Bursting with sexy-as-sin heroes & devilish heroines, our titillating & romantic tales will seduce you and leave you craving more. Get ready for a passionate and exhilarating ride!
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Ethereal Protector is the story of Summer, a reincarnation of a witch burned at the stake, attending University in Salem. With her comes Geoffrey, the ghost of the man who loved that ancestor.
Here's a tease!
Summer strolled through the woods, plucking flowers and leaves. She plopped them into her basket, next to a folded blanket. When covering her harvest, it looked like she was gathering strawberries, the only fruit out this early. She worried less now that she had an acceptable purpose. No one seemed to understand why she collected the inner back of hazels and willows, why she cut hellebore and mint and chamomile. Most thought she was up to something nefarious, something demonic. It couldn’t be less ethereal, rather it was intimately earthy.
After bringing her harvest home, she set her basket on her counter and began to boil water. Her drying racks came out next and she spread out her haul for preparation.
Her door burst open and she jumped, a handful of bark falling into the boiling water. Damn, she’d wanted to add that slowly.
“Mary, help me.”
Summer hurried to the man carrying his son. It didn’t occur to her that he’d called her by another name. “Here,” she said, pulling a trundle out from under table. Charles set his son, Geoffrey, down on the hard surface. She would have to get him moved once she’d finished her examination.
“Yes, this infernal disease doesn’t want to leave him. He fell down again.”
Summer nodded. “Take him to my bed,” she said when she’d finished checking him over.
Charles picked the sick boy up. He wasn’t a boy so much as a young man, and his father grunted under the weight. Summer cleared the way and then closed the bedroom door on her patient.
“How can I pay you?” Charles asked.
Summer waved him off. “Don’t talk about that. Just keep this quiet, very quiet.” There had been whispers around town and the last thing she needed was to be connected to witches.
“Of course. I won’t mention it again. Let me know if there is anything you need.”
Summer looked over her kitchen. “Cloth. I need linens.”
Charles smiled and his shoulders dropped. She expected he felt relieved to have something to offer her. “I will get you yards of it. Thank you, Mary.”
“Now shoo. I don’t want any rumors about you in my house.” Infidelity was less violently punished than consorting with the Devil, but by a slim margin.
The boy groaned as Summer stirred her boiling water. Cup in hand, she scooped up tea, and then whispered prayers over it, infusing it with her own soul. “Here, Geoffrey. Drink and sleep.”
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