Forever At Midnight by Isobelle Cate ~ Paranormal Romance
*****BLURB******
Forever At Midnight, book 2 in “The Cynn Cruor Bloodline Series”
When Roarke catches a glimpse of Deanna in Dac Valerian’s club, he searches for her in the streets of Manchester just to prove that he hasn’t lost his mind. He is unable to believe Deanna is alive when he’d buried her himself nearly five hundred years before. But when Deanna turns up on the street facing the Cynn Cruor’s headquarters, Roarke needs to know why she’s hid herself from him all these years.
Knowing her secret can only destroy whatever feelings Roarke has left for her, Deanna remains silent until circumstances force her to reveal everything.
Hearts are broken on both sides, but Roarke and Deanna have to work together if they are to find a way of ending Dac and the Scatha Cruor’s power once and for all.
Desire rises and passions are rekindled.
Will their pursuit of Dac lead to another chance at happiness?
Or will it forever tear them apart?
*Warning: Contains explicit content and graphic details. 18+ Audience
Forever At Midnight, book 2 in “The Cynn Cruor Bloodline Series”
When Roarke catches a glimpse of Deanna in Dac Valerian’s club, he searches for her in the streets of Manchester just to prove that he hasn’t lost his mind. He is unable to believe Deanna is alive when he’d buried her himself nearly five hundred years before. But when Deanna turns up on the street facing the Cynn Cruor’s headquarters, Roarke needs to know why she’s hid herself from him all these years.
Knowing her secret can only destroy whatever feelings Roarke has left for her, Deanna remains silent until circumstances force her to reveal everything.
Hearts are broken on both sides, but Roarke and Deanna have to work together if they are to find a way of ending Dac and the Scatha Cruor’s power once and for all.
Desire rises and passions are rekindled.
Will their pursuit of Dac lead to another chance at happiness?
Or will it forever tear them apart?
*Warning: Contains explicit content and graphic details. 18+ Audience
***Excerpt 1***
The fear of the unknown was something he’d never felt before. And now that he had Deanna to think of, the emotion held him in a stranglehold. He closed the door and pivoted around to see Deanna kneeling in the middle of the bed. After a slight hesitation he walked toward his clothes and immediately began to dress. He tamped the uneasiness down and forced his hatred for the Scatha to the fore. So many Cynn Cruor warriors and their spouses had been killed by the Scatha and their leader, Dac Valerian. One of the most brilliant generals under Julius Caesar, Dac used to be known as General Gnaeus Valerius Dacronius. Roarke had no intention of allowing Dac to destroy his new found happiness. He was one of the best warriors of the Cynn Cruor. He would protect Hamel Dun Creag.
And Deanna.
Roarke sat down on the bed to lace up his boots. He couldn't look at Deanna as his hands jerked at the laces. He jerked when he felt her hand on his arm. Roarke sighed deeply before turning to her, capturing her mouth with his. His tongue speared through her lips, desperation and anger in his kiss. Although Deanna shared his fear, she poured as much love and hope into her embrace as possible. Their tongues mated eagerly, hungrily, stoking their common desperation.
Reluctantly, he ended the kiss and placed his forehead against hers.
“Roarke, you have to go,” she said before placing her arms around him, her cheek resting on his shoulder.
He nodded, his face a mask of determination, the planes harsh with commitment to his Cynn Cruor brethren.
“Stay here,” he ordered as he looked at her. She gasped, bringing her hand to her throat. Roarke knew his mate saw his eyes change to red-orange. His mouth pressed into a thin line. “I'm sorry if I frighten you.”
She shook her head. “You don’t. I know it’s not the time to say this, but I like it.”
Roarke's mouth twisted to a wry smile.
Deanna stood up when he did. Her hair covered one breast as if to give her a modicum of modesty, but she was unabashedly unashamed of her nudity, something which Roarke admired. He watched her as she adjusted his leather belt before putting the rest of his tartan over his shoulders. As she walked toward the chair by the corner of the room, the flames from the hearth danced softly against her body. She picked up Roarke's dirk and bent to try and pick up his claymore. Roarke tamped down the surge of lust firing his loins at the sight of her round bottom and swaying hips.
“You'll have to pick up the sword, my laird,” she said with the barest of smiles as she handed the small dagger to him, hilt first. “I'm but a wee lass to carry the likes of that.”
He looked at her, then gestured toward the dagger with a thrust of his chin. “Keep it. For your protection.”
Suddenly, she flung herself at him. Roarke crushed her in his embrace, inhaling her scent of lavender and the smell of their recent lovemaking. Closing his eyes, he kissed her hair. He felt her shudder and give a soft sob. Roarke felt his heart tighten with pain.
“I will be back, Deanna,” he murmured. “No one can separate us now. I have put my scent on you. You are mine.”
Gently, he moved back to look at her. “If I die, so will you,” he said. “In the same way, I will become just a shell of myself and eventually join you, should you pass ahead of me.”
“I will wait for you Roarke,” she said, caressing his face.
Roarke couldn't help the feeling of pride that filled his heart at her strength of will.
“I will wait for you to come back to me.”
“Unless it's necessary, stay here,” he instructed as he grabbed his weapon. “Dinnae open the door to anyone. Understand?”
Deanna nodded.
Roarke swooped down to give her a hard kiss.
Then he was gone.
The fear of the unknown was something he’d never felt before. And now that he had Deanna to think of, the emotion held him in a stranglehold. He closed the door and pivoted around to see Deanna kneeling in the middle of the bed. After a slight hesitation he walked toward his clothes and immediately began to dress. He tamped the uneasiness down and forced his hatred for the Scatha to the fore. So many Cynn Cruor warriors and their spouses had been killed by the Scatha and their leader, Dac Valerian. One of the most brilliant generals under Julius Caesar, Dac used to be known as General Gnaeus Valerius Dacronius. Roarke had no intention of allowing Dac to destroy his new found happiness. He was one of the best warriors of the Cynn Cruor. He would protect Hamel Dun Creag.
And Deanna.
Roarke sat down on the bed to lace up his boots. He couldn't look at Deanna as his hands jerked at the laces. He jerked when he felt her hand on his arm. Roarke sighed deeply before turning to her, capturing her mouth with his. His tongue speared through her lips, desperation and anger in his kiss. Although Deanna shared his fear, she poured as much love and hope into her embrace as possible. Their tongues mated eagerly, hungrily, stoking their common desperation.
Reluctantly, he ended the kiss and placed his forehead against hers.
“Roarke, you have to go,” she said before placing her arms around him, her cheek resting on his shoulder.
He nodded, his face a mask of determination, the planes harsh with commitment to his Cynn Cruor brethren.
“Stay here,” he ordered as he looked at her. She gasped, bringing her hand to her throat. Roarke knew his mate saw his eyes change to red-orange. His mouth pressed into a thin line. “I'm sorry if I frighten you.”
She shook her head. “You don’t. I know it’s not the time to say this, but I like it.”
Roarke's mouth twisted to a wry smile.
Deanna stood up when he did. Her hair covered one breast as if to give her a modicum of modesty, but she was unabashedly unashamed of her nudity, something which Roarke admired. He watched her as she adjusted his leather belt before putting the rest of his tartan over his shoulders. As she walked toward the chair by the corner of the room, the flames from the hearth danced softly against her body. She picked up Roarke's dirk and bent to try and pick up his claymore. Roarke tamped down the surge of lust firing his loins at the sight of her round bottom and swaying hips.
“You'll have to pick up the sword, my laird,” she said with the barest of smiles as she handed the small dagger to him, hilt first. “I'm but a wee lass to carry the likes of that.”
He looked at her, then gestured toward the dagger with a thrust of his chin. “Keep it. For your protection.”
Suddenly, she flung herself at him. Roarke crushed her in his embrace, inhaling her scent of lavender and the smell of their recent lovemaking. Closing his eyes, he kissed her hair. He felt her shudder and give a soft sob. Roarke felt his heart tighten with pain.
“I will be back, Deanna,” he murmured. “No one can separate us now. I have put my scent on you. You are mine.”
Gently, he moved back to look at her. “If I die, so will you,” he said. “In the same way, I will become just a shell of myself and eventually join you, should you pass ahead of me.”
“I will wait for you Roarke,” she said, caressing his face.
Roarke couldn't help the feeling of pride that filled his heart at her strength of will.
“I will wait for you to come back to me.”
“Unless it's necessary, stay here,” he instructed as he grabbed his weapon. “Dinnae open the door to anyone. Understand?”
Deanna nodded.
Roarke swooped down to give her a hard kiss.
Then he was gone.
***Bio***
Isobelle Cate is a woman who wears different masks. Mother-writer, wife-professional, scholar-novelist. Currently living in Manchester, she has been drawn to the little known, the secret stories, about the people and the nations: the English, the Irish, the Scots, the Welsh, and those who are now part of these nations whatever their origins. Her vision and passion are fuelled by her interest and background in history and paradoxically, shaped by growing up in a clan steeped in lore, loyalty, and legend.
Isobelle is intrigued by forces that simmer beneath the surface of these cultures, the hidden passions, unsaid desires, and yearnings unfulfilled.
Isobelle is intrigued by forces that simmer beneath the surface of these cultures, the hidden passions, unsaid desires, and yearnings unfulfilled.
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