New Releases from CMP

I am so excited to bring to you more Crescent Moon Press releases. As always the book covers are beautiful, the writing inside even more so. I cannot wait to read and review these new additions.

False Gwenevere by Suzanne Shanken


Imagine living with hundreds of people in a large fortress, but you are practically invisible. This is the life of Gaenor aka Nora, an outcast fey child rejected by her mother and abandoned by her father. After her twin sister, Gwenevere, marries King Arthur, Nora journeys to Annwn and is now the center of attention for the first time in her life. For everyone but Nora believes she is part of a long awaited fey legend.

Merlyn sends Lancelot after Nora fearing that she is in danger. But Nora's not like the other damsels Lancelot's known. They were merely a means to an end; damsels rescued at Merlyn's behest in order to uncover the mysteries of his own lost past. However, Nora possesses courage and determination, compelling Lancelot to break his rule about avoiding romantic complications.

Once in Annwn, the pair must unite against an evil sorcerer who threatens everything.


Sample Chapter - THE FALSE GWENEVERE

CHAPTER ONE

Gaenor followed the wizard down a well-worn path. Gray haired and bearded, his long white robes and cloak flapped in the early morning breeze. The forest was a play between light and shadow. Sunbeams filtered through the thick canopy of oak and rowan trees, projecting ever-changing patterns onto the dirt. The trail abruptly ended. Gaenor stood before seven megalith stones positioned in a perfect circle. Thick ivy weaved around the symmetrical boulders.

“What will happen, Merlyn?” She traced her finger over the strange spiral glyphs carved into the granite.

“I will call upon the magic of this place to transport you directly to Arawn, king of the Sluagh Fey. He will aid you on your journey through Annwn to find your father.” The wizard leaned on his gnarled staff, frowning. “Come with me to Caerleon Fortress instead. You can spend time with your twin.”

“And what happens when the humans of Caerleon find out I am a changeling and speak to animals? Much as I miss Gwenevere, I refuse to go through the pain of being an outcast at King Arthur’s court.” Gaenor smiled and tugged on his beard affectionately. “My sister is safe now. It is time. I cannot move on with my life until I know who I am.”

“But, Annwn is the land of the Fey and fraught with danger. If you but wait, I know of a warrior who can escort you on your quest.”

“My sire is Fey and his blood flowing in me will keep me safe whilst I search for him.” Her throat constricted. “Then I shall ask him why he abandoned me in the wrong place, with the wrong people.”

Gaenor slung her bow and quiver of arrows over her shoulder. She walked to the center of the stone ring. A slow moving mist swirled around the ground, pale and damp. It slowly crept up her boots, lapping at her legs to hold her in place. She patted her thigh. Her pet wolf, Bercelet, cantered to her side. “We are ready.”

“Use caution. Remember your training.” The wizard slammed his staff on the ground. He recited an incantation in the language of the ancients.

The ground shifted beneath her feet. Gaenor instantly felt off balance, as if being pulled in different directions. Electric charges sparked around the stones. The hairs on the back of her arms stood up. Her entire body tingled with a stream of pure energy emanating from the enchanted circle. Her vision blurred. The shape of Merlyn wavered.

In the blink of an eye, everything changed. The earth shook violently in protest of the wizard’s magic. Gaenor fell to the ground. Her bow and quiver slipped off her shoulder. A vicious wind whipped up, blanketing the skies with angry black clouds. Gaenor’s hair escaped her tight braid and lashed her cheek with stinging blows. Lightning crackled around her. Fear rose in her throat like bile, dark and corrosive.

“Merlyn, what is amiss?” She shouted over the tempest. A thunderous boom tore through the air, threatening to shatter the stones.

Bercelet barked frantically.

The wizard ran to her. “Nay!”

All went dark. The earth fell out from under her. Time and space held their breaths. Her stomach constricted just before she hit solid ground. One moment she was in the circle, and the next, she lay on the stone floor of a large room.

Gaenor labored for air. She struggled to her feet, holding her head as sharp pain pierced her brain. Her eyes darted about the room. She blinked and stared at a man standing in front of the throne with his arms raised high. His lips moved in a rhythmic chant. Rows of stone benches sat empty before him. Huge, white dogs with red ears and pink eyes flanked him.

She rubbed her eyes several times to bring the man into focus. “King Arawn?”

He lowered his arms and looked at Gaenor. Dark brows slashed above eyes completely black, void of any surrounding white. He was tall and powerfully built. The pointed tips of his ears peeked through straight, black hair. He swaggered toward her, his thick, leather armor groaning.

“Welcome to Annwn, White Phantom.” He stopped in front of her. The jewel-encrusted crown atop his dark head sparkled in the dancing torch light. “I am Prince Melwas, son of King Arawn of the Sluagh.”

Gaenor frowned. “Where am I?”

“This is my fortress in Gorre.” He lifted his chin. “I snatched you from under Merlyn’s nose by intercepting his spell.”

She took a cautious step away from him. “You kidnapped me? Why?”

“I merely returned the White Phantom to her rightful home.”

Gaenor stared into his all-black eyes. How many times had she seen the same malevolence in the eyes of the warriors of Knucklas Hillfort? Her hand inched down her leg, ready to grab her knife out of her boot if he made an aggressive move.

“Merlyn never told you who you are?” His head slanted. “An ancient fey legend tells of a woman of great power, the White Phantom. She unites the lands and brings order to Annwn.”

Gaenor raised one eyebrow. The prince was obviously delusional. She was the ‘false Gwenevere', an outcast, a fey child and no one of import. Her twin, however, was extraordinary enough to be this paragon. Melwas abducted the wrong woman. Gaenor bit the inside of her cheek. What if he found out his mistake? What if he went after Gwenevere? She must protect her sister from this tyrant.

Melwas circled around her, taking in her dirty leather tunic, stained trousers, and mud-caked doeskin boots. He toyed with her rope belt before running his finger down the sleeve of her linen shirt. “You do not dress like a great lady.”

The rancid smell of wine and sweat hit her like a blast of noxious vapors. She grimaced and moved out of his reach, eyeing the large double doors baring the exit. “I merely dress to accommodate my journey.”

His eyes narrowed. “I wonder. Did I kidnap the wrong twin?”

She shook her head. “Nay, I am the White Phantom.”

The prince studied her. Gaenor quickly dropped her gaze, holding her breath. Minutes passed.

“This is easily proven.” Melwas yelled for the guards and the huge doors swung open. “These are Bwaganod and are of the Goblin race.”

They were gigantic, dwarfing the six-foot Melwas. Their faces were a cross between a human and a snake. Two bony ridges rode from their brow, across their sloping skull, and ended at the back of their head. Yellow vertical slits in the pupils of their black eyes added to their reptilian-like appearance. Flattened noses flared above wide lipless mouths. Scaled crocodilian skin covered their bulky bodies down to their long tails.

“Seize her.”

Gaenor drew her knife and stabbed the nearest Bwaganod in the stomach. The blade bounced off his natural body armor.

Melwas came up behind her, grabbing her wrist and squeezing hard. The pain became unbearable. She cried out and dropped the knife to the floor. He motioned the guards to restrain her. The muscles in her legs tensed, poised to run to the unguarded door. Their webbed, claw-like fingers bit into her arms, preventing any escape. Gaenor struggled, kicking wildly, trying to wrench her arms free.

The prince moved in front of her, his grin a humorless rising of his lips. It brought a distinctive malevolent glint to his eyes. He worked loose the knot in her belt. It fell on top of her knife. Gaenor lashed out with her leg, kicking the prince in the shin.

Melwas cursed and pulled a large dagger from of his belt. He pressed it against her throat. His eyes changed to fathomless pits of black fire burning with rage. The veins in his neck bulged. “It is not wise to test me.”

She swallowed. The steel scraped the flesh of her throat, cold and insistent. Melwas moved the knife down her neck, over her collarbone, skimming the leather material over her shoulder before dragging it down to her chest. Gaenor sucked in her breath. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the sharp pain of the dagger piercing into her heart.

Instead, the prince sliced the leather strings of her tunic at the neckline and at each shoulder. The straps unlaced, parting the garment. It dropped to the floor with a muffled thud. His breath quickened. The blast of foul air flowed over her face, clinging to her skin. She gagged and turned her head away.

Melwas laughed, a low taunt meant to add to her distress. He crunched the material of her linen shirt in his fist, and pulled hard, tearing it.

“Nay!” Her heart lurched. Cool air brushed her naked shoulders and breasts.

The prince stared at her bosom, licking his lips like a lion eyeing its next meal.

“You bear the mark.” Melwas pointed to the shape of a crescent moon with a star in the center on her left shoulder. He signaled to the guards and they released their ironclad grip.

Her knees buckled. Gaenor sank to the stone floor, fighting for air. She brought the shirt over her shoulders to cover her nudity. Her hands refused to stop shaking.

“This proves you are the White Phantom and I am the Giant foretold to be your mate.”

She blinked. Did he not know her sister possessed the same mark?

“The Thirteen Treasures of Annwn will be mine when I present you as my bride.” He raised his fist, stating it as an absolute truth.

Gaenor bit back a vehement denial. Melwas ruled by his ambitions, not his brain. She stood on weak and wobbly legs. The doors were open. Gaenor judged the distance and glanced quickly at the Bwaganod.

The prince’s gaze followed hers. He gripped her chin, forcing her to look in his eyes. “If you dare attempt to escape me, I will hunt the far corners of the world in order to get you back.”

His touch burned into her flesh like acid. Nausea rose up to choke her. Gaenor pushed his hand away, rubbing the indentations left in her cheek, looking away lest he see the panic in her eyes.

“You are a woman. Do as I tell you.” Melwas waved his jeweled hand in the air, dismissing her. “Go and refresh yourself. A servant will collect you for the evening meal.”

Gaenor knelt down to collect her garment. She scooped up her knife, discreetly hiding it in the folds of the tunic. The guards lead her through a maze of dank, narrow corridors. She kept her eyes vigilant for any possible escape route. The torches anchored in their wall sconces produced more smoke than light. There were Bwaganod everywhere. A sly wind whistled through the walkway, bringing to her the scent of burning tapers and roasting meat. Her stomach rolled over. No amount of food was worth suffering the prince’s company at the evening meal.

They reached large double doors and the Bwaganod shoved her inside a chamber. The resolute clank of the metal lock echoed off the solid stone walls. Gaenor looked around. A finely made oak wardrobe graced one wall. An ornate gilded screen stood in a corner. She placed her tunic on a fur-piled bed, seeing nothing in the stark room to aid her escape.

The waning fire in the small hearth did little to dispel the salty breeze wafting through the undraped window. Gaenor walked to the opening, kneading the goose bumps rising on her arms. Dark clouds spewed out lightning and thunder, swallowing up any sunlight and leaving the world gloomy, hostile. This was Annwn? She looked down. Angry waves continually bombarded the high walls of the fortress, roaring as they crashed brutally against the sturdy fortification. A watery spray smelling of salt and kelp hit her face, stinging her nose. This was certainly not the way out.

Looking right, Gaenor made out the guarded main gateway just beyond a large courtyard. Bwaganod sentries paced the turrets. A wide path led into steamy swamps just outside the gate. There was her escape route.

A movement caught her eye. She squinted. Was that a man scaling the precipitous wall directly under her window? His long, dark hair whipped around as violent winds tried to dislodge his grip on the rocks. Despite the slickness of the granite, he did quite well. He glanced up at her and waved, almost losing his precarious hold. She waved back before she stopped herself.

The high-pitched squeaking of rusty pulleys sounded behind her. Gaenor spun in time to see the wall in her chamber move aside, revealing a hidden passage. Stale air rushed by her. She pressed her palm to her chest, coughing. One of the prince’s hounds loped into the room. His pink eyes fixed on her.

“I mean you no harm, White Phantom,” the hound barked, wagging his tail.

“Nor I you.” She patted his head. “It seems my power extends toward the creatures of Annwn. That will come in handy. Do you know how I might escape?”

“This passageway takes you outside the wall.”

Gaenor grabbed her tunic and slipped it over her torn shirt, tying the severed leather laces haphazardly. She secured her rope belt around her waist and returned her knife to her boot. “Do you know who is climbing the wall? Is he friend or foe?”

“He is here to rescue you.”

“But how could he know of my plight? Only Merlyn knows someone intercepted his spell.”

The hound sniffed the air. He glanced at the window. “Your champion arrives.”

Two large gloved hands gripped the sill. A thick leg looped over and a warrior pulled himself into the room. He landed on the stone floor and then scrambled to his feet with an amazing amount of grace for one so large. His mammoth body shrank the chamber.

Gaenor backed up. She placed a hand on her thigh near her knife, flexing her fingers.

His expression stoic, he scanned the room with practiced intent. His eyes skimmed over her briefly before spotting the hound. The man drew his sword from his leather baldric in one fluid motion. The muscles of his arms flexed and contracted with leashed strength, stretching the leather of his armor and links of his chainmaille. He braced his long legs in a firm battle stance.

The hound whimpered. Gaenor jumped between them, her knife to the ready. “Nay, stay your sword!”

She looked the man dead in the eye, waiting for him to recoil as the humans of Knucklas did before they looked away in horror. He stared directly back. Her mouth dropped open. He did not know she was a changeling.

“My name is Lancelot. Since you bear a striking resemblance to Queen Gwenevere, I presume you are her twin sister, called Gaenor.” The warrior replaced his sword. “I was in Caerleon with King Arthur when Merlyn magically appeared before us. The wizard cast a spell, sending me to Annwn to rescue you from a fey prince.”

Gaenor’s grip on her knife tightened. The last thing she needed was a man taking charge, dominating her quest with irrational male bluster. That’s what warriors did. She massaged the back of her neck and took a deep, calming breath. In all fairness, this man only followed orders. Warriors were a dimwitted lot and complicated situations were beyond their narrow scope.

She replaced her knife and grabbed a torch from the sconce. “That will not be necessary. My escape is well in hand. You may stay or follow along. I care not.”

The hound nudged her hand with his nose. “Safe journey, White Phantom. Once you reach the swamps, stay on the trail. No matter what, do not follow the lights.”

About the Author

Suzanne received a university scholarship by winning a short story contest and earned bachelor degrees in both British Archeology and Ancient Religions. Her love of writing found a home in the university newspaper and while student teaching creative writing classes. Suzanne studied Arthurian legends extensively in college. Her goal was to write tales where the Arthurian women are good and not depicted as villains.

She is currently working on another fantasy romance about Morgana le Fey. In this story, Morgana is the protagonist, instead of the usual plots with her being an evil sorcerer.
As a history buff, Suzanne enjoys attending Renaissance Faires where she participates in battle reenactments and archery competitions. She lives 7,000 feet up in the mountain community of Big Bear Lake, California where primitive nature is a constant inspiration for expanding her metaphysical studies.

Suzanne Shanken’s website
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Goddess on the Run by Marne Ann Kirk

All Fomorian Hells are about to break loose on earth, making human souls the daily special, if the Tuatha de Danaan can’t stop it. Teagan, a Celtic demi-goddess hiding from her destiny in small-town Colorado, wants nothing to do with her mother’s forgotten realm or the drama of a battle of the gods. And Merric is forbidden fruit she’s too smart to taste. Merric, leader of the Tuatha de Danaan warriors, has other plans. Teagan holds the key to salvation, for both him and their worlds, whether she wants to or not. He’ll do whatever it takes to convince her of her duty. But can he find the key to her heart?

About the author: Marne Ann Kirk lives in Western Colorado, where her husband, children, grand-children, and a herd of small animals ride roughshod over her or at least she lets them think they do. She has a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature, which she uses a bit as a writer and much less as a wife and mother. When she isn't escaping into the worlds her imagination creates, Marne can be found trying to get the last three of seven children safely through their teen years, playing with her grand-babies, baking, daydreaming in her garden, or learning to blog. Her favorite authors, Christine Feehan, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Lyndsay Sands, and Kresley Cole, inspire her. Marne is a member of Romance Writers of America, and its Future, Fantasy, & Paranormal chapter. She is the Vice President of Rocky Mountain Fiction Writers for 2011, of which she's been a member since 2002.

Marne's website
Paperback
Kindle

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