snapped, “You look like Macgregor with your jaw working like that.”
He nodded. “There’s something you should know.” Standing, he put his platter in the sink and poured a glass of orange juice in his coffee mug. Ewww. “Do you remember the nightmare you had last night? Of being in a boat on a stormy loch?”
“Just a bit.”
He nodded, his gaze going far away, a tic pulsing twice in his jaw before he downed the juice and set the mug gently on the counter.
“I cooked. You get the dishes.”
She bit her lip against her protest. The mountain of dishes in the sink, the four pans on the stove, and the still-full army of offerings on the counter was not what she preferred to face in the morning. Drawing in a deep breath, she kept back her words. She did not want to start this partnership arguing over dishes. They’d work out their patterns soon enough. At this point she didn’t know if this was his preference after a night watching over her, or an offering to her, like a gift for a hostess.
He went to the door and bent to pull on his battered hiking shoes. He now had wool socks on. She tried not to look, but couldn’t help glancing at his ass as he presented it so. His jeans were old and outlined the hard globes nicely. Pulling open the door, he said, “Around seven?”
That would give them an hour before sunset. It would be enough if they were merely facing a normal dreamtime foray, but for what Markos had in that letter…
“Just a minute.”
She went and got the letter from the top of the TV. Handing it to him, she said, “Read this today. Come earlier if you can.”
He turned it over, his thumb brushing over Markos’s emblem. “You haven’t opened it.”
Crossing her arms, she shrugged. “I know what’s in it, mostly.”
He stared at her, but she couldn’t hold that black gaze.
“Your dream was mine.”
“Pardon?”
“Last night. In the currach. ’Twas Meg’s death.”
Xia blinked at him, her throat swelling shut as her body utterly froze. Her heart gave one hard thump, her brain reverberating with his words, understanding them, but stupidly denying it. “What is a currach?”
His face looked as frozen as she felt. “The little ox-hide boat you were in is a currach, at least as they were then. Meg. My first wife. She was a sprite. She drowned in Loch Mhòrair in a sudden storm. I wasn’t there, you see.”
Xia felt her heart thump again.
I don’t know what to say
. “What does it mean, that I dreamed her memory?”
“That nightmare wasn’t yours. ’Twas mine. It means naught but that we will work well together.”
She stared at him for another heartbeat. He tucked Markos’s letter into his back pocket and went out into the morning mist, closing the door. Xia blinked at it. They’d work well together? Her own nightmares weren’t enough, now she was having his? His Rover revved, and he turned on the lawn and went away. She’d have to tell him not to always turn on the lawn or he’d ruin it. Long after he’d gone, she was able to move again, stiffly.
Revolving, she stared at the decadent food spread before her, stomach churning and the taste of anguish in her mouth.
Silent Storm
Vivian Arend
Love speaks volumes without a single word.
Pacific Passion, Book 3
In the months they’ve traveled together, Laurin Marshall and Matt Jentry’s attraction has grown beyond spectacular sexual passion into a deeper emotional connection. Still, Laurin wrestles with one last question: how a water shifter and an air shifter can possibly find permanent common ground.
Matt is content to wait patiently for Laurin to realize he has no desire to change her sky-borne nature. Until a giant golden eagle touches down on the
Stormchild
and tips the delicate balance of more than just the boat.
Laurin’s obvious affection for the newcomer comes as a shock. And so does the flash of jealousy that interferes with his shamanic ability to heal the man’s malady. While Matt struggles to balance his conflicted responsibilities, Laurin attempts to reconcile her undeniable feelings for one of her kind with her desire for Matt.
Somewhere between the ocean depths and the mountaintops, they need to find a love strong enough to call them both home to the
Stormchild
.
Warning: Familiar lovers (hot) with old rivals (hotter) and a wild curse-melting ménage (hottest yet). Get ready for one exotic paranormal that will make you look to the skies and sea with longing.
eBooks are
not
transferable.
They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520
Macon GA 31201
Silent Storm
Copyright © 2011 by Vivian Arend
ISBN: 978-1-60928-455-8
Edited by Anne Scott
Cover by Angela Waters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: May 2011
