 Marne Ann Kirk was one of the first authors to introduce me to fantasy. Not only was I attracted to the book cover, but the content caught my attention and never let go. Marne has a way with words, she can open you up to a whole new world and make you believe it is taking place around you. For this weekend, check out book two of the Fae Dragon Chronicles. I promise, you will not be disappointed. Of course, I've also added book one below, and Goddess on the Run. Enjoy! Fae Dragon Chronicles: Book Two, Love Dared by Marne Ann Kirk Purchase e-Book Purchase Print Genre: Fantasy Cover art by Jeannie Ruesch The fae have scattered, the dragons are gone, hope is but a distant and forgotten memory... Just as Willow's people fall to a crazed king, Dare, a warrior more compelling than any before him, comes whispering of magical people and promising to save Willow's kingdom for the small price of her cooperation. All she must do? Go with him to meet these fae. So why doesn't she trust him? Dare will do anything for the fae and his Queen, even sacrifice the Chosen One, if that's what it takes to save their race. What's one life compared to the lives of many? But Love has a way of mocking even the best laid plans... Excerpt Copyright © 2013 Marne Ann Kirk All rights reserved — a Crescent Moon Press publication Willow’s head pounded out a fierce staccato in her mind and her stomach rebelled. Why had she awakened before her mind and body had a chance to heal? Passing into the gods’ realm to understand others’ dreams sent her into mental and physical exhaustion, and it always took her a full two suns to recover. She would normally remain unconscious for the first half of the recovery time. Yet, for some reason, this time her body insisted on waking earlier than it should. Why? She fought against the rise of bile in her throat, and concentrated on healing the throbbing pain in her head. The strong power of the foreigner pulled at her as he moved around her small home again, but she couldn’t open her eyes to see death stalking her. It was why he’d come. To kill her. She hadn’t seen it, as she couldn’t foretell her own future, but she knew it all the same. She sensed his threat. Something sweet and foreign permeated the air around her. The stranger knelt down beside her and tilted her head up with surprising tenderness. A gentle killer? No, he would lop her head off now. He just needed a better angle. He brushed something along her bottom lip, as if trying to coax her into opening her mouth. Would he poison her, then? Such a woman’s weapon. The sweet odor smelled so familiar to her. Familiar and welcoming. It reminded her of a mixture of lavender and rose crushed into the oil of verdante and mixed with honey, a common remedy for headache and nausea. The villagers used it often to cure their ills from excessive drink. She’d never thought to use it as a cure for her majic-induced pains, though. Willow let the stranger pour the thick broth into her mouth and allowed it to trickle down her throat. She tasted something else in the brew, unfamiliar to her, yet calming. She’d barely swallowed before it started working. Within moments, she felt better than she could remember ever feeling after the self-imposed two-day rest. She cracked her eyes open and studied the stranger kneeling beside her, cradling her head in his lap. The power he exuded felt strong and formidable, mysterious even; but not evil. As soon as Willow accepted this man’s energy wasn’t malevolent, she could accept and absorb it. His strength washed through her, and her psyche no longer fought his force. She silently thanked him for what he could never know she’d taken, a bit more hopeful than before about her mystery visitor. She reminded herself to remain cautious of the unknown feelings this stranger raised in her, though. He might not mean her harm, but he would hurt her. Of that, she felt certain. His hair was as black as Oshmeir’s thick pelt, exactly as in her vision. Yet it looked so much more alive, so vibrant in actuality. He had it pulled back and tied at the nape, but rebellious strands had come loose and fallen over his forehead to curtain one of his eyes. Her hands tingled at the idea of running her fingers through what she felt certain would be silken hair. And what eyes. They reminded Willow of the forest trees late on a moonless night, so dark a shade of green they looked almost black. The secrets in them stared out at her from a face chiseled in stone, begging her to coax them from her troubled soul. Concern creased his brow. Did he worry for her? Willow wouldn’t allow those treacherous thoughts to dwell, planting seeds of hope in her mind. Such a path led to trouble. She tore her gaze from his temptation and looked around, allowing her sight to adjust to the early morning-lit room. The man beside her sat back on his haunches to give her some much needed space. Her brother walked around the room, gathering her more precious belongings and placing them in sack-cloths. Kaleb’s whole body seemed to tense every time he lifted his right arm. The front door stood open, and Willow glimpsed a man standing not far beyond it, as if keeping guard in the early half-light. Many more warriors milled about on the grass past the guard. She pushed herself upright, unease jolting her fully alert. “What are you—” The man kneeling at her head interrupted her. “Your brother gathers your belongings, so we can leave this land as soon as you’re recovered.” She swung her gaze back to him and grimaced. She still needed to make slow movements if she wanted to avoid head pain. Deciding to ignore the stranger for now, she turned away from him and focused on her brother. As if he sensed her intent and found it abhorrent, the stranger moved from behind her, rose, and went to stand beside Kaleb, keeping himself firmly in her view. “What happened, Kaleb?” Willow asked through gritted teeth. Talking made her head spin, and she needed worse than ever to concentrate. But she’d be a squirrel’s dinner before she’d follow this intruder anywhere. He was no one to her. Less than no one. A handsome nobody. Kaleb glanced over his shoulder and sent her a weak smile. “It seems those changes you spoke of are upon us. Willow , this is Dare of Laocoon. Dare, Willow the Dream Healer.” Willow gasped and shook her head. “You’re wrong,” she whispered. He couldn’t be right. She wasn’t ready for change—not yet. The foreigner gave her a questioning, if somewhat guarded, look. “You expected me?” She ignored him. Kaleb continued as if they had both remained silent. As he spoke and using his left arm, he continued putting her things in the sack the stranger now held. “A small company ambushed us. Some of the attacking men were my own. Samat escaped his prison and he’s gained control at the castle, with the help of strong majic. We managed to hold the enemy off with the help of your pets, and they retreated to the castle. But they’ll return. Soon. And we must be away from here before they do.” Willow tried to stand, and she surprised herself when her body did as she bid. She moved to Kaleb’s side, resting a hand on his left shoulder for balance. He stopped packing her belongings and turned to her. “This foreigner has you not thinking clearly.We can’t leave, Kaleb. If we do, our people will die. Mother and little Dori will be in serious danger, their lives in jeopardy.” “We have no choice,” he responded. “Father has control. I’ve thought hard on what Dare of Laocoon said, and he’s right. My only option right now is to retreat and regroup. Those loyal to me will follow.” Willow struggled to remain calm, forcing a deep breath in through her nose and then pushing it out her mouth. How could she convince her brother? “We need to save as many as we can. You can’t leave your people to be slaughtered. And make no mistake, King Samat will retaliate against the people who helped put you in power before. Emotion rules him, not logic. He’ll kill anyone he feels threatened by.” Kaleb turned from her and shouted, “I know this.” He paused, closing his eyes as if regaining his control, and then continued in a softer voice. “But still, we must leave.” Taking a step back, she crossed her arms. When was the last time Kaleb had yelled at her? She couldn’t remember. “Do what you will, then. But don’t expect me to follow. This is my home. I stay.” The stranger, apparently having decided he’d had enough of being ignored, stepped between Willow and Kaleb, facing her. “Do you accept Prince Kaleb as your leader?” “Of course, I do,” she said, dismissing him and leaning sideways a bit to see around the oaf so she could study her brother. Something was wrong with him. He acted pained. “Then you must do as he orders, and leave with us,” the Laocoon warrior said. Willow blinked, glanced at the foreigner, and looked back at Kaleb. She felt surprisingly torn. She wanted more than anything to remain here, in her beloved forest. This was home, and she’d never before left. At least, not far. Yet Kaleb so obviously was not going to budge in this or in needing her by his side. Yet, something inside her whispered if she went with this stranger, she might never return. She walked back to the fire and stared into its burning embers, praying for guidance. A creak in the timber above warned her Sarethe hadn’t gone to rest, as she should have done. Instead, the dragon had returned to her perch and waited for Willow to decide on their course of action. Oshmeir came up beside Willow , wrapped his mouth around her small hand and gave a light tug, as if he too wanted her to leave. Then he released her hand, and rubbed his large body against her leg. She scrunched her eyes closed and sighed. Both of her friends sensed the danger and her indecision. Willow, resolved to remain with Kaleb, moved away from Oshmeir, grabbed some candles and herbs from the mantle and placed them in the bag the Laocoon held. She peered into the bag, needing to see what the men had packed so far. Then she poked her finger into the stranger’s muscled chest. “If any harm comes to Prince Kaleb, I will unleash the wrath of the gods on your soul.” The man had the nerve to grab her hand. She’d expected him to force it back down to her side. Instead, he raised it up and examined each digit, rubbing her softer skin between his rougher thumb and forefinger. His gaze caught and held hers and something soft lit the green depths. “These hands could never bring about anything but good.” Releasing her, he walked past her and left the house, taking the sack he’d held with him. Kaleb shook his head; a concerned frown creased his mouth. “ Willow , only you would torment such a powerful being,” he said. “Help me in this, please? I need you.” Embarrassment consumed her. She covered her insecurity with a shrug as she blustered, “What right does he have to bully us into leaving? Are you sure this is in our best interest? In the best interest of your people?” Kaleb chose that moment to look ashamed. “What have you done, brother?” Willow ’s unease niggled and grew with the guilt she read in his eyes. He’d done something, and she wasn’t going to like it.  Fae Dragon Chronicles: Book One, Love Chosen by Marne Ann Kirk Purchase e-Book Purchase Print Genre: Fantasy ISBN: 978-1-937254-49-0 Length: Novel Publication Date: March 2012 Cover art by Jeannie Ruesch For millennia, dragon and fae have peacefully co-existed, but the fae themselves have lived segregated and very different lives. Now a malevolence threatens to separate them all permanently. Can a Queen's guard and a rebellious outlaw join forces to defeat this common enemy? Tyler's touch sparks fierce desire, drawing Issie to him, but she despises his way of life and all that palace society represents. If he learns she wields majic to help the less fortunate escape the kingdom, he'll charge her with treason. Her punishment - death. Issie, is a sassy rebel who is constantly looking for ways to circumvent the conventions of their society. Tyler's head warns that she's a non-majical lower, beneath him. His heart sees by her inner strength and outer beauty. Only a binding love will lend them strength to save her life - their world. Can either of them bend enough to trust that love? Excerpt Copyright © 2012 Marne Ann Kirk All rights reserved — a Crescent Moon Press publication Tyler pushed his way through the onlookers. They reeked of sex and sweat. The foul odor made his eyes water and his vision blur as he forced his way to the front of the crowd, almost stepping on the female lying in a heap on the floor. He turned, saw his guards at the rear of the crowd, and addressed the unfortunate Lowers. “Leave now.” He turned back to the scene, expecting them to follow his orders. Disgust filled him as he assessed the scene. Blood pooled on the bed where two bodies laid holding each other. The heads from both bodies were missing. He wouldn’t bother searching for them now. He wouldn’t find them. The killer, it seemed, liked to keep the heads as trophies. Tyler sighed, becoming aware again of the others crowding the room. When he found those heads, he’d find the sick bastard who did this. “But what ‘bout Lenore?” “I ‘eard Issie scream.” “She all right?” One chattered over the next in their efforts to find out what happened. They weren’t listening to him. His eye twitched. He hated when that happened. How could he make these dullards leave? Did they not see the violent murders on the bed? Or did they not care? Were their lives so barren and meaningless, death didn’t bother them? His gaze fell on the female at his feet. Her face covered by her mass of honeyed tresses, she lay in a limp pile, her robes undone and revealing a creamy swell of ample breast. The two victims in the bed were beyond help, but this unconscious female held the concern of the others. He knelt by her side and lifted her in his arms. She smelled clean, like moss and sea air, instead of the sweaty body he’d expected. Her hair caressed his arm when he stood with her nestled to his chest. It fell like a lowered curtain and hung almost to his knees. A waterfall of honey. She felt right in his arms; her neck fit into the crook of his shoulder, her breath warmed his chest like she belonged there. Where had such a thought come from? He didn’t associate with the powerless Lower class. Ever. He pushed aside a rising need to draw her even nearer. Tyler faced the crowd again. “As you can see, she sleeps. She’s not injured. Now go. All of you.” He fixed a few of them with the glacial silver stare which always yielded results. “Go back to your beds. I’m Tyler, of the High Council. My warriors will take care of this.” “But, Issie. Is she hurt?” one barmaid asked, wrapping her arms around her waist as if she feared retching. “You, take me to Issie’s rooms. The rest of you, go. She’ll be fine.” Or at least I’ll be, if I can have some quiet to think. “But--” ”What ‘bout Lenore? She pass through the gates?” Everyone began speaking at once, like a gathering of Lower younglings after a sweet. They had no regard for his orders. Such disrespect was unacceptable. He had to get this under control. ”Go,” he roared, silencing the room. The crowd shuffled down the hall and disappeared behind different doors. Bits of conversation-- “Can’t believe Lenore’s gone,” and “who could do such a thing?” --floated back to him. Who indeed? The fae were peaceful caretakers for the dragons. Murder didn’t happen among them. It was a coarse crime of the mortals--until three moons ago. And now, it had happened again--to another messenger and another whore-maid.  And if you're in the mood for something different:
Goddess On The Run by Marne Ann Kirk Purchase e-Book Purchase Print Genre: Fantasy Cover art by Taria Reed 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? Reviews Goddess On the Run has everything a reader could ask for—Teagan, a heroine gutsy yet vulnerable, Merric, a hero willing to die for his soulmate and their child, and a High Deamon threatening to destroy the thing they hold most dear. Kirk has fashioned a story both action-packed and romantic with characters that will stay with you long after their adventure is over. --Jeanne Stein, NYT Best Selling author of the Urban Fantasy series, the Anna Strong Chronicles Here's a glass of wine, three books, and a bar of DARK chocolate. Enjoy your weekend. (((hugs))) Louann
booklover
5/11/2013 01:13:54 am
Thanks for the tip. I ll check thesevout. Comments are closed.
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